Abandoned by my Husband after being a Contracted Wife

I was the secret wife of Cameron Smith, the billionaire CEO of Smith Enterprises. But I didn't have a dime to my name.

Rule number one of our marriage contract: Absolute public secrecy. No public appearances. No shared bank accounts. No acknowledgment.

Tonight, on the fourth year of our marriage, I walked home in the pouring rain. My bus had broken down two miles away. I didn’t call my husband. He hated being disturbed.

I stepped onto the crosswalk. Tires screeched. Blinding headlights pierced the dark.

A luxury car slammed into me. The impact threw me into the air. I hit the wet asphalt hard. My head cracked against the pavement. My vision blurred instantly.

A woman stood over me. Perfect hair, perfect designer coat, untouched by the storm. She looked down at me, her eyes wide with panic.

Camille. Cameron’s first love. The woman who left him for Paris five years ago. The woman who returned just last week. I knew her face. I had seen it in the locked drawer of his desk. I had seen it in the way he stared out the window at night.

She didn't look at my bleeding head. She looked at the scratch on her bumper.

"Cam... I hit someone," she cried into the phone, her voice trembling, soft, helpless. "I was just driving to see you and... please come. I'm scared."

Minutes later, headlights cut through the dark.

A sleek black Maybach pulled up. My heart stopped. My breath hitched.

Cameron. He stepped out into the rain. Tall, imposing, his jaw clenched in that familiar way when he was worried. But he wasn't worried about me.

Panic clawed at my chest. If anyone saw us, if the press found out, he would destroy me. He promised he would.

My hands shook as I pulled my soaked hood over my head, hiding my face. I curled into a ball on the freezing pavement, holding my bruised ribs. I tried to make myself invisible. Just like always.

He walked past the front of the Maybach. His expensive leather shoes splashed in the puddles. He was walking straight toward Camille.

But then, he stopped.

He looked down.

The streetlamp caught my face under the hood. The fabric had slipped just enough.

His eyes locked onto mine.

I saw the shock register on his face. His breath hitched. He knew it was me. He saw the blood dripping from my forehead. He saw me shivering, broken on the ground. He saw his wife.

For one second, the world stopped.

I waited for him to reach out. I waited for him to call my name. Just once. Just to save me.

Then, his expression hardened.

He looked away. He stepped over the puddle of my blood.

"Cam!" Camille threw herself into his arms.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. His voice was soft. Frantic. The voice he never used with me.

"I'm fine," she sobbed into his chest. "But her... Cam, what about her?" Camille pointed a trembling finger at me. "We need to help her. Should we call an ambulance? I didn't mean to hit her, she just came out of nowhere!"

Cameron didn't even look back at me.

"Don't worry about it," his voice was flat. Cold.

"But she's bleeding..." Camille whispered, burying her face in his shirt.

"I'll just call my bodyguard to pay her," Cameron said, his tone dripping with disgust. "She's just a peasant, Camille. She’ll shut up with money."

Just a peasant. The words hit me harder than the car.

My throat closed. I couldn't breathe. Not because of the broken ribs, but because my heart finally shattered into a million unfixable pieces.

He opened the passenger door for her. He helped her inside, making sure she didn't step in the mud. He closed the door.

He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and spoke a few words. Then he got into the driver's seat.

He didn't look at me again.

The Maybach’s engine roared to life.

The tires splashed dirty water onto my face as they drove away, leaving me alone in the dark.

I lay there in the rain, the blood mixing with the puddles. The taillights faded into the distance. The pain in my ribs was nothing compared to the hole in my chest.

Four years of obedience. Four years of waiting. Four years of cooking his meals, warming his bed, and loving a man who never saw me as human.

I pushed myself up with shaking hands. My knees scraped against the asphalt. Blood dripped into my eyes, blinding me.

I didn't cry. I was done crying.

I stared at the empty street.

Our marriage contract had an expiration date. I had promised myself I would endure it for my mother. I had promised myself I could make him love me.

But I didn't need to wait for the date anymore.

I finally accepted it.

Our marriage of four years ended today.

I just needed to get back to that cold mansion. Pack my bags. Leave.

Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

The screen was shattered, but the caller ID glowed through the cracks.

City General Hospital.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Vina?" It was Dr. Arisa. "Your mother just went into cardiac arrest."

The world stopped spinning. It just fell away.

"We are resuscitating her now, but her organs are failing."