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My Ex-Husband Ordered Me to Die on the Battlefield Novel Cover

My Ex-Husband Ordered Me to Die on the Battlefield

As the captain of the Night Owl special ops unit, survival is my duty. But during a catastrophic overseas mission, my team is surrounded. Desperate, I request a retreat, only for my commander—my ex-husband—to issue a cold ultimatum: fight to the death. Consumed by bitterness over our failed wedding, he forces us to endure a brutal firefight. When he finally grants a retreat, it comes with a devastating, humiliating price that forces me to choose between my pride and my team's lives.
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Chapter 2

His hoarse voice trembled with emotion: “Amanda, can't you see what I look like?”

His raised arm was covered in large swollen patches, with not a single inch of normal skin visible, and the deep bloodstains were too gruesome to behold.

But Amanda remained silent for a moment before coldly declaring, “Godfery hasn't rested all day—the beads must be polished tonight!”

“What if I say no?” Horace's eyes stung with tears, but there were none left to shed. “Are you going to lock me in the isolation room again and let those poisonous insects bite me to death?!”

Amanda couldn't bear to look at his miserable expression and could only close her eyes helplessly.

“Horace, bear with it. Once Godfery fully recovers and I repay his life-saving debt, we'll be just like before.”

She seemed to be making a promise, then placed several thorn branches as thick as fingers on the bedside table, her demeanor returning to calm: “Remember, if you don't do it, the bodyguards will help you. ”

The guest room door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Several bodyguards stood dutifully by the bedside: Sir, don't waste time. The lady said you need to remove every thorn from the branches with your fingers and personally sand each bead with sandpaper."

That night, Horace was dragged out of bed by the bodyguards and didn't close his eyes for a moment.

His fingers were pierced with blood holes, and under the abrasion of the sandpaper, they became cracked and bleeding. Every movement caused excruciating pain.

Finally, at dawn, a satisfied chuckle echoed from the master bedroom: “Amanda, I love this bracelet. ”

Amanda responded gently: “That’s good. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay with you.”

Horace curled up in the corner of the bed, clutching his bloodied fingers, watching the blood drip onto the bed, his eyes stinging with pain yet tinged with a bittersweet smile.

In the past, if he was pricked by a plant stem and bled, Amanda would feel so guilty she’d berate herself for hours. Now, she could hold the bracelet stained red with his blood and use it to amuse another man.

Amanda, Amanda, you still say we’ll be the same as before?

How could we be the same?

My love for you had clearly been exhausted...

The next day, Godfery slept soundly thanks to the bracelet and, in a good mood, dragged Amanda out for a walk.

Horace only found out through his online posts that they had gone to Greece to watch the sunset.

The photo showed the white walls of Santorini, with Godfery’s hand tightly held by a woman’s slender fingers, accompanied by the caption: “The tenth year I’ve loved you, finally fulfilled...”

Horace stared at the photo, feeling an emptiness in his heart as if a breeze had swept through it, yet surprisingly no longer feeling any pain.

He silently removed the ring from his ring finger, then went to the garden, uprooting every plant in the flower bed, cutting them into pieces, and tossing them into the trash bin.

After finishing this, he opened his computer, logged into the account filled with negative reviews, set a scheduled post for a month later, and wrote: By the time this letter is sent, I will likely no longer be here..."

The planned “suicide note” took him a long time to write. As he typed the final period, the sound of a car pulling up echoed in the courtyard. Amanda hurried into the villa in her high heels.

“Why did you destroy those plants, Horace? You loved them the most. I planted them for you myself back then.”

For some reason, her face was pale, and there were traces of blood on her sleeves.

Horace looked at her calmly, asked no questions, and simply closed the laptop with a click: “The roots are rotten. Let's plant something else in the future.”

Hearing him mention “the future,” Amanda suppressed her unease: “Alright, I'll plant something else for you in the future.”

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