After My Husband Took My Skin for His Mistress

The world spun in a blur of gray and red. Metal crunched against metal as we flipped, the car tumbling down the embankment like a toy. Glass shattered, raining down in deadly shards. My body jerked violently with each impact, the seatbelt cutting into my chest.

When the world finally stopped spinning, everything was silent except for the steady patter of rain and the hiss of steam rising from the crumpled hood. I blinked blood from my eyes, trying to orient myself. We'd rolled at least twice before landing in a ditch.

"Ephraim?" My voice came out as a croak. Pain shot through my shoulder—white-hot agony that made me gasp.

I tried to move, but my legs were pinned by the dashboard. Glass glittered everywhere, and I could feel something sharp embedded in my thigh. Blood soaked through my skirt, warm and wet against my skin.

"Ephraim!" I called again, louder this time. "Are you hurt?"

Through the shattered windshield, I could see him moving in the front seat. He was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, but he was conscious. Relief flooded through me until I realized his attention was fixed entirely on Alani.

"Alani," he whispered, his voice breaking with panic. "Baby, can you hear me?"

She was slumped against him, her white dress now stained with blood and dirt. Her eyes fluttered open slowly.

"E-Ephraim?" Her voice was barely audible. "It hurts..."

"Don't worry," he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'm getting you out first."

First. The word hit me like another crash.

"Ephraim," I said urgently, "my leg is stuck. I think the glass—"

He didn't even look at me. "Just wait, Hailey. I need to get Alani out."

I watched in disbelief as he carefully extracted himself from the wreckage, then reached back for Alani. With gentle movements that I'd once thought were reserved only for me, he lifted her from the crushed vehicle.

"I've got you," he murmured against her hair. "You're safe now."

He carried her up the muddy embankment toward the highway, her arms wrapped around his neck. She looked back once—just a flicker of her eyes meeting mine through the rain—and I could have sworn I saw something calculating there.

"Ephraim!" I called after him, my voice breaking. "Please!"

But he was already climbing the hill, leaving me alone in the smoking wreckage.

---

The hospital lights were too bright, too harsh. I lay on a gurney in the emergency bay, my shoulder throbbing with each heartbeat. The glass had been removed from my leg, leaving a row of stitches that pulled tight whenever I moved.

"Ms. Jenkins needs immediate reduction for her shoulder," the doctor explained to Ephraim, who stood just outside the curtain separating my bed from Alani's. "The longer we wait, the more complicated it will be."

I could see Ephraim's profile through the thin fabric—the tense line of his jaw, the way his hand rested protectively on Alani's bed rail.

"What about Alani?" he asked, his voice tight with worry. "She hit her head."

"The CT scan is clear," the doctor assured him. "She has a mild concussion at most. The cut on her forehead is superficial."

"Superficial?" Ephraim's voice rose sharply. "She could have permanent scarring. Get me a plastic surgeon."

"Sir, I understand your concern, but—"

"Now!" he demanded, his tone brooking no argument. "And make sure they bring their best work. She's going to need specialized care."

I closed my eyes, the pain in my shoulder nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest. Through the curtain, I could hear the doctor sigh.

"Ms. Jenkins' shoulder—"

"Can wait," Ephraim cut in coldly. "Handle Alani first."

---

The penthouse was quiet except for the occasional creak of furniture and the distant hum of Manhattan traffic. I sat alone in the master bedroom, carefully changing the bandages on my leg. The shoulder had finally been reset, but the pain medication made my thoughts fuzzy.

A scream tore through the silence—high-pitched and terrified.

"Help! Please, help me!"

Alani's voice. Coming from the guest wing.

I froze, bandages in hand, as Ephraim's door burst open down the hall.

"Alani?" His voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"I can't—I can't breathe," she sobbed between gasping breaths. "The darkness—I'm scared."

"Shh, it's okay." His footsteps moved toward her room. "I'm coming."

I set down the bandages and reached for my crutches, but before I could stand, I heard his door close again. The lock clicked softly.

"Night terrors," he explained through the wood. "She's been having them since the accident. I need to stay with her tonight."

"Is she hurt?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

"Emotionally traumatized," he replied, his tone making it clear the conversation was over. "She needs comfort."

I sat alone in the darkness, my leg throbbing, my shoulder aching. From down the hall came the low murmur of Ephraim's voice, soothing, protective.

It was the third night in a row.