The Demon King's Wife

CHAPTER 1: HELL BREAKING LOOSE GOT NOTHING ON AN ANGRY WIFE

FLORENCE'S POV

"You lying, cheating, two-faced son of a—"

I lunged at Ethan, my voice echoing through the office space, shattering whatever pretense this disgusting birthday celebration had tried to maintain.

I grabbed a champagne glass, and before I even processed it, I hurled it across the room.

It missed his head by inches and crashed into the wall, splattering liquid and glass shards everywhere.

"Florence!" Ethan shouted, stepping back like I was a wild animal. Maybe I was.

Maybe I had finally lost it.

I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You told me there was no celebration! No party! And yet here you are, toasting with your real wife and your happy little replacement family!"

The woman standing next to him, brunette, beautiful, and perfectly put together, flinched, clutching his arm like she was protecting him.

His actual wife.

"Oh, don’t look so surprised, sweetheart," I sneered, storming toward her, shoving a tray of appetizers off a table as I passed. "Did he tell you about me? Or were you just as blissfully ignorant as I was?"

Her lips parted, and for a second, I saw confusion. Then realization. Then anger.

"Who the hell are you?"

I turned back to Ethan.

"Oh, you didn’t tell her?" I threw my arms in the air, laughing like a mad woman. "Ethan, darling, why don’t you introduce us properly? You know, before I break more of your precious office decor?"

His face was pale now, his eyes darting between me, his wife, and the horrified employees and clients.

"Florence, let's talk outside," he said, voice low, trying to contain the disaster.

"Outside?" I echoed mockingly, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Outside?! You don’t get to dictate where this conversation happens! Not after you’ve humiliated me like this!"

I grabbed the cake from the table his precious, stupid birthday cake with the cute icing and golden candles and I slammed it into his chest.

I wiped my cake-covered hand on the nearest chair, my breath coming out like panting.

"Florence, stop this!" he snapped, stepping toward me, his fake facade cracking into fury.

I backed away, grabbing the first thing I could find, a decorative sculpture from his shelf and I threw it to the floor. It shattered.

Then another. .

Then a lamp.

My hands were moving faster than my mind. The more destruction, the better. The more chaos, the better.

"Florence, you're embarrassing yourself!" Ethan hissed.

"Embarrassing myself?" I scoffed. "I married a man who has a whole other wife and family, and I’m the one embarrassing myself?"

Security was stepping in now, hesitating, probably unsure if they should intervene. I could hear murmurs, whispers. Crazy woman. What the hell is going on?

And then, I saw it.

A knife. A small, decorative one from his desk. Sharp enough.

I grabbed it.

A shiver ran through the crowd as they saw what was now in my hand. Ethan's eyes widened.

"Florence, put that down."

"Why?" My voice came out eerily calm. "So you can keep lying? Keep pretending?"

His wife gasped. "Ethan, do something!"

"You took everything from me," I whispered, my vision blurring with rage and heartbreak. "So I’ll take something from you, too."

And then, I ran at him.

I don’t know if I wanted to hurt him. I don’t know if I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain I was feeling.

But when the knife plunged into his side, a sickening wet sound filled the air, and everything slowed.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then the screaming started.

"Oh my God!"

"Call an ambulance!"

"She's lost her damn mind!" His actual wife screamed as she rushed to his side

Ethan stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding side, his expression a mixture of shock and agony.

People scrambled away from me as if I was some kind of wild animal. Security lunged, but I was already running.

I ran through the office, ran past gaping mouths and horrified faces, bursting out into the hallway.

The elevator was damn too slow. I shoved through the stairwell door, my breathing was heavy as I stumbled down the stairs, my fingers shaking, my mind was racing.

I stabbed him.

I stabbed my husband.

The weight of what I had done dawned on me, I felt like crying, but I didn’t stop moving. I ran out of the building, into the night, my legs carrying me home like as if a ghost was chasing me.

…

I shoved open the apartment door, grabbed my suitcase.

I put in everything I could lay hands on.

Clothes, passport, whatever cash I could find…I stuffed everything in, my heart hammering.

They’d come for me.

The police.

The reporters.

I couldn’t stay here.

Tears streamed down my face as I zipped the suitcase shut and staggered toward the door.

I needed somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar.

There was only one place left.

…

I banged on my dad's door, my body trembling. It was late—almost midnight—but I didn’t care.

The door swung open, and there he was.

My dad, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took me in. My wild hair. My tear-streaked face. The small suitcase clutched in my trembling hands.

"Florence?" His voice was soothing.

I inhaled shakily. "I messed up. Dad, I messed up."

He looked around and ushered me inside quickly. Sat down and poured two cups of coffee for both of us.

"Tell me."

And I did. I told him everything.

Then, without a word, he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a small, sealed box—no bigger than a cufflink case.

He turned it over in his hand before offering it to me.

"Take this," he said.

I frowned,

"What is it?" I asked.

His lips curved into a sad smile. "A lifeline."

I stared at him in confusion.

"Florence," he said gently, "you need to leave. Go to Xandace. Start over. Don’t open that box until you get there."

I swallowed hard. "Dad, I—"

His hands gripped mine, steadying me. "Promise me."

Tears burned my eyes. "I promise."

…

I sat in my seat, staring out of the airplane window. My father’s words echoed in my mind. A lifeline.

My father had known I would need to leave. That I would have nowhere else to go.

I closed my eyes, forcing back the tears.

The moment I stepped off the plane, I wasted no time. I sat on one of the airport seats, my hands shaking as I finally opened the box.

Inside, was a small bunch of keys and a QR code printed on a paper.

Huh?

I scanned the code with my phone. A second later, a location popped up on my screen.

My fingers curled around the keys.

I hailed a cab, my voice barely steady as I gave the driver the address.

We finally pulled up in front of a building. I stepped out, staring at the sleek, modern apartment complex.

With trembling fingers, I fit the key into the lock.

It turned effortlessly.

Damn

My father had given me a home.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I whispered, "Dad…"