I’m Divorcing with You Mr Billionaire! (Sydney and Mark)

Chapter 99

Chapter 99 Chapter Ninety Nine

Sydney’s POV

I hadn’t seen Dylan for two freaking weeks. Two weeks of blessed silence and freedom from his sickening touch and mind games. But I knew the reprieve wouldn’t last.

That day, after the dumb test with the unloaded gun, he showered and then we had breakfast to- gether. An awkward, tension–filled meal where I struggled to keep up the facade of a lovestruck woman while hiding my revulsion. When we finished, he brought me to an impressive mansion on the outskirts of the city.

He said just a sentence, a sentence that had me twitching my lips into a weird smile to stop myself from scoffing. “You are now my woman, this place will be your home from now on.”

On the surface, this would have been ideal, as I never wanted him around in the first place. But I needed him close to get to know more about him, make him fall for my act, and most crucially, to monitor his every move. Distance would make achieving my goal nearly impossible.

Besides, I was starting to get paranoid that this twisted plan might not go exactly as I’d envisioned. Maybe it was a stupid plan from the start, because in this huge, garish mansion, I wasn’t the only woman he had stashed away. I was just one of many.

How wonderful it would have been if the other women were simply maids meant to serve me and be at my every beck and call. But no, the other women were all Dylan’s lovers – some of whom. seemed genuinely, disturbingly in love with him. Sad, empty souled creatures. And all I had in this gild- ed prison was just a single room to call my own.

I was starting to get desperate. I had thought I was playing a finely–tuned game of love with the bas- tard, stringing him along until I could strike. But now, it seemed I was just another of his many play- things, easily discarded, and I had never really gotten anywhere near his twisted heart.

Worse, I couldn’t even have the utter peace of mind I should have expected, because the veteran members of his harem were obviously jealous of the new competition. They tried to bully me as the newest concubine, so I was usually in the middle of a shouting fight or physical altercation. There was no way I would let them bully me and go unpunished. This content © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

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Besides, it was another way of proving to any watchful eyes that I actually loved Dylan, even when he wasn’t present. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve yelled with dramatic vigor “Dylan is all mine, you bitches!” Who knew who among them was his spy, reporting back my every move.

But I got tired of the clawing and backbiting after the first three days, as it seemed to be the only thing the women did. It was like a mindless chore – they woke up, bathed, and then came out of their rooms solely to fight and scratch at each other, struggling to win Dylan’s fleeting favor and maintain their meaningless status. I started to outrightly ignore their sneers and bitter words. They were meaningless gnats, unworthy of my attention.

I didn’t entirely blame them though. With Dylan wearing Lucas‘ beautiful face, I could understand why some woman might be drawn to his physical appearance alone. Because there was absolutely no way any woman in her right mind would ever fall for his vile, abusive personality unless she too

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Chapter 90 Chapter Ninety Nine

was just as mentally unwell.

I didn’t want to participate in their vapid game anymore. I was afraid that if I did, I would get hope- lessly trapped in the unreasonable struggle for dominance and utterly forget why I was actually here – my thirst for justice. Who knew if there was even another garish mansion filled with more dispos- able women somewhere. It would be a fruitless, infinite fight.

So one day, I simply tried to leave the mansion altogether. And strangely, though thankfully, no one stopped me as I calmly strolled out the front gates and into the grounds. Perhaps this isolation from him was another of Dylan’s twisted tests?

I suddenly found myself laughing like a crazed person once I made it back to my room – the single room that was assigned to me in this den of depravity. This had to be Dylan’s new gauntlet, no doubt.

Perhaps I was inadvertently making progress and regaining his trust, bit by bit. He seemed to be try- ing to prove some sadistic point by allowing me freedom to leave. He was loudly stating that whether I chose to stay or go, it didn’t truly matter because he had an entire stable of disposable women to replace me with at his beck and call.

It was such a contradictory and ludicrous game he played. If he was truly trying to claim he didn’t care if I left for good, then why did he make me tear up my own passport before our journey? Per- haps he was certain that no matter where I ran, I had nowhere permanent to go and could only in- evitably return to the mansion, utterly dependent on him. I guess that knowledge alone satisfied the sick bastard’s ego.

Ha! What a deranged mind game was this? Some twisted way to train obedient pets? Or perhaps it was merely his idea of fun – learning just how to instill discipline and loyalty in his mindless human playthings. Or maybe in his demented perspective, we were all simply pests to be toyed with until he grew bored.

But I did later leave the grounds of the gaudy mansion for my own reasons. I simply walked straight out the gates and eventually found an old bicycle to borrow. Utilizing my uncannily accurate memo- ry, it wasn’t difficult at all for me to navigate through the surrounding forest and locate Lucas‘ grave in a remote clearing.

Į parked the bicycle a respectful few feet from his grave and started to clear away the weeds and overgrowth from the makeshift mound of earth marking his final resting place. I worked steadily, feel- ing an odd sense of calm.

I wasn’t scared at all to be out here alone. In fact, I found myself almost reflexively chatting with Lu- cas about the most random, inconsequential things, just like when we were little children and he was alive. Talking to the silence was strangely comforting, like he could still hear me.

My heart felt heavy with a melancholic ache at the happier memories of him, which were

now over- flowing behind my eyes and threatening to spill over into tears. But I watched what I said carefully, mostly just recounting our times together and relaying stupid jokes or anecdotes that I knew would have made Lucas laugh uproariously – I hoped he was laughing wherever his spirit now resided. Be- cause I had no doubt that Dylan almost certainly had someone tracking me without my knowledge during this unsupervised outing. Or maybe there was already some kind of locator or recording de-

Chapter 99 Chapter Ninely Nine.

vice planted on me or in my belongings.

“You remember that time when I first saw you?” I smiled heartily. I imagined that Lucas smiled back at me like he always did, waiting for me to narrate how our first meeting had unfolded again. “I was stuffing my face with all the nice food in your kitchen like the glutton that I was when you wheeled in and stared at me.

He would laugh uproariously at this point, just like he did when I first told the story years ago. I could almost hear the warmth of his laughter echoing through the trees.

Then I covered my face with my hands, feigning embarrassment. “Goodness, I hate to imagine what a slovenly sight I must have looked like back then.”

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In my mind’s eye, he would give me that long, thoughtful look of his that always made butterflies go wild in my belly and my face flush red. Then he’d smile that beautiful, crinkly–eyed smile and say that kind voice I loved so much, “You looked cute, Syd. As cute as can be.”

Hours slowly passed as I sat there, reliving our happiest moments together and making new imagi- nary memories with Lucas to fill the void of his absence. I tried my best not to dwell on those agoniz- ing final days where he laid bedridden and miserable in the hospital. By the time I finished carefully clearing all the weeds and growth from his grave mound, the sun had set, casting long shadows through the trees.

Not wanting to leave just yet, I decided to make him a little flower wreath before departing, just like the ones I used to make for him when we were kids. I gathered some wildflowers growing around the area, even using some of the weeds I had pulled up. Tired but focused, I sat cross–legged on the forest floor and started weaving the flower stems together into a simple circlet.

Once the wreath was completed, I smiled sadly at my handiwork, running my fingers over the bright petals. “I’m sure he would have loved this one too,” I whispered. He used to treasure every little silly craft I made him, no matter how ugly or lopsided I thought it looked.

I sighed heavily and just sat there for several long seconds, the fragile wreath resting in my hands as I stared silently at the patch of disturbed earth that was his final resting place. Then, so quiet I could barely hear my own voice, I murmured, “Lucas, I will definitely avenge your death. I swear it.”

With those words lingering in the still air, I placed the flower wreath on his makeshift tomb, gently pressing it into the sand so that it would remain in place, a bright spot of color adorning his grave. After taking one last long look to commit this moment to memory, I retrieved the bicycle and slowly pedaled my way back in the direction of the mansion and its occupants. An odd sense of melan- choly hung over me, but also a reinvigorated sense of purpose.

When I arrived back at the garish palace, the women who were milling about stopped what they were doing and just stared at me in surprise. They seemed utterly stunned to see that I had actually returned of my own free will to this gilded prison. The ones who had managed to forge some kind of alllance or friendship in the midst of all the petty drama and constant jockeying for position whis- pered amongst themselves, no doubt wondering what could have brought me back. But I simply ig- nored them all, keeping my face an inscrutable mask as I strode past without a word.

That night, after ensuring the door to my room was locked, I drew myself a long, calming bath, dous- ing my tired body with all the nice scented bath washes, oils, and scrubs I could find stocked in the

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opulent bathroom. Surprisingly, my private chambers were extremely well–appointed with luxuries. The other rooms were probably equipped similarly to keep Dylan’s human pets placated.

Once I was freshly bathed, i slipped into the fanciest, most preciously delicate lingerie set I could. find in the massive wardrobe that came with the room. I squirmed a bit as I carefully pulled on each lace and satin piece, wondering with a twinge of disgust if these intimates had ever adorned the body of some other poor woman he had used and discarded before me, even though the tags and la- bels were still pristine.

With my preparations complete, I laid myself down on the plush bed, posing myself artfully among the mound of pillows, and calmly waited for his inevitable arrival. Perhaps adopting a mask of seduc- tive vulnerability would help regain what little trust he still had in me after my solo outing.

I was nearly starting to doze off, my eyelids growing heavier by the second, when the door to my room was abruptly pushed open from the outside, causing it to slam into the wall with a resounding bang that made me jump.

I sprang up from my half–asleep repose into a seated position, clutching the bed covers to my chest. It took a few moments for my eyes to readjust and process the figure standing in the now open doorway. There was a gloomy, almost pained expression on Dylan’s face – unless I was mistak- ing it for something else? Hurt, maybe?

Whatever stormy emotions were flickering across his features, I knew better than to show any out- ward satisfaction or gloating. I resisted the urge to smile triumphantly, instead keeping my expres- sion one of wary caution as I waited for him to make the first accusation.

“You said you loved me, didn’t you?” he growled in that low, menacing tone of his. “Then why did you

go to him again?”