Billionaire gangster falls for a single Mom.

When I said it's enough.

By the time I was able to fall asleep, I had noticed the barely perceptible lightening of the night sky that indicated the approaching dawn. I had tried everything in my power to get myself to fall asleep. I tried jumping a few times, applying castor oil to my eyelids, making myself another cup of hot, steaming coffee, brushing my hair, and even massaging my face, but I was still unable to fall asleep.

My life was marred by the past. I recall that it mostly focused on a single evening.

With two broken fingers and a significant bruise on his left arm, Mellisa's father arrived home late and said, "Shelby, I need some spicy beef stew; I am in a lot of pain!" He demanded.

I rushed from bed to open the door since he was knocking on it loudly. When I opened it, he just fell on it since he had put all the weight on the door and our door was out of order. You cannot open it without a password.

"Sherry, how many times do I have to call you so you can open the door?" He said, trying to straighten himself from his slight fall.

"I am sorry; I came as soon as possible," I told him. Then he slammed some parcels on the floor and shouted," Pick that meat up and prepare some spicy beef stew."

I picked up the beef and checked the watch on the wall; it was thirty minutes past three. I bit my lower lip, so I could not question him because that would result in a blow.

As I was cutting my beef into square bits, I stared at him through the kitchen window, and I saw blood.

I don't like sightings of blood, mostly fresh blood. On his left side, it had sapped his shirt and jacket. He sat still and tried to feel his wound, and then he decided to remove the clothes. But he was not able to, and every time he used his right hand, he squirmed like it was injured too.

For some minutes, I stared, my eyes wide open. I was literally in shock, my heart pounding, not aware of what he had gone through. But the worst thing was that he was not going to tell me what had happened or even ask me to help him.

So I continued with my cutting, and then I left the pot of beef stew to simmer and went and stood a few meters from him.

"What is the problem? I can see a lot of blood!" I asked, being concerned.

"Woman, I do not need your help. Go back to the kitchen." Hr shouted.

"And your hand—were you shot? It seems like it was terrorized with a hand grenade. Why won't you talk to me?" I was adamant, examining his body to see if he had been beaten or how the police chase had affected him.Though I was not certain whether it was the police or a rival gang,

"You ask a lot of questions, stupid woman. What concerns you here?" He roared.He was still helpless but still rejected help. His ruthless nature would never allow him to ask for help when he was in need.

"My husband is not fine; why should I not be worried? You need help !' I sneered at him.

"You are sick upstairs. I don't ask women for help. Go check my stew!" He exclaimed

"But it's me here?"

"Are you a doctor?"

" No".

"And can you bring me the first aid box? It had better be stocked and up-to-date!" He would yell angrily.

'Why do you speak like I am the one who takes care of the first aid box?" I replied that I was going to check where I had seen it last.

Why can't he be open to me? I married this man when he had the best of characters, but the world has turned him into a greedy man, and he keeps doing things he can't do. This is what was in my mind all through; I was never part of his outside life, and I was not supposed to question him.

I got back with the first-aid box. If you are unable to recognize your man's injury and fail to remember the first aid kit, what kind of woman are you? He groaned; his will had stopped breeding. He collected a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it on the wound, and he screamed. I was worried people might hear and gather around.

He then commanded, "Lie down here. I want to rest my legs on your back."

I hesitated. How can I be a resting stool? "You go out there, come back with bruises, cuts, and swollen fingers, and you want to make me your resting stool!" I yelled.

"What else do you do in this house? It's eat and eat," he exclaimed. "Alay town here in all fours, or you will make me lose my temper!" .

"What about the food? Go get it. Feed me!" he shouted.

"He doesn't know what he wants; the first minute he is ordering me to do this; the second minute, ooh, he wants to cook." I whispered inaudibly, "Until when will I be a slave in this house?" When will he see me as a wife and not his servant?

I brought the stew and served it to him. He stared at it, like it was not him who came back home with the beef."Is this how I asked you to prepare this beef? I asked you for soup, not stew." He roared, taking the plated food and throwing it at me.

I covered my face with my hands in case the meat was hot enough to scald me; it was painful. When the pieces landed in my hands and my neck, I stared at him, and he was not even remorseful.

"So you want to burn me? You want to spoil my face?" I asked him, shouting. I have gotten angry now. I knew he was disadvantaged, but I could not hit him.

"Burn, crazy woman, burn, and clean up this place; I hate dirty environs!" He shouted; he was never calm, always aggressive, cold, and withdrawing. At first, I thought his job was stressing him, but eventually, when he got worse, I knew it had nothing to do with depression but some bad choices he was working on.

My hands were hurting. I was going around in circles; the pain was excruciating. "Get on it and pee on it!" He said.

Urinate?" When was I going to get urine from? With my shock, it wouldn't be possible. "I hate you, and when they get out of this house, you will never see me again.

I stared at his wound below the armpit; it was as red as blood. He needed to go to the hospital, but he declined, and that's when I realized he was doing things that were illegal, and I confirmed to me that that was a gun wound.

"Stupid man, you have decided to get into robbery. You will be shot soon, and I can take care of my daughter in peace." I thought as I fed him. I entered the kitchen, diluted the soup by adding more water, gathered the meat that was all over the floor and carpet, and was made to eat it before making the soup.

I checked his state and told him it was better if we called an ambulance so he could get better treatment. As for my hands being white in color, I had listened to a clip on the social media platform where it advised rubbing toothpaste on a freshly burned burn. He pushed me, and I fell down with my bowl of soup, which was almost empty.

"Why do you have to do that?"

"You think because I am lame I can't slap you, and where are you getting the guts to keep questioning me from?" He said this and stood up, facing me. Then, using his legs, he kicked me so much that I toppled and landed on the floor on my right side Then my knee started swelling into a balloon-like shape.

I looked at it and screamed. I had never seen such a thing in my whole life. It reached a point and stopped; now that made it difficult for me to walk, but he was still asking me to help him.

"What we need is an ambulance, not the kind of help you are providing!" I answered, trembling , Then he did the unthinkable: he took a pocket knife from his trousers pocket, then stabbed my balloon-like shape around my knee, saying, "This is air, a little vent, and you are good." Before he could finish speaking, a fountain of blood erupted from that wound, striking him. He was referring to the cut vent.

"I screamed as loud as I could; the blood was not stopping, and I didn't have any other option than to drag myself to the table and call for help.

He was fed, and I had used a gauge to cover his wounds, but his fingers were still sweating, and he probably did not know what to do.

Please assist me by washing those hands. He had said, but I had dragged myself to the table and called 911 before he realized what I had done. Before he knew what I had done, I had finished with the details, including the location of the house.

"What have you done?" He slapped me with his sick hand, jumped around the house in pain, and then halted near where I sat.

Why can't you tell me to stop using this hand because it hurts and I have two broken fingers and do not know how to fix them? He yelled while painfully writhing and squirming.

I just stared at him and nodded. "Have you turned into a deaf person? It's nodding without words coming out." He shouted at me.

He returned with a rolling pin for making pastries after going to the kitchen, and he then started beating me. My knee was still in pain, though the bleeding was scarce now.

He was still kicking me with the rolling pin when the ambulance arrived. He didn't even stop when the health workers came to pick me up from the floor where I sat.

They called the police on him, but we were taken to the hospital in the ambulance together. My body was burning, and I could feel pain in every part of my body except my face.

"I hate you so much, and I don't want you in the house. Go to whatever you want to!" I shouted as I wriggled with pain in that stretched bed at the back of the ambulance.

"You think I care; I won't even come home anymore, so I detest you. Who wants to come home to an unhappy woman every night?" He said,

"Go slow on each other, guys; the police have been involved," one of the heath attendants said.

"You think I will come home because of Mellisa, but I won't," he continued.

I always kept Mellisa out of our late-night dramas; she was sharp at a very young age, and anything that happened could ruin her life. So she slept with the nanny in a separate room.

"Stop acting like a child; first, get well. Are you worried about the police coming after you with your gun?" Before I finished, he had slapped me with his other hand.

"My God, you did that in front of us, madam. You need to press charges, and is it true that he fell on barbed wire in the basement?" The attendant asked.

I stared at him. I didn't know whether you said the truth or kept quiet. "I don't know what happened to him; he has not told me yet!"

"You have a beautiful wife, but these intoxicants you are using will spoil your marriage," the attendant commented.

"I am not on drugs!" He said.

"Your eyes can tell it all." .

We arrived at the hospital, and I was glad that he was not staying by my side. But I needed to talk to him.

"Excuse me, please. I need a minute or two to address my baby dad!'. They stopped the wheelchair.

From today on, I don't want you in that house.When I come out of the hospital, I am going to the police station to get a restraining order.

"No worries; when I get out of the hospital,I will go my way. I have enough money to take care of myself. What do you have?" He asked with a smirk on his cheek.

"Let's go," ,and I was taken on a different path as they laid me on that hospital bed. The drugs they had administered to me were taking effect, and I started dozzing. Minutes later, I was snoring in bed.

In my sleep, I began to think of all the things I should have said and done to put him in his place, and for all I was mad that he dared to invade the privacy of my imagination.

Then my mind switched and I started having another dream.