After My Husband Took My Skin for His Mistress

The surgical consent forms blurred before my eyes as I signed my name. Each stroke of the pen felt like surrendering another piece of myself. The nurse smiled sympathetically, unaware of the true nature of my sacrifice.

"Ms. Jenkins, we'll be taking you in shortly," she said, patting my hand. "The doctor needs to mark the donor site."

I nodded, unable to find words. The private clinic's luxury couldn't disguise what this really was—a transaction of flesh, a payment extracted from my body to settle a debt I never agreed to owe.

"Hailey!"

I turned at the sound of Ephraim's voice, relief washing through me. Finally, he was here. Despite everything, some foolish part of me still needed his reassurance.

But he wasn't looking at me.

Alani lay on the adjacent gurney, her eyes wide with practiced vulnerability. Ephraim rushed to her side, taking her hand in his.

"Everything's going to be perfect," he murmured, his voice carrying that tender tone I once believed was reserved for me. "The doctor says there won't be any scarring. You'll be beautiful as always."

I watched as he pressed his lips to her knuckles, completely focused on her fears while mine went unacknowledged.

"Ephraim," I called softly.

He glanced up, impatience flickering across his face. "What is it?"

"I'm..." My voice cracked. "I'm scared."

He hesitated, then patted my arm awkwardly. "It's just a small procedure. You'll barely feel it."

Before I could respond, the anesthesiologist appeared. "We're ready for you, Ms. Jenkins."

As they wheeled me toward the operating room, I searched desperately for Ephraim's face among the surgical team. He stood at the doorway, but his attention remained fixed on Alani, who was being prepped behind me.

"Remember," he told her, "this is going to make everything better."

Not once did he look back at me.

---

Pain radiated from my thigh in relentless waves. Three days post-op, and each movement sent fresh agony through my body. I shifted carefully in bed, trying to find a position that didn't pull at the stitches.

The door swung open without warning. Ephraim strode in, his expression thunderous.

"What's this?" He thrust a tablet in front of me. On the screen was a text conversation between him and Alani.

"Alani says you've been crying constantly," he said, his voice tight with accusation. "She can hear you from her room."

I blinked back tears. "I'm in pain, Ephraim. The doctor said—"

"The doctor said you'd be fine with proper pain management," he cut in. "But you're choosing to wallow."

Choosing. As if the fire in my flesh was a decision.

"Your behavior is upsetting Alani," he continued, pacing the room. "She feels guilty about accepting your skin graft, and your constant suffering isn't helping her recovery."

"My...suffering?" The words felt hollow in my mouth.

"Stop taking the pain medication," he demanded abruptly. "It's making you groggy and emotional. Alani needs you to be present, not drugged."

"Ephraim, the doctor prescribed—"

"I don't care what the doctor prescribed. You're upsetting her with your dramatics." His eyes narrowed. "Unless this is some kind of manipulation?"

The accusation hung in the air between us. I stared at him, this man who'd once promised to protect me, now demanding I silence my pain to soothe another woman's guilt.

"I'll try," I whispered.

---

A week passed in a haze of controlled agony. I moved carefully through the penthouse, hiding my limp when possible, taking only enough medication to function without screaming.

Tonight was the victory gala for Ellis Enterprises—a celebration of their latest acquisition. Under normal circumstances, I would have been excited to attend, proud to stand beside Ephraim as his partner.

But circumstances were far from normal.

"You need to wear this," Ephraim announced, tossing a garment bag onto my bed.

Inside was a gown of deep crimson silk, with a slit that ran nearly to the hip—designed to showcase exactly what he wanted everyone to see.

"The dress reveals your donor site," he explained, watching my reaction carefully. "The board members will appreciate the sacrifice you've made for someone connected to the company."

I touched the fabric, understanding washing over me like ice water. "You want me to display my wound?"

"I want you to show what family values mean at Ellis Enterprises," he corrected smoothly. "Your sacrifice represents everything we stand for—loyalty, generosity, community."

Family values. As if my body was just another asset to be leveraged for his company's image.

"The stitches might reopen," I said quietly. "The doctor said I need to keep the area covered and clean."

"The doctor isn't considering the bigger picture." His tone left no room for argument. "The gala starts at eight. Be ready."

As he turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—not love or even desire, but satisfaction. The look of a man who'd successfully transformed a person into property.

I stood alone in my room, the crimson dress pooling at my feet like blood.