Married To a Killer CEO, I Left For Good!

The rest of the car ride passed in tense silence.

Hannah kept glancing back at me with that fake smile plastered on her face while Kallus drove with one hand, the other still possessively resting on her thigh.

We pulled up to our mansion, no, his mansion now. I refused to think of it as my home anymore.

Kallus opened my door. "Let me help you."

I flinched away from his touch. "I can manage."

My body still ached from childbirth, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.

Once inside, Hannah immediately made herself at home, tossing her designer purse onto the entryway table like she'd done it a thousand times before.

"I'm going to rest," I said, turning toward the staircase. "I have a headache."

Kallus exchanged a look with Hannah. "Good idea. Hannah, show her to the guest room."

I stopped mid-step. "Guest room?"

"Yes, guest room." His tone was casual, as if this were perfectly normal.

"The bedroom is a bit messy now... due to some things. But you should rest up in the guest room for the while."

"I can go by myself." My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Kallus's jaw tightened. "All you have to do is listen to me and act accordingly, no more talking back."

A broken laugh escaped me. "Fine."

Hannah placed a gentle hand on my back, guiding me toward the stairs. I fought the urge to shove her away.

As we passed the master bedroom, my eyes caught the scene through the slightly ajar door.

I caught a glimpse of lace panties on the floor, and the bed sheets crumpled and untidy.

Hannah noticed my gaze and urged me forward. "This way."

"So this is what was going on, huh?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her caring mask didn't slip. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I looked at her.

This woman who'd slept with my husband for God knows how long. The sheer audacity took my breath away.

I chuckled. "Yeah. Of course."

Hannah shrugged and opened the door to the guest room. It was plain, just a bed, a table, a lamp. Nothing else. Like a prison cell.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me.

"I'll get you some water," Hannah said, disappearing down the hall.

She returned moments later with a glass. I took it without hesitation. It was just water—how could it hurt?

As soon as I finished, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred at the edges.

Something was wrong. Water wasn't supposed to do this.

As darkness closed in, the last thing I saw was Hannah's smile—no longer fake, but evil and cruel.

...

"Mama, mama."

I drifted in the middle of an endless ocean, weightless and lost.

A tiny hand reached up through the water, grasping for air. It was my baby, drowning, calling for me.

My body wouldn't move.

Heavy chains bound me to a bed floating in the middle of the ocean.

I strained against them, muscles screaming, until finally—with one desperate surge of strength—I broke free.

I dove into the water—

And woke up gasping, sweat soaking my clothes, and my chest heaving with sobs.

It was just a nightmare.

I clutched my head as tears streamed down my face. "I miss you, baby," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

A sound from down the hall cut through my grief.

Moaning.

The realisation hit me like ice water. They'd drugged me. They'd drugged me so they could fuck while I was unconscious in the next room.

Rage propelled me from the bed. I grabbed my phone and crept down the hallway silently.

Their door was ajar. Through the gap, I saw them—Hannah riding Kallus, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

"God, yes, Hannah," Kallus groaned, his hands gripping her hips.

I bit down on my hand to keep from screaming, the pain grounding me as I hit record on my phone. The betrayal burned like acid, but the evidence would be worth it.

I filmed for a minute before returning to my room, saving the video and staring at the ceiling until morning came.

Their moans eventually came to an end, but I still couldn't sleep.

…

The next morning, I freshened up and headed to the kitchen.

Hannah was already there, whisking eggs in a bowl while Kallus sat at the island, newspaper in hand.

"Good morning," I said, my voice carefully neutral.

Hannah smiled. "I'm making cheese omelets—Kallus's favorite."

"I'll just have toast." I reached for the bread.

"Don't be silly," Hannah said. "You need proper nutrition after... everything."

"I said I want toast."

Kallus lowered his newspaper. "Hannah's making breakfast for everyone. Be grateful."

"I don't want her food."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hannah's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing." I turned to the toaster. "I just want toast."

"You're being rude to Hannah," Kallus said, his voice dangerously quiet.

I spun around. "Rude? To the woman who's taken over my house? My husband?"

"Apologize to her," Kallus demanded. "Now."

"No." I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

Then suddenly, a slap came out of nowhere, a sharp crack that snapped my head to the side.

"Apologize!" Kallus's face was inches from mine, contorted with rage.

I stared at him, stunned.

In five years of marriage, he'd never raised a hand to me. Never. But for her, he'd crossed that line without hesitation.

Hannah played her part perfectly. "Kallus, don't be rash to your wife for me."

The act made me want to vomit.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as I complied for the moment, my cheek stinging.

I'd make them pay for this.

Every. Single. Humiliation.

I'll make them pay.

…

Night fell, and Hannah brought me water again. I pretended to drink, then dumped it down the sink when she left.

I waited, listening for their usual routine.

When I was certain they'd finished their nightly activities, I crept to their room.

Hannah lay naked and asleep, her blonde hair spread across the pillow. The shower ran in the attached bathroom.

I snapped a quick photo of Hannah, then spotted Kallus's phone on the nightstand.

His password hadn't changed—my birthday. The irony made me roll my eyes.

My hands trembled as I opened his messages with Hannah.

There it was—evidence of their affair, discussions of my baby's murder, plans for their future.

I bit down on my hand again, drawing blood as I suppressed a sob.

Quickly, I forwarded key messages to my email, then deleted the evidence from his sent folder.

Suddenly, the shower stopped.

I carefully replaced the phone and slipped out, heart hammering.

But I had surely collected key evidence.

…

Days passed in this new, twisted reality.

Kallus barely acknowledged my existence except to bark orders, while giving all attention to Hannah.

When I was around, they'd put on their little show, discussing about caring for me with fake concern.

Then one evening, as I lay in my room pretending to be sedated, I heard Hannah's voice from downstairs. She was on the phone, her tone relaxed and cheerful.

I crept to the staircase and listened.

"...got rid of that wretch Donna's baby, and now our little Kingsley will have an amazing life in this place." Hannah's voice drifted up. "We'll kick Donna out soon, then you can move in with us, Mom. It'll be perfect."

My heart shattered all over again. Kingsley. Their son had a name.

He had a life, a future. Everything my baby should've had, stolen by my husband and his mistress.

I watched as Hannah set her phone down and headed to the kitchen. The phone sat on the coffee table, unlocked and unattended.

This was it. A massive risk, but potentially my most valuable evidence yet.

I moved silently down the stairs and grabbed her phone.

With shaking fingers, I navigated to her call history and found the recording function.

There it was—the entire conversation saved.

I quickly emailed it to myself, then deleted the sent message from her outbox. Just as I was about to set the phone down, a voice froze my blood.

"What are you doing with my phone?"