His Neglected Wife Turns the Tables
Chapter 4
Wilbert yanked the IV line from his arm and stepped in front of Imogen, shielding her with his own body.
"I said no one is allowed to touch her!”
"Enough."
His father's gaze cut through the room like a blade—quiet, but heavy with warning.
“Since you insist on protecting her, then tell me—who caused your injury?"
"No matter the reason, the one who destroyed the heir of the Patel family's hand must pay the price."
The air snapped into stillness.
Wilbert's body went rigid. His fingers curled without him realizing it.
He knew his father's methods better than anyone—precise, brutal, and utterly merciless.
Even toward his own son.
His eyes wavered between Imogen and Solana.
After a long, suffocating hesitation, he finally spoke, each word heavy and cold. "...It was Solana."
Solana shot to her feet, disbelief crashing into her like a cold wave.
"She threw a tantrum, set the fire on purpose, and caused my injury," Wilbert continued, eyes dead and emotionless. “It has nothing to do with Imogen.”
Each word landed like a needle dipped in frost, stabbing straight into her chest, choking her breath.
"Solana!"
Wilbert's father, Lloyd, slammed his palm onto the table, his gaze dark and poisonous.
"You’ve been married into the Patel family for years, yet your behavior grows more outrageous by the day. I tolerated you for your father’s sake—but today you injured Wilbert and sent him to the hospital. Do not blame me for being merciless."
His voice dropped to a chilling command. "Guards. Enforce the family punishment."
The moment the words fell, several bodyguards surged forward, pinning Solana to the floor.
"Get away from me!" She struggled violently, her voice turning hoarse, but she couldn’t break free no matter how hard she fought.
“Wilbert!” Solana screamed, despair cracking her voice.
“If you dare to let them do this—I swear I won’t let you go!”
But he didn’t even look at her.
Solana was dragged all the way from the hospital to the Patel family’s old residence.
Bang!
Her body was thrown to the ground. The back of her head struck the rough cement, and a white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes.
"You beasts—my father won't—ah!"
Before she could finish, a whip with barbed edges lashed across her back.
Agony detonated through her entire body, sharp enough to steal her breath.
Cold sweats soaked her forehead, but she clamped her teeth so tightly her jaw trembled, refusing to scream.
One lash.
Two lashes.
By the fiftieth, her back was nothing but torn flesh and blood.
Her strength emptied out. Her consciousness drifted like a dying flame.
In that haze, a memory surfaced.
When she was ten, she and Wilbert had been kidnapped.
To shield her, the small boy had endured blow after blow until he was covered in blood—but still forced out a tiny smile for her.
"Solana... don't cry. It doesn't hurt."
Because of that one sentence, her heart had been chained to him for ten years.
No matter how cold he was. No matter how deeply he ignored her. She never hesitated to love him.
But today—these fifty lashes shattered the last piece of her faith.
They shattered the last bond between them.
"Quit pretending you're dead!"
A sharp bark snapped her back to reality.
"Stand up!"
“Get up!” A bodyguard kicked her sharply in the knee.
Blood surged up her throat and spilled from her lips. She collapsed, unable to even raise her head.
In the haze of pain, she heard low, malicious laughter near her ear.
"Mr. Patel said you'll taste what it feels like to burn—let's see if you dare play games with Sir Wilbert again."
Then several blazing torches were hurled into the room.
"You..."
Solana tried to cry out, but the heavy door slammed shut.
Flames erupted instantly, devouring the room.
Thick, suffocating smoke filled her lungs. Her skin felt like it was being roasted alive. Every breath sent piercing pain through her body.
A burning mass of fire rolled toward her—Solana’s pupils shrank. With the last of her strength, she stumbled toward the window and hurled herself against the glass.
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