The Billionaire's Loveless Marriage

The marble bathroom felt like a tomb at 3 AM. Cold. Silent. Empty. I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the razor blade in my trembling hands. The streetlights outside cast long shadows across the floor, making the five-thousand-square-foot mansion feel even more cavernous and lonely.

Three years of marriage to Alexander Grant had led to this moment.

Three years of being the perfect wife while he paraded other women through our home.

Three years of sleeping in guest rooms while he entertained them in our marital bed.

My fingers traced the edge of the blade, feeling its deadly sharpness. The sound of laughter drifted through the walls—her laughter, followed by his deeper voice. I closed my eyes, letting the pain wash over me in waves.

"Alexander," I whispered to the empty bathroom, "why can't you love me?"

The answer was silence, broken only by the sound of their bed moving against the wall. I pressed my palms against my ears, but it didn't help. Nothing helped anymore.

"I can't do this," I said aloud, my voice echoing in the marble space. "I can't keep pretending."

The doctor had warned me that my depression was worsening. Dr. Chen had been concerned during our last session, his kind eyes studying my face as he asked if I was suicidal.

"No," I'd lied then. "Of course not."

But that was before last night, when Alexander had brought home Elena Morrison—his first love, his college sweetheart—and made me serve them drinks before dismissing me to the guest room.

"Rose," he'd said with that cold smile that never reached his eyes, "you understand how these things work, don't you?"

I'd nodded, the perfect obedient wife, while something inside me finally shattered beyond repair.

Now, as their laughter grew louder, I made my decision. The blade felt warm in my hands, as if it understood what needed to be done.

"Just a little pressure," I told myself, "and it will all be over."

I thought about Alexander finding me, about the shock on his face when he realized what I'd done. Would he feel anything? Would he finally understand what he'd done to me?

Probably not.

With tears streaming down my face, I drew the blade across my left wrist. The pain was sharp, immediate, but somehow cleansing. Blood welled up, bright red against my pale skin.

"That's it," I whispered, watching as the blood began to drip onto the pristine white marble floor. "Just let it end."

I sliced my right wrist next, crisscrossing the cuts to ensure there would be no mistakes. The bathroom began to spin around me as I lay back against the cold tile wall.

The last thing I heard before darkness claimed me was Alexander's laughter, growing distant as blood pooled beneath me and stained the white marble crimson.

* * *

"Rose! ROSE!"

The scream tore through the mansion like a thunderclap. I floated in darkness, unaware that hours had passed since I'd made my