The Unwanted Wife's Daring Escape Plan

The elevator doors opened, revealing a spacious and silent lobby. Kelly staggered out, her hands pressed tightly on her chest, trying to steady herself. The doorman George—the kind man who always smiled at her—was now staring at her with wide eyes, his face full of concern. She didn't see him. She couldn't see anything, only the scene in the study, like a branding iron, stamped on the inside of her eyelid.

She pushed open the heavy glass door and rushed into the cold embrace of Manhattan night.

The air was biting, piercing through her thin silk nightdress into her bare arms and legs. But she was completely unaware. She ran, barefoot on the cold, merciless sidewalk of Park Avenue, with no direction, no thought, only a desperate instinct—to separate herself from that apartment, that lie.

The city becomes a blur of streetlights and shadows. Jamie's face—not the shocked one, but the coldness and cruelty that followed—replayed in her mind over and over. Without a trace of shame. Pure and utter indifference. That was what truly torn her heart: it was not just betrayal, but erasure. The two years they spent together were meaningless. She was also meaningless.

Behind him, a tire screech tore through the night sky.

A black Range Rover suddenly swerved onto the roadside, blocking her way. The passenger door suddenly popped open.

Jamie.

He rushed out, grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin like claws.

"Get in, Kelly." His voice was low and threatening.

"No!" She screamed, trying to break free from his grip. "Let go of me!"

She fought him like a beast driven to the brink. Twisting and pulling, his nails scratching the back of his hand, drawing blood. For a moment, she thought she could break free.

He groaned and gripped tighter. Suddenly, he roughly twisted her around and pinned her against the hood. Cold metal pierced her skin through thin silk. His body pressed down on her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.

The man who had never spoken to her loudly, the man who always touched her gently, was gone. Right in front of him was clearly a stranger, a monster.

"Do you really think you can get away?" He hoarsely said, his face only a few inches from hers. That enchanting facade was completely torn away, leaving only a chilling, reptilian coldness.

"It's all true, isn't it?" She choked up, tears and anger choking her throat. "All of it."

"Yes, sir." That word is a simple yet cruel confirmation. "I'm gay. This marriage—this sad farce—was all for my father, for the board, for the inheritance. ”

This straightforward and unapologetic confession left her breathless. A surge of burning and pure anger surged throughout his body. She raised her hand, wanting to slap that triumphant, handsome face, trying to wipe away the cold pride in his eyes.

He grabbed her wrist midair, his grip like iron pincers. He twisted her arm until she cried out in pain.

"Don't move." His voice was suppressed into a whisper, more terrifying than any roar. He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing past her ear. "If you dare to reveal a word to anyone—reporters, your small circle of friends, anyone—I will make you regret coming into this world."

He paused, letting the threat hang in the air, savoring the growing fear in her eyes.

"I'll start with ......," he continued, his voice soft as if he were chatting, "cutting off funding for that clinic in Switzerland." Effective immediately. Kelly, how long do you think your mother could have held out without those machines? ”

Ice. A pure, alluring glacier surged through her veins. She instantly lost the strength to resist. His body went limp on the hood. Her mother. That sweet, fragile mother lay helplessly in a coma thousands of miles away, her life suspended entirely by this man's money. And this money was the entire reason for this fake marriage.

She stared at him, at the man she once loved, and saw a demon.

He saw the submission in her eyes and smiled. A smug smile curled at the corner of his mouth. He let go of her wrist, stepped back, and smoothed the expensive jacket as if brushing off a small patch of fuzz.

"Go back upstairs." His voice returned to a normal, commanding tone. "Tomorrow morning when you get up, you'll be Mrs. Jamie Conway—the perfect, supportive wife of her husband. Nothing will change. Do you understand? ”

She was speechless. She could only stare at him, as the world collapsed into a black hole he had created.

He didn't need to answer. He turned back into the Range Rover, drove away, leaving her alone and heartbroken on the dark, empty street.

Her legs had lost strength. She slid down a parked car by the roadside and collapsed onto the cold curb. Grief weighs on her body, making her bend over. She hugged her knees, buried her face in it, and began to sob. Not sobbing, but silent, intermittent breathing that tugged at her throat.

The wind picked up, and the icy drizzle began to fall. Raindrops soaked through her thin nightdress, clinging tightly to her skin. After a long time, the tears finally stopped, leaving only a vast, hollow void.

She propped herself up and staggered. Her body trembled violently from the cold and shock. His vision blurred. The world became a wet asphalt road and hazy streetlights.

She started walking again, like a ghost in the rain. She walked onto a pedestrian crossing. The small white pedestrian sign on the traffic light turned into a flashing red palm, then a solid red. She didn't see it. She saw nothing.

She stepped down from the curb.

A blinding beam of light. A panicked horn sounded.

She slowly turned her head. A huge truck was rushing toward her, its headlights like two huge, blinding suns. The driver desperately tried to brake, but the slippery road betrayed him. The giant was slippering, water-sliding, unstoppable.

Kelly closed her eyes. A strange calm enveloped her. It's over. The pain will end.

The impact was a deafening explosion and a cosmic-level pain. Her body was thrown up, flying into the air like a rag doll, then crashing heavily onto the asphalt.

A sudden, burning pain swept through her head, back, and legs—the pain was everywhere. A warm, sticky dampness spread from my forehead and into my eyes.

His vision blurred. The edge of the field of vision is darkening.

At the last moment of consciousness, she heard another voice—the piercing screech of expensive tires braking hard.

A dull sound rang out with the car door slamming.

Footsteps were running toward her.

A pair of gleaming black custom leather shoes appeared at the edge of her vision, spotless even in the rain.

The owner of the shoes knelt beside her. A wave of warmth and the scent of cedar mixed with rain—crisp and fresh—washed over me.

A deep voice, carrying an emotion she couldn't put into words, called her name tensely.

"Kelly."

She tried to answer, tried to open her eyes, but she no longer had the strength.

Darkness engulfed her.