“Benedict, wait—”

“Maeve fell from the fucking fifth floor because of you. And you’re whining about a bump on your damn head? You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to apologize. And you’re gonna beg for her forgiveness.”

My legs barely worked because of pain but he didn’t care. He just shoved me into the passenger seat.

The whole ride, I stared out the window, silently screaming from the pain. It felt like my whole body was going to collapse from the fall.

We arrived at the hospital. He didn’t wait for me, he just stormed into the room like he owned it.

Maeve was propped up in the hospital bed, looking pale, fragile, bandaged wrists on display like a trophy. As soon as she saw me, her eyes widened with manufactured fear.

Bitch!

“Benny…” she whispered, shaking. “I—I don’t want her here. Please… I'm scared of her.”

Benedict went straight to her, sat on the edge of the bed, and took her hand like she was something sacred. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Then he turned to me. His eyes turned to ice.

“Well?” he said, voice hard. “What the hell are you standing there for? APOLOGIZE.”

I looked at Maeve. At her scared little expression. At the bandages…. At Benedict holding her like a wounded dove.

And I asked her quietly, “Did I really push you?”

Maeve’s eyelashes fluttered, and just like that, she started crying. “Miss Linwood,” she choked out between soft sobs, “if you don’t want to apologize, it’s okay. I never wanted to cause problems for you.” Her voice was fragile, trembling. “I know Benedict’s been staying with me lately,” she continued, wiping tears from her cheeks. “And it’s only natural if you feel upset. But… you and him, you’re just a business arrangement. There’s no love. If it weren’t for my background, he never would’ve had to marry someone else.”

The more she talked, the more pathetic she sounded. The more she cried, the darker Benedict’s face grew.

Then his voice snapped like a gunshot. “Alodia. I told you to apologize. Not to start drama!” His eyes cut through me. “Are you gonna do it or not?”

I looked at Maeve. Her perfect little act, all wide-eyed and broken like a porcelain doll.

I knew she was lying.

I knew she fell on her own…

And I also knew this: if I didn’t play along, if I caused even a small crack in the cooperation between the Linwoods and the Karsovs, I wouldn’t get my freedom. I wouldn’t get the hundred million that Mrs. Linwood promised me. I’d be stuck. In this marriage. In this life. Forever.

So I swallowed everything. “I’m sorry,” I said flatly, “It was my fault.” Then I turned to leave.

“Stop.” Benedict’s tone was ice. “You fucking pushed her, now you took responsibility. You’ll stay and look after her. Until she’s discharged.”

I didn’t argue. My fingers twitched slightly at my side. But I nodded.

“Okay.”

**

AFTER THAT, I STAYED in the hospital.

Every day, I took care of Maeve, helped her change clothes, brought her meals, fluffed her pillows like some helper robot. I brushed her hair and adjusted her blankets.

Benedict stayed too. Of course he did.

He didn’t check on the cartel shipments. Didn’t answer his phone when his men called. The entire Karsov operation could’ve burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because Maeve had a bruised rib and a sprained wrist.

He fed her porridge. Wiped her lips with a napkin. Sat beside her while she fell asleep.

He’d never done any of that for me.

Then one morning, Benedict’s phone rang. I heard only fragments—“European investors… issue with the Dubai end… thirty minutes max.” He looked at Maeve apologetically, kissed her forehead, and left.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the air shifted.

Maeve glanced at the clock, gave it ten full seconds… then turned to me with a slow, lazy smile.

“Peel the orange, slave. And don’t bruise it this time!"

I peeled the orange. Then she picked up the glass of orange juice and flung it straight to my face.It hit with a loud splash.

“Oops!” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Go clean it up, Cinderella. Before he comes back and sees what a mess you are.”

Then, as if on cue, the door opened again.

Benedict stepped inside, expression unreadable. His eyes swept over Maeve. Then over me.

He saw the spilled juice. The soaked shirt. The broken glass.

“Maeve?” he asked, frowning. “What happened?”

Maeve’s eyes instantly shimmered with moisture. “I’m so sorry, Benny. My hand slipped. I didn’t mean to—” her voice cracked.

Benedict sighed. “Don’t apologize for her, Maeve. She’s your maid here. It’s her job to clean up after you.”

Silence rang louder than thunder. My heart should’ve broken then. But it didn’t. Because it was already ash.

And soon, the hospital staff noticed.

One afternoon, as I was washing Maeve’s fruit in the kitchen, I overheard two nurses whispering.

“Oh my god. That’s his wife? Seriously?”

“Yeah. I heard they’ve been married for years. But he’s clearly in love with the other woman.”

The younger one glanced toward the ward door. “She’s... so calm. How does she do it?”

The older nurse sighed like she was watching a tragedy unfold. “You don’t understand. That’s real love.”

“What?”

“She’s taking care of the woman her husband is in love with. Not out of duty. Not out of pride. But because... she still hopes he’ll look at her. Even once. That’s the saddest kind of love. The kind that never speaks.”

Outside, I heard Benedict's footsteps slow by the nurses’ station. I didn’t turn around. But I felt his gaze on my back.

**

On the day Maeve was discharged, Benedict came home just long enough to throw his keys on the counter and look at me like I was something that reeked.

“I’m taking Maeve out of town for a while,” he said, flatly. “Don’t call me unless someone’s dead.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He never did.

I watched him guide her toward the waiting car, his hand lightly on her lower back, a coat draped over her shoulders then the door slammed. I stood still until the engine disappeared into the distance, taking their laughter with it.

The next day, I started packing. I folded everything in silence. My hands were steady. My chest, strangely calm.

Then a notification lit up my phone.

Maeve.

I froze.

And then the photos started.

Not one. Not two. Dozens.

They came in fast, one after another. A whole curated album. Each image framed for cruelty.

Her on Benedict’s lap at a vineyard in Tuscany, laughing while he kissed her neck.

Her wrapped in white silk sheets, back arched, one of his shirts draped across her bare thighs. Her, standing in front of a mirror with his arm wrapped around her waist, his phone in one hand, hers in the other as they captured the reflection together.

Her, holding his hand as he slipped a new bracelet onto her wrist, my bracelet. The one that gifted to me by Mrs. Karsov.

The final photo was a close-up of her lips on his chest, and beneath it, a caption in soft pink text:

“Look, Alodia. He may be your husband on paper… but never in bed. Pathetic little leech.”

My thumb hovered over the screen. But I didn’t delete it. I just let the images sit there and smiled bitterly.

**

But then came the Karsov patriarch’s birthday banquet. Benedict wasn’t back. He didn’t even bother to send a message. So, I showed up alone.

I wore a plain black dress… high collar, long sleeves. It covered my bruises with foundation and prayer. Pulled my hair tight into a low bun and walked in like I was supposed to be there.

The ballroom glowed with gold and crystal. Every guest glided like silk across the marble floors, dressed in custom gowns, heirloom jewelry, and the kind of arrogance only old blood could afford.

I stepped in. Heard the whispers before the doors even closed behind me. But it was she who saw me first, Grandmother Signe Karsov.

She sat at the head of the long table, spine straight despite her age, eyes sharp as a scalpel behind diamond-framed glasses.

As soon as her gaze landed on me, the smile on her face vanished.

“Where is Benedict?”

Her voice was calm. Cold. That tone that made grown men forget their power and shrink into silence.

I lowered my eyes. “He had urgent business overseas…”

She laughed once. “Urgent, was it?” She turned to reach for her wine, but just then, the butler burst into the room, face pale, hands shaking.

He didn’t speak. He simply handed her the tablet.

“Benedict Karsov and Maeve Peters spotted kissing in Tuscany.”

The headline was smeared with words like “romance,” “secret getaway,” “Karsov heir in love,” and “future bride?”

The photo was worse. He wasn’t just kissing her. He was worshipping her, his hand on her cheek, eyes closed, foreheads touching like a damn movie still.

Signe’s wine glass shattered against the marble.

“Alodia,” she said tightly. “Come. Now.”

She rose, turned, and walked toward the west corridor without another word. I followed. The entire table watched in silence.

She didn’t speak until we entered the ancestral room… heavy wood, dusty portraits, oil lamps that always smelled faintly of blood and rust.

She closed the door. Locked it.

Then turned and slapped me across the face, hard that my head whipped sideways from the force.

“Have you no shame?” she hissed. “Look at you. Humiliated. Mocked. You walk in here alone on my husband’s birthday like some discarded mistress, while your so-called husband is off licking champagne off another woman’s throat.”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you even know what this looks like?” she snarled. “The Linwood name was supposed to strengthen us. Instead, we’re a laughingstock. If your family had even a shred of pride, they’d drown you in a well.”

I swallowed the taste of blood. “I didn’t publish the article.”

“Oh, don’t insult my intelligence.” Her eyes narrowed. “Either call Benedict right now and tell him to get his ass back here, or take what’s coming.”

I knew the answer. He wouldn’t come for me. Not if I begged. Not even if I bled or died.

“I’ll take it.”

Her brows arched. “What did you say?”

“I’ll take the punishment.”

She smiled. And that smile was sick. She walked to the far wall, pressed a small wooden panel. It slid open, revealing a cabinet I’d only ever seen once.

A thick, polished cane rested inside. Next to it, a drawer of incense, ropes, and a cattle prod.

The old tools of control.

The Karsovs didn’t just build an empire. They built a dynasty of obedience. She took out the cane. Ran her hand lovingly along the shaft.

Then the first strike came fast. Across my back, hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

The second split skin.

The third hit bone.

By the fifth, I was on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold stone tiles, trembling from pain so sharp it blurred my hearing and lost consciousness halfway through her rage.

**

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My mouth tasted like metal and regret. Then I saw him.

Benedict.

"You let my grandmother beat you like that. Why didn’t you call me?"

"Didn’t want to interrupt your date with Maeve."

He blinked.

I turned my face to the window and let the silence pour in like smoke. Thick. Suffocating.

Then he stayed. For days. Sitting there, saying nothing, pretending to be the man I thought I married. I told him he didn’t have to. That I was fine. But he didn’t leave.

Not until a phone call came in.

“Business emergency,” he said, standing. But I already saw the caller, it's Maeve. "You’ll go home by yourself."

I nodded. "Sure."

I dressed slowly. Every move felt like peeling open a wound. The gauze tugged with every breath. My coat smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt fabric. But I forced one foot in front of the other, walking down the hospital stairs. I didn’t see him coming. A man turned the corner, holding a venti Starbucks cup, and slammed right into me.

The coffee spilled. It splashed across my arm, my chest. Burned right through the thin fabric. I sucked in a breath as pain seared across my skin.

The man looked down at his soaked designer blazer.

"You blind or just broke?!" he snarled, wiping at the mess like I was dirt. "Do you even know how much this jacket costs? Or are you too used to charity hospitals to care?"

"I—I’m sorry." I bent down, grabbing at my soaked coat, trying to breathe through the sting. "It was my fault—"

"You’re damn right it was." He stepped closer. "Pay for it. Now."

But before I could say another word, a voice rang out behind me. Low. Lethal.

"Touch her again and I’ll break your jaw."

The man turned.

Benedict was there.

Before the man could even scream, five men in black appeared behind Benedict like shadows. They moved fast. Too fast.

“Take him,” Benedict said.

No hesitation. They dragged the man away as he kicked and cursed and shouted threats no one cared to hear.

And then silence.

Benedict turned to me. His gaze swept over my clothes. Cheap, wrinkled, still faintly stained with blood and now, coffee.

"You got no money from Linwood or Karsov? Why the hell are you dressed like this?"

The Linwood family never gave me a damn cent but only hospitalizations for my grandmother. And sure, the Karsovs had a black card, but I was never the real Mrs. Karsov. So the card stayed in my wallet like a joke I wasn’t allowed to laugh at.

“The hell are you sulking for now?” he snapped, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into his black SUV. “Come on. You look like hell. We’re getting you new clothes.”

I didn’t argue.

**

At the mall, he picked out designer sets like he was selecting weapons… sharp, cold, expensive.

I stood there, still as marble, while assistants zipped me in and out of clothes like I was one of their mannequins.When we finally stepped out into the sunlit atrium, bags in hand and the sting of luxury clinging to my skin, I thought it was over.

But then—

“Benny?”

I froze.

Maeve.

Wearing heels too high for a casual afternoon, with sunglasses perched on her head and her phone in one hand. A staff trailed behind her, pushing a cart stacked with 20 glossy black-and-gold boxes. Chanel. Cartier. Valentino. All of it bleeding wealth.

From his other black card. The one he didn’t think I knew about.

Her lips parted when she saw me. The smile she had died mid-air. “Oh… I didn’t know you were… out.” Her gaze flicked from my face to the bags in my hand, then back to Benedict. “You said you were in Singapore.”

“Maeve—”

“You told me not to text because you’d be in meetings all day,” she said, “I should’ve known,” she whispered, voice trembling. “God, I should’ve known…”

She looked at me again, like I was a ghost haunting the life she’d tried to steal.

Then she turned and ran.

“Maeve!” he shouted, already chasing her.

I just stood there. Watching him disappear after her. And then… Bang!

The sound was deafening. I whipped my head around just in time to see a sheet of glass falling from the upper floor of the mall. It hit Maeve before she could scream.

Blood spilled. Bright, fast. She collapsed in an instant.