My Husband Auctioned Me Off to Keep His Affair Alive

“It wasn’t me,” I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, my voice breaking at the edges. “I never hurt him. I didn’t hurt anyone!”

The interrogation room felt colder under the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above us, the sound drilling into my skull as if it was trying to wear me down. My wrists were still sore from the cuffs, and my throat felt raw from shouting the same truth over and over. Across the metal table, two officers watched me with the same blank, unreadable faces.

“Mrs. Grant,” one of them said in a measured tone, “multiple witnesses say you physically pushed the child. The findings we have—”

“I didn’t!” My voice cracked mid-sentence. “It wasn’t like that. It was an accident. Matteo—he was there—he saw it—”

The door suddenly opened.

My head snapped up instantly, relief rushing through me for half a second because I thought it was my lawyer.

But it wasn’t.

Matteo walked in instead.

He looked completely composed, like he hadn’t slept in chaos or betrayal or anything at all—perfect suit, perfect posture, not a single crease out of place. His face, however, was carved with something colder than anger.

Disappointment. Contempt.

“Aria,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to someone foolish. “What exactly have you done now?”

My voice dropped to a whisper. “You know what happened. You were there—”

I didn’t even get to finish.

His hand came fast.

The impact of the slap rang through the room, sharp and humiliating. My head turned with the force of it, my cheek burning instantly.

“Matteo!” one of the officers snapped, standing up, but Matteo only raised a hand slightly, as if apologizing for a minor inconvenience.

“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly, though his tone carried none of it. “It’s just… difficult watching her behave like this after everything she’s done.”

I could taste blood in my mouth, metallic and bitter. “You…” My voice shook. “You actually hit me.”

He didn’t even look at me when he answered the officers.

“My wife—soon to be ex-wife, hopefully—assaulted my son,” he said calmly. “She also attacked my mistress when she tried to stop her. She’s unstable. We’ve been trying to get her professional help for a while now, but she refuses treatment.”

My stomach dropped.

“Mistress?” I whispered, disbelief barely forming the word. “You’re really saying that out loud now?”

His gaze finally shifted to me, steady and unbothered. “Yes. She’s currently in the hospital. Bruised. Possibly worse. And Mason…” He paused, shaking his head like it pained him to continue. “He’s terrified of you.”

“You’re lying,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “All of it.”

He leaned slightly forward. “Then prove otherwise.”

But I had nothing. No recordings. No witnesses who would speak for me. No one.

That night, they processed me anyway.

I barely registered the ride to the station, only flashes of camera lights, reporters shouting questions I couldn’t understand, and the word murder floating around like a curse I couldn’t wash off.

By morning, they said I could be released on bail while the investigation continued. It sounded like relief, but it wasn’t.

It felt like a trap dressed as mercy.

All I wanted was to go home.

To tell my father the truth.

To make him see I wasn’t the monster Matteo was painting me into.

My hands shook as I signed the papers. My lawyer kept talking—something about staying silent, about truth eventually coming out—but it all blurred together.

All I could hear was my heartbeat and the dull hum of the world outside the station.

When I finally stepped into the car, I exGrantd shakily for the first time in what felt like days.

I was free.

Or so I believed.

Halfway through the ride, headlights suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Everything happened too fast.

Tires screamed against asphalt. A horn blared. The world tilted violently as if it had been ripped off its axis.

Then came the crash.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Everything went white—then black.

When I came to, pain was everywhere.

My neck. My ribs. My legs. I tried to move, but nothing responded the way it should have.

Panic rose instantly.

“What—what’s wrong with me?” I gasped.

A nurse rushed in, her voice trying to stay calm. “Ma’am, please try not to panic.”

“My legs,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I can’t feel my legs.”

She hesitated before answering. “You were in a severe accident. You’re lucky to be alive.”

I tried to sit up, but my body didn’t feel like mine anymore. It felt distant—wrong, disconnected.

That’s when it truly sank in.

“My legs don’t move,” I said again, quieter this time.

The nurse avoided my eyes. “The doctors are doing everything possible.”

That night, the ward was quiet.

Too quiet.

But I wasn’t alone.

Voices drifted from outside my room—low, tense, familiar.

One of them was Matteo.

“Just keep her under observation,” he said coldly. “Make it look like treatment is ongoing.”

A doctor responded nervously, “Sir, with proper therapy she might regain—”

“No,” Matteo cut in immediately. “I don’t want that. I prefer her like this. Helpless. Easier to control. She can’t run around, can’t interfere, can’t ruin anything anymore. At least now she knows where she belongs.”

My breath stopped in my throat.

The doctor hesitated. “That’s… not ethical.”

“I don’t care,” Matteo said flatly. “Do your job. Keep her alive, keep her quiet. That’s all she’s useful for. She can watch from there while I live my life.”

Their footsteps faded down the hallway.

I lay frozen, gripping the sheets so tightly my fingers ached. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall.

He hadn’t just taken my freedom.

He was rewriting my entire existence.

Later, the door opened again.

I quickly shut my eyes, pretending to sleep.

Matteo walked in.

He stopped beside the bed, hands in his pockets, looking at me like I was something he owned.

“So still,” he murmured. “Almost peaceful. I might like you better like this.”

I watched him through the reflection on the tray beside me.

He smiled faintly.

“Don’t worry,” he added, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “I’ll visit. You’ll get to watch everything from here. Me, Bianca… even Mason. Maybe I’ll bring him sometimes. So you don’t forget what a real family looks like.”

He chuckled softly before turning away.

The door closed behind him.

And I broke.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just silent, suffocating sobs that tore through my chest while my body refused to move. I wanted to scream, to get up, to destroy something—anything.

But I couldn’t even stand.

My body had become a prison I couldn’t escape.

The next day, she came.

Bianca.

She looked almost angelic—white outfit, soft smile, flowers in her hands. Like she had stepped out of a perfect life that didn’t include betrayal.

“Oh, Aria,” she said gently, setting the flowers down. “You poor thing.”

She leaned closer, her perfume overwhelming, suffocating. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Matteo now while you recover… for however long that takes.”

Then she tilted her head, smiling faintly.

“Maybe this is for the best. You were never really enough for him anyway.”

My throat tightened, but no words came out.

She left just as easily as she came, humming softly like she hadn’t shattered what was left of me.

That night, the lights dimmed, and I thought it was finally over.

Maybe this was what the end felt like.

Quiet. Empty. Forgotten.

Then—

A click.

The door opened again.

“You’re safe now,” a voice whispered.

Vincent.

He was already beside me in seconds, eyes sharp with urgency. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. We’re leaving. Now.”

He lifted me carefully into his arms.

The hospital vanished behind us as we slipped out through a back exit. A black car waited outside, engine already running. He placed me inside, then drove without hesitation, city lights smearing into long, blurred streaks outside the window.

Later, a small plane waited on a hidden runway, engines humming softly.

He carried me up the steps and settled me inside. The cabin was dim, quiet, almost unreal. He buckled me in gently, brushing my hair back once before stepping away.

As the plane lifted off, the ground below shrank into darkness.

For the first time in a long time, something loosened in my chest.

Not pain.

Not fear.

Something closer to hope.

Tears slipped down my face silently, but they didn’t feel like breaking anymore.

I stared out at the endless sky, my thoughts steady, quiet, certain.

And in that silence, I promised myself—

When I stand again…

They will all regret everything.