Put Me in Jail and He Came Begging

Chapter 1: Bitterness and Betrayal

In the shadows of opulence, where wealth could buy anything except loyalty and love, I found myself ensnared in a web of betrayal. My name is Alina, and my life, though seemingly perfect on the outside, was a labyrinth of hidden pain and silent suffering. My parents, pillars of society, had always favored my older brother, Ethan, for reasons I could never comprehend. Ethan, the golden child, was my tormentor. His cruel words and harsh actions were my daily companions, and I had learned to endure them in silence.

In the sanctity of our grand mansion, I was a ghost. My pleas for fairness went unheard, my cries for justice ignored. My mother would brush off Ethan's bullying as sibling rivalry, while my father remained aloof, immersed in his business empire. The bitterness of their indifference seeped into my soul, making me question my worth. I learned early on that love was a currency I could never afford, not even from my family.

Our mansion was a sprawling estate, the epitome of luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a glittering light on the marble floors. The walls were adorned with priceless artworks, and the air was always scented with the delicate aroma of fresh flowers arranged by our team of gardeners. It was a house designed to impress, to showcase our wealth and status, but to me, it was a gilded cage.

Ethan thrived in this environment. With his charming smile and confident demeanor, he was the apple of my parents' eyes. They showered him with praise and affection, oblivious to the cruelty he inflicted on me behind closed doors. He would taunt me relentlessly, finding pleasure in my discomfort. He would mock my interests, belittle my achievements, and remind me constantly that I was second best. His words were like daggers, and over time, they chipped away at my self-esteem.

I remember one particular incident with painful clarity. It was my sixteenth birthday, and I had been looking forward to it for weeks. My parents had promised me a grand celebration, and I had naively believed that, for once, the day would be about me. As the guests arrived, I noticed Ethan was nowhere to be seen. He had been unusually quiet all day, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was planning something.

The party was in full swing when Ethan finally made his entrance. He strolled in with a smug grin, carrying a beautifully wrapped gift. Everyone's attention shifted to him, and I felt a pang of anxiety. He handed me the gift, and as I unwrapped it, my heart sank. Inside was a book, but not just any book – it was my diary. The diary in which I had poured all my innermost thoughts and feelings, my hopes and dreams. Ethan had found it, read it, and now he was exposing it to everyone.

As he began to read aloud from the pages, I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. The guests laughed at my most private thoughts, and my parents did nothing to stop him. They stood by, smiling indulgently, as if Ethan's actions were just harmless fun. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never be seen again. That night, I learned that I couldn't rely on anyone but myself.

But the world outside was no better. My husband, David, was a paragon of kindness to everyone but me. To others, he was a man who wouldn't hurt a fly, but to me, he was a master of emotional neglect. He never raised his voice, yet his indifference cut deeper than any wound. Our marriage was a cold war, a battlefield where my feelings were the casualties. I had married him hoping for a sanctuary, but I found myself in a prison of unspoken words and shattered dreams.

David and I had met through mutual friends. He was charming, attentive, and seemed genuinely interested in me. After years of being overshadowed by Ethan, David's attention was like a balm to my wounded soul. I fell for him quickly, believing that he was the one who would finally make me feel valued. Our courtship was swift, and before I knew it, we were married.

At first, things were good. David was doting and affectionate, and I felt like I had finally found my place. But as time went on, his true nature began to reveal itself. He became distant, spending long hours at work and coming home late. When he was home, he was distracted, more interested in his phone or the television than in me. I tried to talk to him, to express my feelings, but he would dismiss my concerns with a wave of his hand. "You're overreacting, Alina," he would say. "I'm just tired."