#####Chapter 2:No Destination

The air in the bedroom was now replaced with the smell of betrayal and the sudden demand Issa had made. Marcus, who was now scrambling for a pair of shorts while still in the rage of Issa’s statement.

"Divorce? Are you insane, Issa?!"

Sarah, who was still huddled under the sheet, made a little pathetic whimper. "Marcus, maybe just... talk to her."

Issa's gaze snapped to Sarah. Her tear-filled eyes were now coated with raw venom.

"You," she spat, the word laced with nothing but fury. "You dirty whore. Get out!"

Sarah flinched, and her eyes widened as she began to awkwardly untangle herself from the bed in order to escape.

Marcus stepped in front of Issa. The look on his face was not that of remorse.

"Don't you dare speak to her like that! This is my house, and I decide who stays!"

Issa laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that held no humor. "Did you just say your house? Your bed? The same bed you defiled?” She took two steps forward towards him. "Marcus. You defiled everything."

Her voice rose, displaying her newfound strength born out of betrayal.

"I've been a fool. For years, I've watched you grow distant, make excuses—stupid excuses. The late nights, the 'stress' of work, the cold shoulders you give me every time in our own bed. And I believed you! I blamed myself! I thought if I just loved you more, and tried harder, cooked better meals, that you'd come back to me. All while you were right here, with her!"

Her gaze swept over him, seeing him truly for the first time—not as the loving husband she remembered, but the treacherous, selfish man he had become.

"I am done, Marcus. I am so utterly fed up with you, with this stupid godforsaken marriage. I am done pretending to be okay. And just so you know, I'm leaving. With or without a divorce. I. Am. Leaving."

Sarah, now clumsily dressed, scurried out of the room like a terrified mouse, avoiding Issa's gaze.

Marcus scoffed, a cocky smile twisting his lips. "Leaving? To where? What do you have, Issa? You have nothing without me. You're just a barren woman. Who's going to want you?"

The cruel words, said with the intent of causing her pain, actually hardened Issa's heart.

"I have myself," she stated, her voice now steady even with the brewing sorrow, "and that's more than enough. Mr., you'll hear from my lawyer."

She turned on her heel. Her legs were shaking, but her spirit was determined to leave.

As she stormed past the living room, a figure emerged from the kitchen doorway. It was Marcus's mother, Evelyn. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. She had always made her hatred for Issa clear. She never hid the fact that she wanted Issa out of her son's life—especially after the years of childlessness.

"Who made the eggless hen angry?" Evelyn mocked sweetly, feigning ignorance to the situation around. "Oh my... did you finally decide to leave? Good decision, my dear. Marcus deserves a woman who can give him proper children, not some dessert."

Issa looked at her, eyes filled with controlled anger. She wanted to answer her and give her back the venom she just spat, but she decided it wasn't worth it.

"You and him—you both will get what you deserve someday."

She walked past the woman, leaving the bitter words hanging in the air.

Issa rushed to the guest bedroom, pulling an old bag from the closet. She didn't bother with careful packing. Just necessities. A few clothes she could change into, her wallet, her phone. Each item she tossed into the bag felt like stepping away from a life that was now totally meaningless.

Marcus appeared in the bedroom door, his face now hard, his earlier composure replaced by a chilling possessiveness.

"What are you doing? Stop it, Issa. You're not going anywhere."

He didn't sound apologetic—only annoyed, as if she were a stubborn child going against the rules.

He wasn't sorry for the cheating; he was simply outraged by her audacity to leave. He felt entitled to her presence, to her silent endurance. He felt she owed him a lot for staying with her all those years without a child.

"I told you, Marcus. I'm leaving."

She zipped the bag, the sound partially resounding in the room.

He moved, blocking the door. "You owe me, Issa. This house. Everything. You think you can just walk away?"

His hand shot out, grabbing her arm. His grip was already bearing bruises.

"You're mine."

Issa met his gaze. Her eyes surprisingly held no fear; it was totally replaced by a cold aura.

"I owe you nothing."

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"Let me go!" she screamed, but his grip was firm.

Out of anger, desperation, and every other feeling which she couldn't decipher, she landed a hard kick to his shin. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough. Issa yanked her arm free, turned around—totally ignoring his pain—and carried her bag as she went.

She didn't look back. Not even for a second.

She ran out the door into the darkening evening. She fumbled for her car keys, her heart pounding drastically against her ribs. She threw her bag into the back seat, jumped into the driver's seat, and with shaking hands, started the engine. The car roared to life, and just like that, she sped down the driveway, leaving the ruined home behind her.

The sky suddenly hung low and bruised. Rain began to fall—a relentless downpour. Water streamed down the windshield, exactly like the tears that now coursed silently down her face. She was weeping, not with the raw sobs from before, but with a deep, silent ache that settled into her very bones and deep inside her mind.

The road ahead became blurry. She drove and drove, with no destination in mind—only a desperate need to go as far as possible from the betrayals that had shattered her very existence.

Then, finally, she stopped. And almost immediately, like it was timed, a dark figure loomed through the rain-streaked window, tapping furiously on the glass. Then another strong, intimidating silhouette of a man.

His voice, muffled but deep, cut through the sound of rain, commanding her to open the door.

Before she could react—before she could even— a deafening crash erupted. The man had shattered the window of her car.

A hand reached in, strong and brutal, twisting the lock, yanking the door open.

Her scream was swallowed by the sudden rush of wind and rain. A powerful arm circled around her neck, dragging her out into the storm. She fought, kicked, but it was useless. A blinding pain exploded in her head.

And then, darkness.