I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

SYDNEY'S POV

I received a pornographic video.

"Do you like this?"

The man speaking in the video was my husband, Mark, whom I hadn't seen for several months. He was naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully into a woman whose face I couldn't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I could clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts.

"Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screamed ecstatically in response.

"You naughty girl!" Mark stood up and flipped her over, slapping her buttocks as he spoke. "Stick your ass up!"

The woman giggled, turned around, swayed her buttocks, and knelt on the bed.

I felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head. It was bad enough that my husband was having an affair, but what was worse was that the other woman was my own sister, Bella.

I let the video play, watching and listening to the two of them having sex, my disgust growing stronger with each moment. Every time I heard their moans, my heart felt like it was being stabbed.

The cheating continued. After a few more slaps, he grabbed her buttocks, thrust his penis deep into her vagina, and started pounding vigorously.

After a few more thrusts, Mark and Bella moaned together as they climaxed. They collapsed on the bed, kissing and caressing each other's faces.

"Do you treat my sister like this in bed too?" Bella's coquettish voice rang out.

"Don't mention her," Mark's ruthless voice echoed. "I haven't even kissed her; she can't compare to you at all."

"I knew you only loved me!" Bella smiled satisfied, hooking Mark's neck, leaning in to kiss him, and said, "I want to do it again!"

Seeing them rolling together again, I felt a wave of nausea and couldn't watch anymore. I angrily pressed the pause button, swallowing hard.

I was very clear-this video must have been sent by Bella. She wanted to tell me that she still had Mark in her grip, and I was powerless against it. Apart from a certificate and title, Mark and I didn't resemble a married couple at all. Bella indeed knew how to twist the knife further.

Three years ago, on that fateful day I never imagined would begin the worst turning point of my life, everything was ready to celebrate the union of Bella and Mark. It was only minutes to the wedding when Bella disappeared-or at least, everyone found out she was gone. Bella was nowhere to be found.

My parents, desperate to salvage the embarrassment and save face in front of the guests or whatever it was they were trying to protect that day, turned to me. They told me to put on my sister's wedding dress, to take Bella's place at the altar.

There was no room for argument, nor was I given the choice to say no. I was to be the figurehead, the stand-in bride who would fulfill the ceremony in Bella's absence. There were no words of blessing and no well-wishes for a happy future. Instead, all I received were instructions to "be a good wife."

This was how it all started.

I was left numb, standing there in the borrowed wedding dress to exchange vows with a man I barely knew. It felt as though my dreams and aspirations were suddenly overshadowed by the harsh reality of my circumstances. It was like my life had been snatched away from me in an instant, and I barely recalled what happiness felt like after that day. I was constrained in every sense of the word.

Did I say this was how it all started?

No, I think it actually dated back to when I was three and had unfortunately gone missing. For eighteen long years, I lived away from my home and family. Growing older. As I grew older-from being a child to a teenager and then a young adult-I kept searching for my roots again. And when my long-awaited dream of reuniting with my family became reality, it was nothing like I'd expected.

There was no joyous reunion, no tears of happiness.

Instead, I was met with something close to indifference.

As if I were a stranger who had wandered into their lives. My parents seemed to have moved on from me after all those years I was gone. All the love they had was for Bella; barely any was left for me.

I guess there was nothing left, in fact, because if there was, I would at least have been pitied enough to be told that Bella had returned from abroad and had somehow found her way into my husband's arms.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with an incoming video call from Bella. I didn't want to answer it at first but ended up swiping green. Bella's face popped up on the screen, sitting in the same room from the video with a towel wrapped around her body.

"Hi, hope you're having a happy day over there," Bella chirped with a smug smile.

She moved the phone's camera around to show more of the room, and in the background, I caught a faint glimpse of Mark walking into the bathroom.

"Guess who's going to die a pathetic old virgin? Not me!" She laughed callously.

I silently clenched my teeth. I was reeling with annoyance from the insult.

"He doesn't deserve you," she added. "He deserves better. And I'm what's perfect for him, darling."

There was no way I was going to listen to any more of that. I angrily ended the call and flung the phone on the bed, then buried my head in my hands.

I'd had enough. I wasn't going to sit still and let myself be dragged through the mud like a rag any longer.

By the time Mark returned to the house, it was already well into the night. I sat on the cold tiles of the living room, hanging my chin on my palm and nearly dozing off when I heard the sound of the front door clicking. That familiar musky scent of his followed him inside, and I could swear I smelled Bella on him too.

My eyes blinked open, and I raised my head, locking a blank gaze with his face. There was that brick-hard look on his face which he always had when I was around. To think of how he had been grinning from ear to ear earlier with Bella.

After our marriage, everything I'd been told by my parents to do, I did-taking care of his food, his daily life, and several other things too many to count, all for three years. It happened so frequently it became a ritual, like a dance ingrained in my daily routine. Mark accepted it without question. But not for one day did Mark spare me even a second glance.

Mark shut the door behind him and began walking into his room, treating me as usual, like I was invisible. For the first time, I spoke.

"I want a divorce."

He turned to face me, an incredulous look on his face.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want this title of wife anymore," I answered without mincing words.

That day three years ago, when I stood in that white dress, and he in his tuxedo, a congregation behind us and a preacher in front, I saw the calm look of restrained anger in his eyes when he realized it was not Bella behind the veil, but me.

I remembered my chest tightening behind the diamond necklace I was wearing. The way his stare burned. How stupid and helpless I felt in that dress. How my parents smiled as if they'd not just pushed me out there against my will, and the congregation cheered, probably with no idea what was happening.

"You may now kiss the bride," the pastor announced.

Mark leaned closer toward me, but not to kiss. He merely brushed his face past my cheek and spoke into my ear, "The only thing you can get is the title of wife."

And that title was what I was giving back to him. I didn't want it anymore. I wished I'd never let myself take it in the first place. I'd let go of too much of myself and endured more than I needed to. It was the height of everything.

"I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly.

He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics or try to attract my attention!"

How typical of him to believe that I was trying to get his attention. I hadn't attracted that so-called attention of his for over three years, and now when I mentioned divorce, he remembered it.

The last thing I wanted to do was argue or bicker with him.

"I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster.

He didn't say another word after that and just walked through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered absentmindedly on the doorknob before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. Don't even ask why I had it on in the first place.

I grabbed my suitcase, which I had already packed, and headed out of the house. The wind outside felt different afterward, like a heavy burden was being lifted off my shoulders for the first time in a very long while. The feeling of the night breeze blowing through the strands of my hair was immaculate.

Grabbing my phone from my purse and swiping quickly across the screen, I put the phone to my ear, hearing it ring.

"I am divorcing. Come pick me up."