My Wife Loved Another, Yet Made Me Her Prisoner

“Waylon, why must you cling to an innocent and refuse to let go?”

My face was swollen from the slaps, my mouth heavy with the taste of blood. A bloody smile spread across my lips.

Over the years, no fewer than a hundred people had fallen by my hands.

She knew I was never one to let things slide, yet she also knew I would never harm the innocent.

Athena gave me no chance to speak. She kicked me aside, lifted Nolan into her arms, and walked away.

When the bodyguards rushed to help me up, pain shook me to the core. Meeting their puzzled gazes, I managed a helpless smile.

Only when I turned did they see the knife buried in my back.

A slap alone could never have left me so fragile. But when I fell, by sheer chance, I landed right onto the dagger lying on the ground.

The doctor said the wound was only an inch from my heart. A little deeper, and I would have died right there before Athena’s eyes.

After the wound was stitched, I refused the doctor’s advice to stay in the hospital, since even three stabs back then hadn’t kept me down, walking on the knife’s edge had long been my habit.

When I returned to the villa, Athena was waiting on the sofa in the living room. She lit a cigarette and signaled for me to sit across from her, then after a long drag, she looked at me with a half-smile.

“When my son came home, three of his fingers were broken!”

I raised my eyes toward the bodyguard, who lowered his head, not daring to meet my gaze. I let out a cold laugh.

“My men were careless. So what, does Athena want me to pay with three fingers of my own?”

Athena laughed too, but her smile was as sharp as a blade.

“Nolan blamed himself so much that he tried to jump off a building. When I stopped him, I fell down the stairs, and the child in my belly was gone.”

“Waylon, this was my second child, and he was killed by you. Don’t you think you should apologize to him as well?”

I snatched the cigarette from her hand and lit one for myself. In the smoke, I laughed, empty of remorse.

“You should know, me not doing it myself was mercy enough. Just a bastard, nothing more. Dead is dead. Or do you still expect me to pay with my life, Athena?”

I told someone to bring the divorce papers and pushed them across to her.

“Either sign the divorce papers,” I said, “or between you and him, one of you must die. Surely Athena can choose without my teaching?”

Athena laughed, tore the papers to pieces, and tossed her phone in front of me. “I knew you wouldn’t apologize.”

“No matter. I prepared a big gift for you!”

“Waylon, I had someone pull your brother’s oxygen tube!”

I froze, unable to take in her words. On the screen, my brother, fighting for breath, slammed into me and shredded whatever was left of my calm.

My only brother had been in a hospital bed for three years, and Athena knew the reason better than anyone.

The gang fight three years ago was merciless; of everyone Athena brought, only she and my brother survived.

They tied them to the top of a water tank over ten meters high and forced me to choose: whoever I didn’t pick would be dropped to drown, the other I could take away.

Everyone expected me to choose my brother; he was my blood, my last kin, but my hands shook as I pointed to Athena; keeping her alive had become my obsession.

I'll never forget my brother's look then, hopeless and without blame.

By the time our men broke the tank, he had already suffered brain damage from the drowning.

Athena found the best doctor, put a gun to his head, and forced him to save my brother.