By the Time my Husband Regret Everything, I'm Dead

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I don't think I deserve you anymore." I sat on the edge of the bed, my broken leg throbbing in time with my shattered heart.

"It's my fault," I continued, forcing the tears to spill over. I needed to sell this. I needed him to believe I was broken, not plotting. "We lost the baby, Axel. I... I failed you. I'm useless now. You need an heir. Your father will never forgive me for losing the next heir."

I looked down at my hands, trembling in my lap. "Maybe... maybe we should just end this. Divorce me. Find someone who can give you what you need."

I held my breath. Part of me, the foolish part that had loved him for seven years, hoped he would agree. Hoped he would just let me go so I could take Mia and disappear.

But Axel didn't step away. He stepped closer.

"Hannah," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He knelt in front of me, taking my cold hands in his warm ones. "Don't ever say that. You are my wife. We are in this together."

He reached up and cupped my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears I had summoned. "We lost a child, yes. But we can try again. You aren't useless. You are everything to me."

He leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle. Tender. A lie so beautifully crafted it made my skin crawl. I forced myself not to gag. I forced myself to lean into his touch, to be the pliable, grieving wife he wanted to control.

"Everything will be okay," he whispered against my lips. "I promise."

"Sister," Mia’s voice piped up from the doorway. She was still clinging to Jasmine’s arm, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to leave him. Axel loves you."

Even Jasmine chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "She's right, Hannah. Don't be rash. You're just emotional right now. Hormones, probably. We're family. We stick together."

"Yeah," I choked out, pulling away from Axel’s touch. "Sure. I'm sorry. I just... I need time."

Axel nodded understandingly. "Take all the time you need, darling. Rest. We'll handle everything."

He stood up, ushering Mia and Jasmine out of the room. "Let her sleep," he whispered to them. The door clicked shut, plunging me back into silence.

As soon as they were gone, the mask fell. I buried my face in my hands and wept. Not for the baby this time, but for the girl I used to be.

I remembered my parents. God, I missed them so much it physically hurt.

We used to be happy. We used to be somebody. The Rossi family. My father ran a shipping empire that rivaled the Sterlings. I grew up in a world of private jets and endless summers in Como. Axel and I had been childhood friends, our parents best friends. It was a fairy tale waiting to happen.

But fairy tales have villains.

When I was twenty, my parents died in a plane crash. It was sudden, brutal, and left a crater in my life that nothing could fill. And then came the second blow. The debts. The hidden accounts. The embezzlement my father had apparently been hiding. Our empire crumbled overnight.

I was left with nothing but a mountain of debt and a terrified ten-year-old sister, Mia.

That was when the Sterlings stepped in. Axel’s parents took us in. They paid off the debts, saved our reputation, and gave us a home. I was so grateful. So blindingly, stupidly grateful.

And when Axel proposed a year later, saying it would strengthen the merger of what was left of my father’s company with his, I said yes. I was in love with him. I had been in love with him since I was sixteen. I thought he was my knight in shining armor.

I didn't know the armor was hollow.

I didn't know that while I was planning our wedding, he was already looking at Jasmine—his "adopted" sister, brought into the family when she was five—with eyes that were far too hungry for a sibling.

I wiped my face aggressively, smearing the tears across my cheeks.

I reached under the mattress and pulled out a phone I had bought months ago, back when I first suspected Axel of cheating but was too cowardly to confirm it.

My hands shook as I dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.

"Professor Smith," I said, my voice steady and cold. “It’s Hannah. I know it's late. But I need to know if that offer is still on the table. The research project in Vienna?”

"Hannah," he sighed. "That position starts in three days. And it requires total relocation. You're a married woman now."

"Not for long," I said, looking at the door where my husband had just lied to my face. "I need a way out, Professor. I need a visa, a secure location, and enough money to disappear. If you can make a room for me and my sister, I’m willing to go.”

"I can make some calls," Professor Smith said slowly, the gravity of my request sinking in. "But if you do this, there's no coming back. You burn the bridge, Hannah. The project is top secret. You'll be off the grid."

I looked at the wedding ring on my finger. The diamond that had once symbolized hope and now felt like a shackle.

"Let it burn," I whispered. "I'll be there."

"Alright," he said. "Pack light. A car will be waiting at the airport in three days. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. I pulled up another number from memory to call our trusted lawyer.

"Mr. Blackwood," I said. "It's Hannah Rossi. I want you to draft the papers. File for divorce from my husband, Axel Sterling."

"Divorce?" Mr. Blackwood sputtered. "Mrs. Sterling, surely this is a misunderstanding. Axel loves you. The merger—"

"The merger is over," I cut him off. "And there's one more thing. According to the clause in my father's will—the one Axel's father insisted on keeping to protect the Rossi name—my inheritance was held in trust until I turned twenty-five or dissolved the marriage."

"Yes," Mr. Blackwood said slowly. "Technically, that is correct. But the assets are tied up in Sterling Architecture."

"Untie them," I commanded. "Liquidate everything that belongs to the Rossi estate. Every stock, every bond, every property my father owned. And transfer it all."

"Transfer it where?" he asked.

"No," I said, looking at the photo of my parents on the nightstand. "Transfer it to my sister, Mia Rossi. Every last cent. Do it in three days.”