After My Husband Abandoned Our Wedding Vows

I stared at the suitcase in Hunter's hands, unable to process what was happening. The bruises from my accident still ached across my body, but the pain was nothing compared to the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.

"Violeta needs somewhere to stay," Hunter announced, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "The surgery took a lot out of her. She needs rest and care."

I glanced at Violeta, who leaned against the doorframe with perfect fragility. Her eyes met mine, a flash of triumph quickly masked by concern.

"I've already moved your things to the guest room," Hunter continued, carrying Violeta's suitcase toward our bedroom—our bedroom. "Violeta will be staying in the master suite."

"The master suite?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's our room, Hunter."

He paused, turning to look at me with irritation. "Jade, Violeta needs the attached bathroom for her recovery. The guest room doesn't have those facilities."

"And what about my recovery?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice. "I'm still healing from surgery."

"You're doing fine," he said dismissively. "Violeta risked everything to save your life."

Violeta stepped forward, her hand resting delicately on Hunter's arm. "I don't want to cause any trouble," she said softly. "Perhaps I should look for a hotel?"

"No," Hunter said firmly. "You're staying here where I can make sure you're properly cared for."

I watched as he guided her into our bedroom—the room where we'd shared our most intimate moments, where we'd planned our future together. Violeta turned at the doorway, her eyes meeting mine over Hunter's shoulder. The smirk that crossed her face was so quick I might have imagined it, but the message was clear.

She had won.

* * *

"Kneel," Hunter commanded, his voice cold as ice.

I stood frozen in our living room, unable to believe what he'd just said. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

"I said kneel," he repeated, gesturing to the space in front of Violeta, who sat regally in my favorite armchair. "You owe Violeta an apology."

Violeta's lips curved into a small smile as she watched me, her fingers tracing the pattern on the armrest. "It's really not necessary," she murmured, though her eyes said otherwise.

"Of course it is," Hunter insisted. "After all the stress you've caused, after all the risk Violeta took to save you."

I looked between them, feeling something break inside me. "What exactly do you want me to apologize for?"

"For being ungrateful," Hunter said, his jaw tightening. "For making Violeta worry about your attitude while she was recovering from the trauma of your surgery."

The surgery that had taken my ability to ever have children. The surgery that had been performed by someone with no medical license. The surgery that had been unnecessary if Hunter had allowed a real doctor to operate.

Slowly, feeling as though I were moving through molasses, I sank to my knees on the hard floor. The pain from my still-healing injuries flared, but I bit back a wince.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words like ash in my mouth.

"For what?" Hunter prompted.

I looked up at Violeta, who was watching me with gleaming eyes. "For causing you stress," I managed. "For... for making you risk your wellbeing."

Violeta nodded graciously. "I accept your apology, Jade. We all have our moments of ingratitude when we're suffering."

* * *

"Willowbrook is the best rehabilitation center in the state," Hunter explained as we drove through wrought-iron gates. "You'll get the care you need here."

I gazed out the window at the manicured grounds and elegant buildings. Willowbrook looked more like a country club than a medical facility, with its sprawling gardens and fountain-adorned entrance.

"I don't need rehabilitation," I said quietly. "Dr. Mitchell said I could recover at home."

Hunter's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Dr. Mitchell doesn't understand your needs like I do."

The car stopped at the main entrance, where two staff members waited with wheelchairs—though I could walk perfectly well.

"Your stay here is for your own good," Hunter said as he helped me from the car with firm hands that brooked no argument. "You need time to recover properly."

As they wheeled me toward the entrance, I caught sight of Hunter already turning back to the car, his phone to his ear. I could hear Violeta's voice on the other end, soft and intimate.

The doors closed behind me with a soft click that sounded oddly final.

Only then did I notice the security cameras tracking my movement, the key cards required for every doorway, the discreet but unmistakable locks on the outside of each patient room.

Willowbrook wasn't just a rehabilitation center.

It was a beautiful prison.

And Hunter had just walked away, leaving me locked inside.