Lilian's POV
For three consecutive days and nights, Augusto refused to release me from that bedroom.
There was a time when he lived under my father's roof as nothing more than a husband on paper. He existed so far below my social standing that I never permitted him to touch me. I had shown him nothing but disdain and cruelty.
Now that my world had crumbled while his empire flourished, he was claiming his revenge. And his appetite for it seemed endless.
My husband Augusto Atlas had moved into our family estate after our wedding ceremony, an arrangement my father had demanded. The entire union served as damage control for a scandal that threatened our reputation.
I had always harbored feelings for his younger brother Armand, but during a college reunion party, alcohol clouded my judgment and I found myself in bed with Augusto instead. To silence the whispers and gossip, my father orchestrated our marriage with one strict condition that Augusto would join our household as a live-in son-in-law.
Augusto came from humble beginnings. He was the product of his father's first marriage and became an afterthought once his father remarried into better circumstances.
Meanwhile, my family commanded respect through wealth and influence, and I had grown accustomed to having every desire fulfilled. His father viewed this marriage as a golden opportunity and accepted the arrangement without hesitation. The wedding proceeded as planned.
I was consumed by resentment, constantly tormented by the knowledge that Augusto had stolen my chance at happiness with Armand.
I directed that fury toward tormenting him at every opportunity. I forced him to sleep on the cold floor, never permitting him access to my bed.
During family dinners, my brother Gavin and I would ridicule him mercilessly and often prevented him from eating properly.
When he attempted thoughtful gestures like bringing me an umbrella during storms, I would unleash verbal attacks on him. Finding new ways to humiliate him became a twisted form of entertainment.
His response remained the most puzzling aspect of our dynamic. He never raised his voice or lost his composure. Regardless of the abuse I inflicted, he maintained an unnerving serenity and kindness.
He possessed striking features, but during our school years, he had been painfully introverted, struggling academically and repeating grades multiple times. Most people overlooked him entirely.
His brother represented everything Augusto was not: charismatic, attractive, intellectually gifted, and adored by everyone around him.
One evening, my frustration reached a breaking point. I kicked him awake from his makeshift bed on the floor and demanded water because I felt thirsty.
He rose immediately and returned with a glass of perfectly warmed water, a thoughtful touch during the chilly autumn night.
Yet this act of consideration only intensified my rage, serving as a painful reminder of the night he had taken advantage of my intoxicated state. In my fury, I hurled the entire glass of water directly at his face.
He showed no trace of anger. He simply walked to the bathroom to clean himself up.
As I watched his tall, silent silhouette disappear, guilt pierced through me momentarily. But then I recalled that he was the source of all my misery, and that fleeting remorse evaporated.
For three long years, Augusto absorbed my relentless cruelty without a single complaint.
During that period, everything transformed dramatically. My family's financial empire crumbled into ruins, and against every expectation, my heart began to soften toward him. I had actually started developing genuine affection for him. Then he presented me with divorce papers.
When he placed the documents before me, he offered a simple explanation that his first love had returned to town.
A crushing sensation gripped my chest, making each breath a struggle. However, maintaining my spoiled and prideful facade to the end, I concealed my devastation behind a mask of indifference and signed the papers without displaying any hesitation.
The instant I set down the pen, his gentle voice cut through the silence. "Would you prefer that I call a car for you?"
It required a moment for comprehension to dawn. Naturally, the house where I had spent over twenty years was no longer mine to claim. Following my family's financial collapse, every asset had been liquidated.
Yet Augusto, the man who had supposedly schemed his way into our family, the one we had all dismissed and scorned, had quietly constructed his own business empire while residing under our roof. Now it was flourishing beyond measure, and he had purchased this very property.
I possessed no grounds to criticize him or demand any portion of his success. He had earned every achievement through his own efforts, patiently enduring years of mistreatment without touching a single dollar of my family's wealth.
He remained there, observing me quietly, applying no pressure for my response. His continued kindness only amplified my humiliation, forcing me to confront every cruel action I had committed against him.
He held the power to repay every insult and degradation tenfold, yet he maintained his impeccable gentleness.
"That won't be necessary," I replied hastily. "I can manage on my own." I practically fled in panic.
Just as I reached the entrance, his composed voice reached me. "Did you need anything from me this evening?"
"Nothing at all," I shouted without glancing back, rushing into the darkness.
I gripped the small gift box tightly in my palm. Today marked our third wedding anniversary. I had never shown him kindness before, but as my feelings evolved, I had wanted to commemorate this occasion for the first time.
Instead, I encountered divorce documents. A bitter smile crossed my face. At that moment, rain began falling. I allowed the downpour to drench me completely, leaving me utterly devastated.
The following morning, I awakened with illness coursing through my body, fever burning within me, and I could barely unfold myself from my cramped position in bed. Beyond my flimsy door, a heated argument erupted. We now inhabited a deteriorating apartment complex, a chaotic and filthy environment, but the rental costs were manageable.
I forced my weakened body toward the door and discovered my father positioned dangerously on the crumbling windowsill, shouting that he no longer wished to continue living.
My mother rushed toward him, her cries heart-wrenching and frantic. "If you jump, I will follow you," she sobbed. "We should all just end this together."
My head pounded as I managed to convince him to step down. "It's merely bankruptcy," I said, my voice scratchy. "As long as we remain alive, hope still exists."
Suddenly, Dad turned his piercing stare toward me, causing my pulse to quicken. "Then approach Augusto for assistance," he commanded. "He is your husband. He will help our family."
Mom immediately supported him, grasping my arm desperately. "Absolutely. Even though we weren't particularly welcoming to him previously, he will do it for you. You must go and plead with him."
I could only manage a painful smile. They remained unaware that I had already been abandoned.