My CEO Husband's Scandal with His Employee

I don’t even know how I got to the hospital.

Everything after the pain was a blur—burnt eyes, shaking hands, and the soft sting of humiliation that clung to every breath I took. I remembered crawling. I remembered cars honking, faces staring. But no one helped. Not a soul.

By the time I made it to the emergency room, my vision had become a watery haze, white-hot and blinding. My skin stung. My body trembled. My soul felt carved out and hollow.

The nurse looked up in alarm. “My God,” she gasped, rushing over. “What happened to you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was raw from screaming.

She led me gently into the examination room, guiding me like I was made of glass. Hours passed—tests, ointments, lights shining into my damaged eyes. I clutched the edge of the bed, bracing myself.

Later, a doctor entered, his expression relieved. “It’s a miracle,” he said. “The damage was mostly superficial. Your vision’s safe, but you’ll feel the pain for a while.”

The nurse beside him added softly, “You’re lucky. That chemical could’ve blinded you permanently. Do you want to call someone? Your husband?”

I shook my head. My lips barely moved, but I forced out a soft, “No.”

No one. There was no one I wanted. No one I trusted.

Then, my phone buzzed on the side table. The screen lit up with a name I once would’ve ignored—Scott.

I hesitated before answering.

His voice was clear, confident. “Are you ready to be picked up?”

I swallowed hard, pressing the phone to my ear. “Yes. Just… one more day. I need him to sign the papers.”

A pause. Then a slow chuckle. “Good. Because there’s no way you’re backing out now, Nadia. You’re mine.”

For a moment, I didn’t respond.

There was a time I hated that sentence. I hated Scott. I hated the way my brother tried to force us together—tried to tell me he was the better choice.

But now? Now I saw it. Scott had always been steady. Loyal. Patient. He loved me. And more than that, he never tried to manipulate me.

“Sure,” I finally said. “I’m yours.”

Then I hung up, staring at the ceiling.

This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. It was about taking back control. Of my body. My choices. My life.

When I was discharged, I didn’t wait for anyone. I took a cab back to the house. The home that didn’t feel like mine anymore.

Colton was in the living room, surrounded by scattered paperwork, talking on the phone like nothing happened. Like I didn’t almost lose my eyes. Like I didn’t scream for him, and he didn’t ignore me.

He didn’t even glance up as I entered.

“I need you to sign something for the hospital,” I said coolly, holding out the envelope.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Why would I need to—?”

“It’s a release form,” I cut him off, keeping my voice flat. “For liability.”

That made him pause. “Fine, whatever.”

He scribbled his signature without even reading it.

It was done.

As I turned toward the door, I could finally breathe. Tomorrow, I’d be free.

But before I could step out—

The front door slammed open.

“You witch!” she shrieked. “What did you do to my daughter?!”

I staggered, my scalp burning. “What are you talking about?!”

“She was kidnapped, you psychotic freak!” Beatrice screamed, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with fake tears. “She was screaming for help while they locked her in some dirty warehouse! What kind of monster are you?!”

Just then, a small voice broke through the chaos.

“She kidnapped me!”

Maureen.

She stood near the entrance, her face streaked with dried tears, hair disheveled, her tiny arms covered in faint bruises.

A bandage was wrapped hastily around her knee. She looked fragile—broken. Her pink dress was ripped near the hem, and she clutched a stuffed bunny, holding it like it was her last anchor to safety.

My stomach twisted in horror.

Colton rushed to her side instantly, pulling her into his arms. “Oh my God… Baby… What did they do to you?”

Maureen clung to him, sobbing into his shirt. “Daddy… she’s bad… she had them take me… the men said it was because of her… they hurt me…”

My breath caught. “What?!” I took a step forward. “Maureen, no—sweetheart, I didn’t—”

She flinched, burying herself deeper into Colton’s chest.

Beatrice turned on me like a blade. “She’s terrified of you! She couldn’t stop crying the whole ride back! Covered in bruises, screaming your name like it was some curse—saying you sent them!”

I shook my head violently. “No! I would never… I don’t know anything about this!”

Beatrice’s voice cracked as she pointed a trembling hand at me. “They said it. The kidnappers—they said they were paid… by someone in this house… and the little girl said your name! That’s all the proof we need!”

My vision blurred. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

“She’s jealous,” Beatrice sobbed, falling into an exaggerated cry. “She lost her baby… and now she wants mine! She can’t stand to see me and my child happy—that’s what this is about!”

“Don’t say that,” I whispered. My voice was barely there, but it shook with rage and devastation. “You don’t get to say that to me. I lost my baby, yes, but I would never hurt a child. Especially not Maureen.”

“Then explain this!” Colton roared, stepping between us. “Explain the bruises on her arms! The warehouse they found her in! Her torn dress and the way she screamed every time someone said your name!”

“I don’t know!” I cried out. “I didn’t do it—I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this!”

Beatrice let out a shaky breath and turned to Colton with wide, watery eyes. “I told you it was a mistake keeping her in this house. I knew she hated me, but I didn’t think she’d go this far… I thought we were friends…”

Colton’s jaw clenched. His face twisted with fury as he looked at me like I was a stranger.

“This is why you lost our child,” he said, his voice like ice. “You don’t deserve to be a mother.”

His words hit me like a slap across the face.

I stood there, frozen, mouth slightly open, the sting of his accusation worse than the burns I once endured. “You… you really think I could do that?”

He didn’t answer.

Beatrice stepped forward again, holding Maureen protectively. “We’re leaving,” she said firmly. “I won’t let my daughter stay in a house with that woman.”

I looked down at Maureen—her bruised skin, her tearful eyes. My heart ached. I didn’t blame her. I blamed them.

“You don’t even know what’s real anymore,” I whispered, but it was already too late.

Colton pointed toward the door, not even meeting my eyes. “If they don’t come back here… then you’re dead to me.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house like thunder.

But I didn’t cry.

Not this time.

Because tomorrow—I will be gone.