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After the Divorce, I Made Them All Pay
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PROLOGUE To give my husband, Jeremy, a baby, I put my body through hell with every medical treatment imaginable. Then came the accidental discovery: Jeremy and his mother were scheming behind my back ...
章節（6）
第1章
PROLOGUE
To give my husband, Jeremy, a baby, I put my body through hell with every medical treatment imaginable.
Then came the accidental discovery: Jeremy and his mother were scheming behind my back to pass off his mistress's baby as mine.
I turned around and filed for divorce. But when I told my own parents, my father hurled a glass ashtray at my head, tearing my ear open before kicking me out into the street.
Jeremy didn't show an ounce of remorse or care. Instead, he twisted my bleeding wound, demanding to know if I had another man.
In that very moment, it hit me: not a single person in that house was worth holding on to.
I was getting my divorce. And every single person who bruised and battered my life was going to pay.
Clara's POV
I honestly believed Jeremy loved me.
I swallowed bitter herbal tonics and nauseating hormone pills more than eight hundred times, all so we could have a baby together.
Yet here we were: the sixteenth time he threw a public tantrum in front of a crowd, fully expecting me to smooth things over afterward.
Only this time, the divorce papers were already sitting on our desk, waiting for him to come home.
It was an extended family dinner, over twenty relatives packed around a sprawling banquet table.
Jeremy reached for his glass, tipping it back toward his lips.
I stepped in, catching his arm, and pulled a thermos from my purse to pour warm tea into his empty glass.
"Please don't drink tonight."
The whole table burst out laughing. A couple of his uncles tapped their forks against their plates, joking that Jeremy was utterly whipped.
The smirk dropped from Jeremy's face. He shoved my hand aside with a sharp flick.
"I'm in a good mood tonight. What's wrong with a couple of drinks?"
I stood my ground, sliding the cup of tea closer to him.
The whole reason I kept him from drinking dated back six years. He'd landed in the ER with alcohol poisoning, and the day he was discharged, he gripped my hand tight. He swore that wherever I was, he wouldn't touch a single drop.
Those were his exact words. The relatives at the table hadn't heard him say it back then, but he was supposed to remember.
Jeremy's face darkened into an ugly scowl.
The dining room door swung open. A college-aged waitress in a company uniform walked in with a beverage menu, making the rounds to ask if anyone needed another bottle.
Jeremy raised a hand, waving her over, but his eyes were locked straight onto me.
He stood up, slinging his suit jacket over his arm. "I'm done drinking here. Tonight, I'm going elsewhere with her."
The room instantly erupted into an awkward murmur.
I stayed seated, my fingers resting motionless against the thermos lid.
"Jeremy."
He jerked his chin toward the girl, turning to leave. Right at the threshold, he tossed a single sentence over his shoulder: "If you can't live like this, we'll get a divorce."
The girl froze, hesitant, but he simply stepped aside to let her walk through first. From start to finish, he didn't lay a finger on her.
The moment the door snapped shut, the room broke into hushed gossip, all whispering about Jeremy's volatile temper.
Listening to them, I knew exactly what he was doing. He picked this setting on purpose. With every single relative watching, he wanted everyone to see who held the absolute power in our marriage.
I packed the thermos back into my bag, excused myself to the elders with an excuse about an urgent matter at home, and left.
I waited outside the restaurant entrance for ten minutes. All that came was his car pulling out. The college girl was sitting in the passenger seat, and he sped away without glancing back.
For those ten minutes, I was actually waiting for him to step out and offer a single word of apology. Now, I didn't have to wait anymore.
It was well past midnight when the front door finally clicked open. Jeremy stumbled inside reeking of cheap booze. Seeing me sitting in the pitch-black living room startled him, but he quickly softened, grabbing my hand and giving it a gentle shake.
"I was wrong, Clara. All the relatives were there, and I just lost my head and talked crazy."
The divorce papers lay wide open on the table.
I had this script memorized. It was the sixteenth time. He hadn't even bothered to change a single word.
His mother, Evelyn, wandered out in a robe, throwing a couple of mild scolds at Jeremy before sitting down beside me, patting the back of my hand.
"Men lose their minds when they're out entertaining clients. Once you two have a baby, everything will fall into place. A child settles a man's heart."
My fingertips curled slightly.
My struggle with infertility was a secret I had kept locked away from everyone. Over the past few years, I had quietly snuck into clinics, desperate for the day I could finally put an end to that kind of talk.
Evelyn's casual comment struck the most vulnerable wound in my chest.
To be fair, Evelyn hadn't treated me badly over the years. She knitted me sweaters when the weather turned cold and cooked for me whenever my appetite was off.
I told myself that in this house, at least one person cared about me.
I tucked the divorce agreement into the very bottom drawer.
After that night, Jeremy acted as if he had genuinely learned his lesson. Whenever he went out to entertain, he brought the thermos himself. Whether he drank or not, he snapped a photo and texted it to me.
I never opened a single one. Opening them meant having to believe him all over again, and I was done making excuses for him.
It was also around that time that Evelyn started complaining about severe chest pain every single night, begging me to sleep in her bedroom to watch over her.
I packed up my pillow and moved into her room. Sitting by her bedside through the dark hours, I even thought to myself: at least there was one thing in this family that only I could do.
Whether Jeremy came home at night or not, I had no way of knowing.
On the fifty-sixth night, the doorbell rang at two in the morning.
Standing on the porch was that very same college girl, one hand resting protectively over her lower stomach.
"I'm Chloe. I'm pregnant with Jeremy's baby."
"Got it," I said, and shut the door right in her face.
It took me less than a second to recognize her. She was the one he walked out with that night.
I spent the rest of that night back in Evelyn's bedroom, facing the wall, pretending to be fast asleep.
Just before dawn, Jeremy slipped through the front door. Evelyn crept out quietly, and their hushed voices drifted through the hallway.
"Be quiet, she's still asleep in the room."
"Don't worry. How's Chloe doing?"
"She's doing great. I have meals cooked and sent over to her every day. Once the baby is born, we'll put it under Clara's name and tell everyone we adopted it. She can't have kids anyway. With a baby tying her down, she won't be able to leave for the rest of her life, and I can keep playing sick."
The chest pains were fake.
Those fifty-six nights I spent keeping vigil were nothing more than acting as their watchdog, giving him free rein to slip out into the night without suspicion.
Evelyn's hand-knitted sweaters and homemade soups were the currency she used to buy those fifty-six nights.
They wanted to shove an illegitimate child into my arms, sealing off every single escape route before I even knew I needed one.
Before the sun fully rose, my mind was made up: nobody in this house wanted me to have a good life. I was done waiting for anyone to look back.
The second the sun came up, I called a lawyer to file for divorce.
Right after, I set up a meeting with Chloe. Sitting across from her in a quiet coffee shop, staring at her slightly rounded stomach, my opening line was simple: "I'm leaving. You can have Jeremy."
Chloe looked up at me, surprised.
"I have only one condition. When the court summons arrives at the house, find a way to get Jeremy to sign it without him realizing what it is."
Chloe stared at me for a few long seconds, then smirked. She agreed.
Within a few days, the papers arrived.
The day a photo of his signature landed on my phone, I visited my regular fertility clinic.
The doctor smiled warmly, telling me that with just this final round of treatment, we'd have good news very soon.
I had endured over eight hundred doses of agonizing medications over the years. I had waited an eternity for this final step.
I kept my voice quiet. "No need. I won't be coming back."
The doctor tried to persuade me, but I had already grabbed my bag and walked out the door.
Those eight hundred rounds of medication were taken for that family—a family waiting for my womb to fail so they could shackle me with a mistress's baby.
I wasn't waiting around anymore.
第2章
Clara's POV
I drove back to my hometown. I parked the car outside my parents' apartment building, sitting in silence for ten minutes before finally heading up.
My parents had spent their entire lives obsessing over what other people thought. I knew walking up those stairs that whatever awaited me wouldn't be pretty.
Still, I went up. I needed to hear my own parents ask me, just once, what kind of life I had endured in that house all these years.
My mother opened the door. Seeing me standing alone, she glanced past my shoulder. "Where's Jeremy?"
"He didn't come."
Her expression dropped instantly.
At the dinner table, I set my fork down. "I'm getting a divorce."
My mother's fork clattered loudly against her plate, and tears immediately spilled down her cheeks.
"Are you trying to humiliate our entire family? How are your father and I supposed to show our faces outside?!"
My father sat stiffly in his chair, his voice cold. "Men do stupid things sometimes. It's completely normal. You just have to endure it. Go back tomorrow and give Jeremy a proper apology."
Not a single person asked why I wanted out.
"I'm not going back."
"What did you just say?"
"I'm divorcing him. It's final."
My father slammed his palm against the table, grabbed the heavy glass ashtray beside his hand, and hurled it straight at me.
I didn't dodge.
The ashtray struck my left ear with a brutal, sickening crack. Instantly, all sound on that side vanished. Blood poured down the curve of my ear, soaking through the collar of my shirt.
My father stood panting, pointing a shaking finger at the front door. "If you ever dare say the word 'divorce' again, don't you dare think about walking out of this house alive!"
I didn't move. I just sat there on the living room sofa.
A high-pitched ringing echoed in my left ear. My mother's wailing and my father's cursing sounded warped and distant.
Dabbing at her tears across the dining table, my mother muttered, "You brought this punishment on yourself."
My collar was drenched in red, yet not one of them handed me a napkin.
I reached into my own purse, pulled out a pack of tissues, and pressed them hard against my ear.
Sitting there, the math finally became painfully clear: three people in the room, one throwing heavy glass, one crying for herself, and not a single one asking if my ear could still hear.
I had been the obedient daughter my whole life. I married a wealthy man who constantly showered my parents with gifts. Everything they bragged about to their neighbors was built on my marriage. And today, my reward was a glass ashtray to the skull.
A while later, my father stepped out of the bedroom, standing directly across from me. "Are you still getting that divorce?"
I looked up. My left ear was completely numb. Watching the movement of his lips, I slowly shook my head.
"I'm divorcing him."
My father's face flushed a furious red. Pointing at the front door, his voice trembled with rage: "Fine! From this day on, you are no daughter of mine! You will never set foot in this house again!"
My mother tugged at his sleeve, but he shoved her arm away violently.
I braced myself against the armrest of the couch and stood up. The blood on my left ear had already begun to clot, pulling painfully against the torn skin.
I raised a hand to cover the deafened ear and gave my father a single, quiet nod. "Understood."
I had walked in and out of this door for over twenty years. The moment it was permanently slammed shut in my face, one thing became entirely clear to me.
No matter how brutal my life became from now on, I would never, ever dream of coming back here.
I grabbed my bag from the sofa and walked toward the door. Behind me, my mother sobbed my name. My hand paused on the doorknob for a fraction of a second, but I didn't turn back.
This escape route was one I chose to sever with my own hands.
第3章
Clara's POV
Back in the city, my first stop was the ER.
The emergency doctor examined my ear, informing me that the cartilage was torn and needed stitches, and the eardrum was partially ruptured. I had to let it heal carefully, and if it worsened, surgery would be unavoidable.
"How did this happen?"
"Accidentally bumped into something."
The doctor glanced toward the waiting room door. "No family came with you?"
I shook my head.
They didn't use local anesthesia for the stitches. As the needle pierced through torn flesh, a searing pain shot across the side of my face straight into my brain. I clutched the hem of my shirt, never making a sound.
Five stitches in total.
The nurse taped a gauze pad over my ear, and I swept my hair down to conceal it.
The doctor wrote a prescription for antibiotics, warning me to keep it completely dry, return to have the stitches removed, and get regular checkups on the eardrum.
My right ear heard every word clearly. My left ear remained muffled and dead.
My phone kept buzzing incessantly inside my purse. I pulled it out and held it to my right ear. It was a bar manager, sounding frantic.
"Is this Mrs. Mitchell? Mr. Mitchell got into a massive brawl at our place and smashed several tables. You need to get down here right away to settle the damages and pick him up."
"We're getting divorced. Call someone else."
I hung up, flipped the phone to silent, and took two steps before the screen lit up again. The same manager.
I answered, and the voice on the other end rushed out: "Someone has to pay for the destroyed property! If you don't show up, we have no choice but to call the police. If this blows up, it won't look good for anyone."
If it really blew up, it would reach Jeremy's company and leak to our relatives. That would only drag out my pending divorce with endless complications.
Hailing a cab, I reminded myself: the only reason I was dealing with this was to make sure my divorce went through cleanly and quickly.
People were coming and going outside the lounge entrance, with two bouncers dragging out tables with broken legs.
The second I stepped out of the taxi, I spotted two figures sitting on the front steps.
Jeremy leaned against the wall, a split lip bleeding and one side of his face heavily bruised.
Chloe was crouched in front of him, pressing a tissue against his lip, scolding gently, "Are you stupid? Getting into a fistfight with strangers? Look at your face!"
Jeremy didn't look angry in the slightest. In fact, he looked genuinely pleased.
"Who told him to whistle at you? He dared lay eyes on my woman."
"If you pull something like this again, I'm not taking care of you."
Jeremy grabbed her hand, resting it on his knee with a gentle pat. "Don't worry. Before our baby is born, I'll make sure you're my bride."
"Who says I want to be your bride?"
Chloe lowered her head, but the corners of her lips curved into a smug smile.
I stood on the opposite side of the street, the hospital bill still clutched tightly in my fingers.
For six years, I genuinely believed I was the only person who could keep him from self-destructing with alcohol. He was the one who begged me, and I was the one who watched over him. I thought I was indispensable.
Now, someone else was dabbing his bleeding lip and fussing over him, and he was just as thrilled.
All those drinks I took for him, all those years of babysitting—completely meaningless.
I folded the medical bill in half and shoved it back into my bag.
The manager called again. I glanced at the screen and powered the phone off entirely.
His drinking, his split lip—none of it was my responsibility anymore.
I didn't step through the doors, didn't make a scene, and simply turned on my heel and walked away.
The freshly stitched ear throbed with a sharp, pulsing ache. I pressed a hand against it, walking to the curb to flag down another cab.
The driver asked where I was headed. I stayed silent for a long time before muttering, "Just drive forward for now."
第4章
Clara's POV
I didn't go straight home.
I found a 24-hour diner down the street, ordered two cold beers, and sat alone in a booth, drinking.
My left ear still throbbed with a dull, biting pain. I downed bottle after bottle until the glasses on the table blurred into double vision, only then bracing myself against the booth to stand up.
I nearly lost my balance paying the tab. The owner asked if I needed a cab called, but I waved him off, stumbling into the night toward the house.
It was well past midnight when I got back. The moment the front door pushed open, the living room was ablaze with light.
Jeremy and Evelyn were both sitting on the sofa, looking like they had been waiting for hours.
Jeremy shot up first, planting himself right at the base of the stairs to block my way up. "Where the hell have you been? Coming back this late? Who were you with?!"
His voice boomed so loud it sent a violent ring through my left ear.
Evelyn didn't move an inch. Clutched in her hands was a ceramic teacup. She dropped a single, flat question: "Are you genuinely trying to get a divorce, or are you just throwing another temper tantrum?"
I looked past Jeremy straight at Evelyn, letting out a faint smirk. "It's real. I'm divorcing him."
Evelyn's face instantly hardened. "Fine. As long as you've thought it through."
She set her cup down, turned, and walked into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a heavy thud.
One side of my face was swollen, and the blood on my shirt collar had dried into a crusty, dark brown ring. From the moment I stepped through that door, neither of them had spared a single glance at my face.
Before turning the doorknob, I had still harbored a pathetic sliver of hope, thinking someone might just ask me what happened.
Now, it was just the two of us left in the living room.
Jeremy glared at me for several long seconds before letting out a cold, venomous sneer. "No wonder you're so desperate for a divorce. You found yourself a side piece, didn't you?"
I turned my face away, refusing to waste breath arguing with him.
The quieter I stayed, the more furious he became.
He reached out, grabbed my left ear in a brutal grip, and yanked my face violently toward him, forcing my eyes to meet his. "Speak! Who is he?!"
His fingers clamped down directly over the fresh stitches. A blinding wave of agony tore through my entire body, and tears instantly flooded my eyes.
That ear had five fresh stitches put in only a few hours ago, hidden beneath my hair where he couldn't see.
Seeing that I refused to speak, he tightened his grip even harder. "Talk to me! Are you mute?! I asked you who he is!"
The sound of the sutures ripping apart was faint, but I heard every single thread snap.
Warm blood cascaded down my neck, soaking straight into my collar.
I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let out a single whimper, glaring straight into his eyes.
I wanted to scream from the excruciating pain, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing it.
All he cared about tonight was dragging out the name of another man. As for how my ear got torn open in the first place, he hadn't asked a single question.
Suddenly, Jeremy let go. He looked down at his own hand, completely coated in fresh red blood.
The collar of my cream-colored knit sweater was rapidly turning a deep, wet crimson.
Panic flashed across his face. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to touch my ear. "You... why didn't you say something earlier..."
I shoved him back with every ounce of strength I had left, my fingernails raking across his face, carving several deep, bloody gouges down his cheek.
Caught off guard, Jeremy stumbled backward, his lower back slamming into the sofa armrest.
"Don't touch me."
I clamped a hand over my ear, blood seeping through my fingers, splashing drop by drop onto the hardwood floor.
Bracing myself against the wall, I dragged myself up the stairs step by agonizing step, with only one thought left in my mind: I wouldn't spend another night under this roof.
In the middle of the night, a violent fever took over.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, burning up, my left ear pulsing with unbearable agony.
I tried to sit up to pour a glass of water. The moment I pushed myself off the mattress, the room spun black, and I collapsed onto the floor.
第5章
Clara's POV
When awareness finally crawled back, I was already lying in a hospital bed.
An IV needle was taped to the back of my hand, saline dripping steadily through the tube.
Opening my eyes, I saw Jeremy sitting right by the bedside. Several red scratch marks from my fingernails stood out against his cheek, covered in thin scabs.
He propped a pillow behind my back, helping me sit up, and the pills on the nightstand were already laid out neatly across a paper napkin, one by one.
The ear-twisting, the blood—he acted as though none of it had ever happened.
I turned my head away, dodging the glass of water he brought to my lips.
Jeremy's hand paused, but the easy smile quickly returned to his face as he set the glass down. "Still mad? Be mad at me all you want, but don't play games with your health. Your fever spiked past a hundred and two. You scared the hell out of me."
He pulled the blanket up over my shoulders. That calm, unshakable confidence was something I had seen sixteen times before. It proved one thing: he was dead certain I would come around on my own in a few days.
My throat was completely raw, but my words were razor-sharp. "Jeremy, I'm not throwing a tantrum. The divorce is real."
The smile on his face flickered, then plastered itself right back on. "Sure. Once you're fully recovered, you can throw whatever fit you want."
The more serious I sounded, the more convinced he was that I simply couldn't bear to leave him. All this water and medicine were just his familiar tools to reel me back in.
I looked out the window, my head pounding with a heavy fog, leaving only one singular thought: I had to get out.
He didn't take offense. Instead, he leaned in a little closer. "By the way, I forgot to tell you something. I took your boss out to dinner a couple of days ago. I had him eliminate your position. You don't need to work anymore. I'll take care of you."
I whipped my head around so fast it tore at the wound on my ear, the sheer agony sending black spots dancing across my vision. "What did you say?"
"I said you don't need to work anymore. That job ran you ragged every single day, and for what? The pocket change you brought home? Just stay home, focus on getting your body healthy, and we can—"
"Who gave you permission to do that?!"
"I'm your husband. I can't even make this kind of decision for you?"
"That was my career!"
"You belong to me entirely. That means I get to decide your career, too."
He reached out to take the hand with the IV needle. I yanked it back instantly, the needle shifting beneath my skin, sending a sharp sting that made me bite down on my lip.
I stopped listening to whatever came out of his mouth next.
My color-mixing station, the raw pigments, the eighty-three custom lipstick shades I painstakingly formulated over the years—that was the independent path I had built for myself from scratch.
I had already planned it all out: once the divorce was finalized, as long as I kept my job, I could rent a small apartment and live entirely on my own terms.
He severed that lifeline over a single business dinner.
That was when the truth hit me with brutal clarity. He didn't just want me trapped inside that house; he wanted every single dollar I spent to come straight from his wallet, ensuring that the day I finally wanted to leave, I wouldn't have a single penny to my name.
My fingers curled tight into the hospital bedsheet, the IV needle bleeding into the skin on the back of my hand.
第6章
Clara's POV
I raised my hand to slap him, but Jeremy leaned back effortlessly, dodging the blow.
Watching me tremble with rage, he actually laughed. "I know what you're after. You just want your own money so you don't have to depend on me, right? Fine. I'll give you a chance."
I pulled my hand back, staring at him with cold detachment.
Jeremy leaned casually against the bed rail, hands shoved into his slacks, his tone infuriatingly leisurely. "A major client's daughter is getting married. She wants an exclusive, one-of-a-kind lipstick shade, and she specifically requested you to formulate it. If you pull it off, that condo on the east side? I'll transfer the title entirely to your name."
My fingertips twitched.
I had seen that condo on the east side before. The lighting was gorgeous, and the balcony caught the warm afternoon sun.
Years ago, I had mentioned to Jeremy that once I saved enough money, I wanted to buy a small place of my own, somewhere I could retreat to whenever we had a falling out.
That place had always been my mental safety net. With it, the day I walked away, I wouldn't have to leave empty-handed.
My job was gone. I needed somewhere to land.
"Fine. I'll do it."
Jeremy clearly hadn't expected me to agree so quickly. He reached out to pat my head, but I leaned away, avoiding his touch.
"Good girl."
For the next twelve days, my hospital bed became my laboratory.
My fever hadn't completely broken, leaving my head spinning with dizziness, and my left ear remained muffled and dull.
Batches of lab samples from the factory arrived at my room one after another. Sitting propped up in bed under natural daylight, I swatched them directly onto my lips, wiped them off, and tweaked the formulation for the next round.
The client wanted a delicate, sweet pink infused with micro-shimmer—the exact aesthetic young girls obsessed over, the complete opposite of the muted, high-fashion tones I usually developed.
Swatching so many formulas stripped the moisture completely from my lips, leaving them cracked, peeling, and screaming with pain at the slightest touch. I coated them in heavy balm, took a thirty-minute break, and went right back to work.
One night, the testing stretched well past midnight. My lips split open, bleeding. The moment the pigment hit the raw tear, the stinging brought tears straight to my eyes. I dabbed it with a tissue and reached for the next tube.
I counted down the days in my head. Once this formula was finished, I would have a home of my own. No one would ever have the power to throw me out again.
Twelve days. Over forty formulation revisions. More than fifty ruined test tubes. My lips were so swollen that even drinking water felt like fire. But finally, I nailed the exact shade the client wanted: a soft, petal pink kissed with refined gold shimmer.
The day of the handover, Jeremy came to visit.
I handed him the final sample, my lips visibly swollen, my voice raspy. "The shade is done. About the condo..."
Jeremy took the lipstick, completely ignoring my question.
Suddenly, he pulled a tissue from the box, reached over, clamped his hand over my mouth, and violently wiped away the fresh swatch I had just applied.
The rough paper dragged against my raw, swollen lips, sending a searing shock of pain through my face.
He tossed the stained tissue into the trash can. "Now that you're done, quit obsessing over this crap. This shade doesn't suit you anyway. A woman your age shouldn't be wasting her energy on things like this."
He looked me up and down, adding with a smirk, "Besides, who else would want you except me?"
The condo wasn't mentioned again. Not a single word.
I sat on the hospital bed, staring straight through him.
Twelve days of grueling effort. Over fifty ruined sample tubes. Deep, bleeding cracks across my lips. In his eyes, all of it was worth nothing more than a used tissue.
He had never intended to give me that property. What he wanted was to prove that even burning with a fever, I would still work for him like a dog—and once it was over, I was supposed to thank him for giving me the opportunity.
Arguing with him would only lead back to his suffocating control. I knew this bill had to be settled somewhere he had no voice.
Unsettled by my silence, Jeremy muttered a few generic words telling me to rest up and walked out.
The second the door clicked shut, I dialed my attorney. "There are a few things I need to document."
Over the years, eighty-three custom shades had been commercialized under the company name. Which shade sold how many units in which year, and the exact royalties owed to me—I rattled off every single detail to my lawyer, entirely from memory.
On top of that, I had photographed and timestamped every single one of the forty-plus formula iterations I had created over the past twelve days.
I included Jeremy's private interference with my employer that got me wrongfully terminated.
"All of this is evidence," I said coldly. "I want everything he owes me back, with interest."
Hanging up, I instinctively licked my cracked lips, wincing at the sharp sting. But for the first time in years, my heart felt completely anchored.