Chapter 5

For six years, he thought I couldn’t live without him, and he grew increasingly brazen.

He would hit and verbally abuse me at the slightest provocation.

Finally, when our daughter turned six, and Mark proposed divorce, the time was ripe.

I did the math.

With all the debts and wrongdoings he’d accumulated during our marriage, he definitely wouldn't escape death.

I deliberately suggested dividing our marital assets.

As expected, he exploded, raging that I was malicious, his face purple with rage. "Have you earned a single dime for this family all these years? Let me tell you, the house is already in my mom's name, and I don't have a penny to my name! And I want full custody of our daughter!"

Denise also pointed her finger at me, yelling, "You pathetic hanger-on! If you hadn't clung to my son, he wouldn't have been soft-hearted enough to marry you! It's *your* fault we're divorcing, you didn't take good care of him! And now you're dreaming of our family's assets? No chance!"

Seeing them so eager to dig their own graves, I felt at ease. "Fine, I don't want anything. I'll walk away with nothing."

Denise was ecstatic, rushing Mark to book an appointment at the divorce office as if afraid I'd change my mind.

The divorce process was unusually smooth.

As soon as the cooling-off period was over, the official papers were in hand.

Stepping out of the divorce office, he was now my ex-husband.

My ex-husband warned me not to spread news of our divorce. He probably had an image of a happy, stable family to maintain for his clients and superiors; if they found out, it could harm his career.

Maybe he always thought I was easy to manipulate.

Submissive, only capable of crying when hit or verbally abused.

Even after divorce, he surely expected me to obey him.

"Who knows?" I curved my lips into a small smile, shedding my usual docile image. "It depends on my mood."

He was shocked by my attitude, then his face contorted in furious embarrassment. "You damn bitch, talking to your husband like that! No wonder I divorced you!"

He was always like this, acting like a king, expecting everyone to flatter and please him.

Little did he know, my years of docility were simply a means to ensure a tenfold repayment.

My ex-husband raised his fist, intending to strike my head as he used to, to vent his fury.

But this time, he didn't get his way.

I raised my slender arm and grabbed his wrist. "We’re right outside the divorce office, Mark. There are cameras everywhere. Touch me, and I'll make sure you go to jail."

His jaw twitched violently. Suddenly, a look of agony crossed his face. He gagged, then threw up.

Forgetting to lecture me, he spun around and rushed towards the restroom.

Not long after, an ambulance pulled up to the divorce office.

My ex-husband, pale as a sheet, was carried away on a stretcher.

He was always so strong, juggling two mistresses and a wife, working round the clock, yet always full of energy.

Now, he was foaming at the mouth, collapsing in the bathroom.

The curse had triggered so fast.

Under the brilliant sunshine, I finally burst out laughing.