Pregnant With Twins, I Run Away from My Treacherous Husband

“Simon actually did this to you?! Has he forgotten how he once knelt before Mom and Dad, begging to marry you? Did he forget who risked her life to save him in that car crash and you lost your legs for him?”

“Reina, I'll find you the best lawyer. Give me three days. I'll come and take you home!”

On the other end of the line, my brother, Lucian's voice shook with fury.

The warmth of my family's protection made my tears fall harder.

I had loved Simon since I was a girl. After the accident, he was the one who promised to take care of me for the rest of my life.

For ten years, he shielded me from cruel remarks about my legs. Every night, he would awkwardly yet tenderly massage them.

Even Jasmine—she had been carefully chosen by him from over a thousand applicants to be my personal assistant, to tend to my every need.

Was all of that love nothing but a lie?

When I hung up, the housekeeper approached cautiously, carrying a steaming glass of milk.

“Madam... this is from Mr. Alvaro. He says you must drink it before bed every night.”

Her words pierced me like a needle.

After my accident, I often woke up in the middle of the night. And many times, Simon would bring me warm milk just like this. His voice was gentle, telling me I was the most important person in his life, that no matter how I changed, he would never leave me.

Whenever I felt the weight of people's stares, he would stand in front of me, a wall between me and the world, my only anchor after my paralysis.

But yesterday, it was also this milk.

He coaxed me to drink it—and once the drug took effect, he held my hand and signed my name onto that cold, damning confession.

“Ah!”

The nausea and rage boiled up at once. I screamed, hurling my arm forward.

The glass shattered against the floor, milk splashing hot across my legs and soaking my pants.

The crash startled the people in the study.

Immediately, the door slammed open.

Simon stood there, annoyance flickering in his eyes at being interrupted. Jasmine slipped out from behind him, a triumphant smile curving her lips.

She walked toward me, her voice was laced with false concern.

“Madam, how did you manage to get your pants so dirty? How will I clean this up?”

She pulled out a tissue, reaching for my legs.

She used to do this sort of thing for me all the time—dressing, feeding, washing—without complaint. But now, the thought of her touch made the bile rise in my throat.

I slapped her hand away.

“Don't touch me!”

She gave a sharp cry, clutching her hand as if I'd hurt her.

Simon's face darkened.

“Reina, what's wrong with you now?” His voice was cold, and cutting.

“Jasmine has served you faithfully for ten years, and this is how you treat her?”

He pulled her into his arms, blowing gently over the hand that hadn't even reddened.

“Jasmine, does it still hurt? You're not her assistant anymore—you don't have to do this. And her legs... They're disgusting. Don't let them scare you.”

"Disgusting?"

The word left me reeling, the syllables scraping my throat as they came out.

He didn't notice—his attention was all on her.

I'd seen that tenderness before. When I was at my lowest, unable to feel my legs, he would massage them again and again, kissing every ugly scar as if it were nothing. Back then, his eyes had been just as soft.

And because I had known what love felt like, the absence of it was blindingly clear now.

Tears spilled over, hot and relentless, blurring my sight.

“Why? Simon... tell me why... why would you do this to me?”

At my words, his brow furrowed slightly—something flickering deep in his gaze, but it vanished before I could name it.

He was silent for a few seconds, then stepped forward, pulling a tissue from the box beside him.

As he leaned closer to wipe my tears, I saw it—an ambiguous red mark on his collarbone.

My sobs stopped dead. My body went rigid.

He followed my gaze, and a brief shadow of embarrassment crossed his face.

He straightened quickly, shoving the tissue into my cold hands.

“Wipe your face.”

Turning away, he spoke without looking at me.

“The lawyer will come tomorrow. I've arranged everything at the prison—you'll be looked after. A few years will pass quickly.”

He paused, then returned from the study with a document.

It was a divorce agreement.

“Sign it,” his voice was calm to the point of cruelty.

“It's better for both of us. All marital assets—including what's under your name—will go to Jasmine.”

His gaze flicked to my legs.

“I said I'd take care of you for life. When you get out, I'll bring you home. You can still stay by my side. I'll make sure someone looks after you.”

All the assets... to Jasmine.

I looked from the papers to the man I once thought I knew. Slowly, I curled my fingers around the agreement, my knuckles turning white with force.

To take her place in prison.

To stay by his side afterward, as if nothing had happened.

His shamelessness didn't just hurt me—it hollowed me out.

And at that moment, I knew... my heart for him was dead.