Chapter 2

The next day, I called my mother, Eleanor. Her voice was calm, as if she'd been expecting this.

"You had the ceremony, but you never filed the license with the state. So the curse's power will be halved. Leave him now, and the worst he'll face is a year of gut rot and a ruined reputation. It's a slap on the wrist compared to what you've endured."

I calmed down. Right, I couldn't separate yet.

Not only would I not separate, I needed to officially register our marriage.

The more he owed me, the more he wronged me, the more he'd have to repay.

Ten months of pregnancy for him to suffer stomach problems for a year?

No way.

I wanted him to suffer a fate worse than death.

For six years, he thought I couldn't leave him, and he grew increasingly outrageous.

He'd hit and curse me at the slightest provocation.

Finally, when Summer was six and Julian suggested divorce, the time was ripe.

I did the math.

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

I deliberately brought up dividing our marital assets.

As expected, he exploded in rage, calling me vicious, his face turning beet red. "Have you earned a single penny for this family all these years? Let me tell you, the house is already in my mother's name, and I don't have a cent to my name! Plus, I want custody of Summer!"

Brenda also pointed her finger at my nose, screaming, "Bitch! If you hadn't latched onto my son, he wouldn't have been soft enough to marry you! Divorce is because you didn't treat him well enough, and now you're dreaming of our assets? Fat chance!"

Seeing them so eager to rush to their doom, I felt at ease. "Fine, I don't want anything. I'll leave with nothing."

Brenda was ecstatic, afraid I'd change my mind, and rushed Julian to book a divorce appointment at City Hall.

The divorce went unusually smoothly.

Stepping out of City Hall, he was officially my ex-husband.

My ex-husband warned me not to tell anyone about the divorce. He probably had an image of a happy, perfect family outside, and if his clients or superiors found out, it would hurt his career.

He probably always thought I was easy to manipulate.

Submissive, only crying when I was hit or cursed.

Even after divorce, he believed I wouldn't defy him.

"Who knows?" I curved my lips into a smile, completely abandoning my usual docile demeanor. "That depends on my mood."

He was shocked by my attitude, then flushed with anger. "You little bitch, how dare you talk to me like that!"

He'd always been like this, thinking he was a king, that everyone should flatter and please him.

Little did he know, my years of submissiveness were just for a multiplied repayment.

My ex-husband raised his fist, intending to punch me in the head like 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. "This is in front of City Hall, there are cameras everywhere. If you touch me, I'll call the police."

His lips twitched violently, then a look of pain crossed his face, and he suddenly threw up.

I understood immediately, and smiled.

The curse was already kicking in.