My Wife Took My Manhood, So I Took Her Finger

It had happened before when I was sixteen.

My father's business rivals had kidnapped me.

Rory had charged into their hideout alone, cutting through commotion and blood with the fury of someone who had already lost everything. She was beaten and battered with three broken ribs and a comminuted fracture in her right leg.

But despite it all, she carried me out of that abandoned warehouse like it was nothing, her strength nearly inhuman.

She had made me keep my eyes closed the whole time, afraid I'd panic, whispering reassurances into my ear as she carried me.

"Cyrus, don't be afraid. I'll bring you home safely. As long as I'm here, nothing will happen to you."

Now, those same words, once reserved only for me, were being whispered to another man.

"Jesse, don't be afraid. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I'll get you home safe."

Rory's team arrived quickly, but they didn't have time to deal with me.

They rushed straight to Jesse, whisking him off to the hospital for treatment.

I stayed put in the car, eyes cold, watching them leave.

Then, my phone buzzed.

A message lit up the screen:

[Sir, are you really letting them off just like that?]

I replied without hesitation:

[Of course not. Did you prepare what I asked for?]

He replied quickly:

[Yes, it's ready.]

A slow, dark smile spread across my face. Satisfaction glimmered in my eyes as I read it.

'Rory… enjoy the hell I'm about to bring you,' I said inwardly.

Right then, I put the phone away and drove her car back home.

...

In the following days, Rory underwent treatment at the hospital, while I cleaned up all unnecessary remnants at home.

It was during that time that the maid approached, holding something rough and worn in her hands, hesitating before she asked,

"Sir, do you still need this rag?"

The 'rag' in question was the scarf Jesse had painstakingly knitted for Rory.

When he had given it to her, she had returned home, a soft smile tugging at her lips, carefully placing it in her study drawer as if it were a treasure.

"Burn it," I said, my gaze drifting to the wedding photos that still hung in the living room.

"Burn all of it."

The housekeeper hesitated, confusion flickering across her face, but she knew her boundaries. She nodded and carefully removed every framed wedding photo from the shelves.

At that moment, my phone buzzed again.

[Sir, Rory will be discharged tomorrow.]

Perfect.

The show was about to begin.

...

The next day, Rory was wheeled back into the house by Jesse.

"Rory, you really can't keep indulging Cyrus," Jesse said, his voice tight with worry. "If he dares to hurt you now, he won't hesitate to kill you later. Keeping a lunatic like him around makes me afraid to sleep. I'm scared I'll just end up dead one day."

Rory gently patted his hand.

"Don't worry. Once we get divorced, it'll be fine. From then on, it'll be just the two of us… We'll live peacefully," she replied, her voice soothing.

Before she could finish, a sudden clamor of voices erupted in the living room.

"Ms. McGrath is back!"

"Ms. McGrath, come see the child in my arms. We've calculated his luck based on his birth date. Everyone says he's blessed. If you accept him as your godson, it would be perfect."

"Ms. McGrath, look at my daughter. She's obedient and sweet, our little darling. If you accept her as your goddaughter, she will also become your little darling in the future."

A few meticulously dressed people pushed and jostled, bringing their children toward Rory.

Surrounded unexpectedly, Rory and Jesse froze.

Jesse reacted first.

Panic rose in his voice as he shouted at the crowd, "What the hell are you doing? When did Rory say she wanted godchildren? If she wants children, I have plenty of ways to give them to her…"