My Husband Made Me Drink for His Secretary

On the third day after my abortion, Maxton Lewis said he would take me out to unwind. I didn’t expect him to drive me to a hotel.

The moment he opened the door to the private room, the pungent smell of alcohol filled the air, making me pause.

"Maxton, they forced me to drink, but I’m allergic to alcohol," Priscilla Carter cried.

Maxton wrapped an arm around her protectively and said, "Don’t worry; she will drink the rest for you."

Without warning, he turned to me and shoved me toward the table laden with drinks. I stumbled, catching the table's edge as a bottle tipped over and shattered on the floor.

"Priscilla isn’t feeling well. You drink this for her.”

I clutched my still-aching stomach and looked at him, disbelief flashing in my eyes. "Maxton, you know I just had surgery."

"Cut the act," he sneered, his lips curling cruelly. "Three years ago, you had a stomach bleed and still managed to drink two bottles. Do you think I’d fall for this now?"

The sharp edge of his sarcasm sliced through me like a blade. All the pent-up pain, humiliation and betrayal roared to life inside me, rising like a tidal wave.

I slapped him, the sound echoing in the room like thunder. "Enough," I said, my voice trembling with fury. Without waiting for his reaction, I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving behind the shattered remains of what I once thought was love.

Maxton grabbed my hand, his grip firm. "Solana, don’t get ahead of yourself. Do you really think you’re still pure? You’ve lost the child in your belly. Who would want someone as worthless as you after leaving me? Be good and drink for Priscilla. I still need you."

At that moment, whatever remained of the love I once felt for him shattered into irreparable pieces. Without a word, I chose to walk away.

But later, desperation consumed him. Maxton, once so arrogant, begged like a madman for my return.

——

"Wife, don’t hold onto your anger about the child. I’ve prepared a surprise for you. Let me show you."

His voice held a strange sincerity and the smile that had disappeared for so long unexpectedly returned.

Even as my heart ached, lost in the sorrow of what I had endured, I found myself sitting in his car, his promises of a surprise clouding my thoughts.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon," he said, a flicker of reassurance in his voice as he answered a call. His expression darkened and he pressed hard on the accelerator without warning.

Watching his furrowed brows and tight expression, I couldn’t help but ask, "Is something wrong with work? If it’s urgent, you should take care of it."

He smiled, his gaze softening as he replied, "Even if the sky falls today, I’ll still take you there."

His words carried an unwavering determination as he clasped my hand in his. The warmth of his palm wrapped around my cold fingers and for a fleeting moment, the ache of losing my child dulled.

When we arrived at the hotel, he stepped out first, swiftly opening my door thoughtfully. Holding my hand, he guided me toward a private room he had carefully arranged in advance.

But as the door creaked open, the surprise I had hoped for dissolved instantly. A crowd of drunken men greeted me instead, their rowdy laughter echoing through the room.

The stench of alcohol mingled with greasy food assaulted my senses, churning my stomach and making me nauseous.

"Maxton, they forced me to drink, but I’m allergic to alcohol."

Priscilla dashed toward Maxton the moment she saw him, tears streaming as she buried herself in his arms, disregarding my presence entirely.

I was on the verge of losing control when a voice rang out from the table, dripping with mockery. "Priscilla has been completely pampered by Maxton. She won’t even share a glass of wine with us. Is it because Maxton loves her more than we do?"

Maxton immediately shielded Priscilla, his movements tender as he wiped away her tears and murmured reassuringly, "Don’t worry. I’ll handle the rest of the drinks for you."

With that, he turned to me. Without warning, he shoved me hard, his strength unrelenting. I staggered toward the table, barely keeping my balance.

The sharp ache in my lower abdomen flared as I collided with the edge of the table, sending wine bottles crashing to the ground. My body, still fragile from the recent procedure, struggled to bear the brunt of the blow.

"Priscilla isn’t feeling well," Maxton said coldly, his voice cutting through my pain. "Drink the rest for her."

As I stood there, trembling and unsteady, a drunken man with a glass in hand approached, his grin leering. "Well, if Priscilla won’t drink, why don’t you keep us company instead?"

Clutching my aching lower belly, I fixed my gaze on Maxton, who was busy comforting Priscilla. My voice trembled with restrained fury as I reminded him, "You know perfectly well that I just had surgery."

Even as the words escaped my lips, a drunken man lunged toward me. Without hesitation, I shoved him away, the anger bubbling within me, fueling my strength.