The CEO Husband Seeks Power, Not Love

Rage detonated in my chest. I snatched the soup bowl from the table and hurled it to the floor beside her.

Porcelain exploded, sending shards flying. Hot broth splashed onto her calves.

"Elise James!" Thomas Gilbert roared, surging to his feet. Before I could react, his hand connected with my face.

The force of the slap knocked me to the ground. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and the metallic tang of blood bloomed in my mouth.

"You vicious woman! You dare attack a student? Do you call yourself a professor's wife with behavior like that?"

It was the first time I had seen Thomas lose control so completely. Even on our wedding day, he had remained composed, not shedding a single tear of joy.

"It's my fault." Hazel Fox's voice was small and trembling. "No matter how Mrs. Gilbert treats me, I should endure it. Teacher, please don't fight for my sake."

Her words seemed to snap Thomas out of his trance, but only to redirect his fury.

"No apology, is that it?"

He grabbed the clay pot from the table and upended it over me.

The broth looked lukewarm, but the temperature was searing. The moment the liquid coated the back of my hand, my skin screamed in protest, turning an angry red.

Thomas didn't even look at me. He scooped Hazel up in his arms, panic etched onto his features as he rushed toward the exit.

Before leaving, he threw a cold sentence over his shoulder:

"Since Hazel is hurt, you can taste what being scalded feels like, too."

The burn on my hand throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. The Thomas Gilbert who used to cook for me clumsily—who insisted on making me noodles even after burning his own fingers—was dead.

*"Cooking is too dangerous,"* he had once said, his eyes full of tenderness. *"From now on, let me do it."*

Now, he used the soup I had lovingly stewed to mutilate me.

I looked at the mess of food scattered across the floor and felt like a clown in a tragedy of my own making.

I pulled out my phone and texted the doctor:

*[I'm coming in for the abortion today.]*

The doctor replied instantly, urging me to reconsider. But the image of Thomas and Hazel kissing in the emergency room lobby burned in my mind.

I shook my head, my resolve hardening into ice.

Thomas once claimed he despised public displays of affection. At our wedding, he hadn't even kissed the bride. Yet for Hazel, he was willing to shatter every principle he claimed to hold.

My father had been a cheater. I would not let my child have one, too.

Climbing onto the operating table, my limbs felt heavy, as if filled with lead. When I climbed down, my womb was empty.

"Elise? What are you doing coming out of Obstetrics and Gynecology?"

I froze. Thomas was standing there, eyeing the department sign suspiciously.

My stomach churned. I forced a mask of calm onto my face. "Cramps. I was picking up painkillers."

I tried to sidestep him, but he caught my arm, yanking me back. The sudden motion sent a jolt of agony through my abdomen, and I doubled over.

That was when he noticed the blistering skin on the back of my hand. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He reached out to check it, but I violently shook him off.

"Go keep your Hazel company."

Hearing the sarcasm dripping from the words "your Hazel," Thomas's expression frosted over.

He looked down at me, his gaze imperious. "You know nothing. Hazel's family comes from money. If I mentor her well, my career path clears up significantly. I'm doing this for our family, Elise."

He paused, his lip curling. "And you—making a scene in front of my students. You're lucky Hazel is generous and isn't pressing charges. Come with me. You're going to apologize to her."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat. He was cheating, yet he still managed to package it as a noble sacrifice for his career.

"Then let's divorce. That way, you can't blame me for holding Professor Gilbert back from his promotion."

Thomas stiffened. When the weight of my words settled, he scoffed.

"You want a divorce? Don't joke. Without me, do you really think you'd live this comfortably?"

He pulled out his phone and transferred $100 to my account. The note read: *Buy burn ointment.*

"Fix that hand. A scar that size is hideous. You're both women, yet your hands don't have half the elegance of Hazel's."

He reached into his pocket and handed me a smartphone.

"Hazel doesn't use this one anymore. You can have it."

Having dispensed his charity, he turned and jogged back toward Hazel's ward without a backward glance.