After betrayed, I abandoned my gangster husband

The salt from my sweat stung the fresh surgical scar on my abdomen, a constant reminder of the kidnapping attempt three months ago. Mike's weight was heavy, his movements urgent and demanding as he pressed me into the mattress.

"Mike," I gasped, my fingers digging into his muscular shoulders.

"Stay with me, Elaine," he growled, his voice thick with a heat I had mistaken for devotion for five years. "Right here. Fuck, you're perfect."

He moved with a frantic energy, his hands gripping my hips tight enough to leave bruises. In the dark, I couldn't see his face, but I felt the familiar rhythm of his body against mine. Every thrust sent a jolt of pain through my weakened frame, but I welcomed it. I had survived three shootings, two poisonings, and a stabbing for this man. The pain was just the price of being the wife of the city's most powerful underworld king.

"I love you," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "Always."

He didn't answer with words. He just let out a low, guttural sound as he hit his peak, his body tensing before he collapsed onto me. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was our synchronized breathing. He rolled off, the sheets sticking to my damp skin.

"You're exhausted," Mike said, his voice returning to that smooth, authoritative calm. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "Go to sleep, baby. You look pale."

"Are you staying?" I reached out, my hand trembling slightly. My body felt like it was made of glass these days. The doctors said the stress and the injuries had taken a permanent toll on my heart.

"I have to handle a situation at the docks," he said, already sliding out of bed. "Business doesn't stop because I'm tired."

"Be careful. The Moretti family is still looking for an opening."

Mike chuckled, the sound dry and hollow. "Let them look. I've got everything under control."

I watched his silhouette as he dressed in the dark. He moved with a grace that masked his lethality. He zipped up his jacket, checked his sidearm, and walked toward the door.

"I love you, Elaine," he said, the ritualistic phrase he uttered every single night.

"I love you too, Mike."

The door clicked shut. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the heavy dose of sleep medication I'd taken earlier to kick in. My body throbbed. My lungs felt heavy. But I was happy. Or at least, I told myself I was. Five years of being the target on his back had been worth it because I believed I was his world.

A muffled voice drifted through the heavy oak door. Mike hadn't walked away yet. He was standing in the hallway, talking to his lead assistant, Gabe.

I sat up slowly, the movement sending a sharp pinch through my side. The vents in this old mansion carried sound perfectly if you knew where to listen.

"The car is downstairs, Boss," Gabe's voice was low but clear.

"Good. Let's move," Mike replied.

"Wait," Gabe hesitated. "Are you really doing this right now? Elaine is in a bad way tonight. She looked like she could barely stand during dinner. The doctor said her vitals are dropping again."

"She's sleeping," Mike said. His tone had shifted. The warmth I'd felt minutes ago was gone, replaced by a cold, clinical detachment that made my blood run cold.

"But Boss... it's Sophia," Gabe whispered. "She called again. She's hysterical because she cut her hand on a broken wine glass. It's a scratch, Mike. Just a scratch."

My heart skipped a beat. Sophia? I knew that name. She was the daughter of a retired associate, a girl Mike had always described as a "family friend" he looked after out of obligation.

"A scratch on Sophia is more important to me than a bullet in Elaine," Mike snapped.

The air left my lungs. I froze, my hand clutching the silk duvet.

"Boss, be careful," Gabe warned. "If the rivals find out Sophia is the one you actually care about, Elaine's protection won't mean anything as a distraction anymore. We've spent five years making everyone believe Elaine is your Achilles' heel."

"And she's played the part perfectly, hasn't she?" Mike's voice held a terrifying hint of amusement. "Every hit meant for the woman I love has landed on Elaine instead. Every kidnapping, every threat—Elaine took it all. She's the perfect shield. She's fragile, she's loyal, and she's too blinded by her 'love' for me to see the truth."

"She's dying for you, Mike," Gabe said, his voice sounding genuinely unsettled. "Her health is failing because of the life you put her in."

"That was the plan, Gabe. Do you think I'd ever put Sophia in that kind of danger? I needed a wife who looked like a queen but functioned like armor. Elaine was a nobody with no family to come looking for her. She was expendable from day one."

"So you're going to her now? For a cut finger?"

"I'm going to her because I love her," Mike said, his footsteps finally beginning to move down the hall. "I've spent five years pretending to adore a woman I can't stand to touch just to keep Sophia safe. Tonight, I'm done pretending for a few hours. Elaine has served her purpose. If she dies from the stress, we'll just find a new distraction."

The sound of their footsteps faded, followed by the distant heavy thud of the front door closing.

Silence rushed back into the room, heavier than before.

I sat in the dark, my breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. My hand went to my chest, feeling the frantic, irregular thumping of my heart.

"Expendable. "

"A shield. "

"A distraction. "

Every scar on my body began to itch and burn. The jewelry he bought me—the diamonds and the gold—suddenly felt like shackles. The designer bags in the closet weren't gifts; they were payments for a bodyguard who didn't know she was on duty.

I thought about the time I took a blade in the ribs in an alleyway in Vegas. Mike had cried at my bedside. He had held my hand and sworn he couldn't live without me.

It was a performance.

He wasn't crying for me. He was crying with relief that the blade hadn't found Sophia.

A sob broke from my throat, raw and ugly. I covered my mouth with my hand, tasting the salt of my tears. I was weak. My body was failing. I had nothing left—no family, no friends, and now, no husband.

I looked at the wedding ring on my finger. The giant rock caught the moonlight filtering through the curtains. It was a beautiful lie.

I tried to stand, but my legs buckled. I collapsed onto the floor, the cold marble shocking my skin. I crawled toward the nightstand, my fingers trembling as I reached for my phone.

My vision blurred. The room began to spin.

I had spent five years dying for a man who was waiting for me to finish the job.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If I was going to die, I wouldn't do it as his shield.