Given to a Beggar: A Marriage's Darkest Secret

After eight years of marriage, my husband, who had intimacy issues, still wouldn't touch me during the day.

Only when I pushed him too far at night, he'd cover my eyes and let loose, fierce and wild.

I loved how cold and controlled he was in public, but wild and unrestrained behind closed doors.

Until the day I found out I was pregnant. I snuck into his office to surprise him, but overheard him talking to a friend.

"Dylan, if Claudia ever found out you've been saving yourself for Nora all these years, that you never touched her and had some beggar stand-in, she'd lose her mind."

Dylan Larson replied calmly, "Nora only has three months left. I promised her. I can't break that. Once these three months are over, Claudia and I will be together for real. I'll make it up to her. As for the truth..."

He smiled confidently and said, "Claudia's so crazy about me, even if she knew, she'd never leave. Getting the real me? She'd probably beg for it."

My hand, ready to push the door open, froze. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest.

How dare Dylan think I'd keep loving him after he played me for a fool?

I decisively made a phone call.

"Dad, I want to divorce Dylan and make sure he pays dearly!"

...

My dad's bodyguards acted swiftly.

Within half an hour, I was escorted into Dylan's office.

The door swung open.

Dylan's face darkened when he saw the bodyguards behind me.

I walked straight up to him and threw the prepared divorce papers in his face.

Without even glancing at them, Dylan spoke with his usual arrogance, "What's this tantrum about this time? Because I didn't answer your call?"

It had always been like this for eight years.

He was always in control, always dismissing my feelings as me being difficult.

Eight years ago, after that car crash where I saved him, my right leg was shattered. My career as the nation's premier ballerina ended overnight.

He married me, saying it was out of gratitude.

He also talked me out of an experimental treatment abroad with a high success rate.

He'd said, "Claudia, I don't want you to suffer anymore. Stay with me. I'll take care of you forever."

I believed him.

I gave up my only chance to ever dance again, content to be his caged songbird.

After the injury, I became sensitive and insecure.

Countless nights, I broke down because he stayed out late.

I grew hysterical over his physical distance from me.

Every fight ended with me crying and apologizing.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. Please don't get sick of me. You're all I have…"

He would only look at me coldly, finally embracing me out of pity, saying, "Sleep now."

But this time was different.

After hearing his words, the love that had burned for eight years turned to cold, dead ashes in my chest.

When I stayed silent for too long, Dylan lost patience. He reached for my hand.

I jerked back, avoiding his touch.

Then I raised my hand and smashed the so-called promise bracelet he gave me on the floor.

The green jade shattered into pieces, just like our pathetic marriage.

"Dylan, I heard everything."

His face finally changed, but he didn't apologize.

He just stared at me in shock, even with the anger of being betrayed.

"You're going to discard our eight years over this trivial matter? What have I sacrificed for you? I gave up the chance to be with Nora openly! I've been stuck with you, a cripple, for eight years. Isn't that enough?"

The name Nora Barton was like a poisoned needle straight to my heart.

I remember that after the car accident, I was lying in the hospital bed, and he vigilantly stayed by my side.

I was deeply moved then.

But now I realized, all those times he made excuses to leave my room late at night.

Back then, I thought he was busy with work.

Now I understand he was going to another patient's room. The one he actually cared.

And those nights when he'd blindfold me, when some stranger with sweat and cigarette breath would take me roughly.

Each time, it was like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I thought it was a psychological issue from my injury. I saw doctor after doctor.

Dylan would only coldly blame me. "Claudia, can't you just cooperate a little?"

Now I understand.

It wasn't an illness.

It was eight years of rape, silently approved by my own husband.

I laughed so hard my shoulders shook, tears streaming down my face.

Dylan was unnerved by my laughter, frowning as he shouted, "Are you crazy?"

I looked up, my eyes filled with hatred.

Dylan was completely angered by my gaze, and he suddenly raised his hand.

I instinctively shielded my stomach with my both hands.

Dylan stared at me, his anger shifting into sudden understanding.

"You're pregnant?"

Then, his eyes lit up with a hopeful gleam.

It had nothing to do with becoming a father.

His next words sent me plunging into an icy hell.

"Claudia, Nora needs a stem cell transplant from umbilical cord blood. As long as you have the baby and donate the cord blood to her, I'll pretend none of this ever happened."