After My Husband Sheltered His Mistress, I Stopped Loving Him

The day of my final prenatal checkup, my husband's hundred and eighth kept woman went berserk in the middle of the street and stabbed me thirteen times.

After forty-eight hours of emergency surgery, my baby didn't make it.

Grief-stricken and seething, I gathered every shred of evidence I could and pressed charges against her for attempted murder.

Yet on the day of the hearing, I watched my own husband walk in holding a lawyer's license. Under his polished defense, he produced a letter of forgiveness in my husband's name and got the woman released on bail.

Afterward, he explained it to me with lazy indifference: "Marcella Pruitt is only twenty. She's in the prime of her life. You can't ruin a future that bright."

"Be reasonable. Three are already gone. One more hardly matters. There'll be other children."

My heart turned to cold ash. I pulled out my phone and dialed.

"Mrs. Rowe, the fourth child didn't make it either. The contract is nearly up. It's time you kept your promise and let me go."

——

The line went silent for a long while. Then came a single sigh. "James Rowe simply isn't blessed with this. Constance, these seven years have been hard on you."

"James's birthday is five days from now. Let me send you off then. You'll want time to pack, won't you?"

I didn't argue with Mrs. Rowe. I only answered flatly, "All right. As for the keepsakes my mother left me, please return them promptly. I don't want any further ties to the Rowe family."

"Whatever kindness you showed my mother over the years, I've repaid it with the lives of four children and a body that's all but broken. I owe the Rowes nothing now."

Mrs. Rowe let out a deep sigh, her voice heavy with regret. "All right. I'll keep my word."

When I hung up, I let out a breath, as if a great weight had lifted.

The next second, the bedroom door was kicked open.

James stormed in, cold radiating off him, and grabbed me by the collar, hauling me half off the floor, the veins standing out along his arm.

He bit out through clenched teeth, "Constance Vance, who gave you permission to touch Marcella? Didn't I already explain it to you? She's young. It's only natural she doesn't know any better."

"You're a grown woman. Why pick fights with her? You took the title of Mrs. Rowe. So accept everything that comes with it. Do you understand me?"

"I don't understand." My voice came out raw, and for the first time, defiance broke across my face. "James, do you actually love her? Or is it just that she reminds you of your first love?"

"That much, we both already know. Don't we?"

Something flickered in his expression, and then the fury surged hot across his face.

Crack!

He struck me so hard I went down to the floor, my forehead slamming against the wooden bedframe.

James looked down at me, that flicker of feeling in his eyes vanishing the instant it appeared. His voice went cold. "Who said you could speak of her? Constance, you've gotten brave."

"Seven years with me. You should know exactly what kind of man I am."

"Since you dared to send someone to ruin Marcella's good name, then of course I'll take my revenge out of your hide."

As his words faded, four or five men filed in through the open door, one after another.

Filthy from head to toe, hunger written plain on their faces. Their slick, sickening eyes landed on me at once, as though they meant to strip me bare on the spot.

When James saw the panic on my face, exactly what he'd wanted, a cruel amusement curled his lips. "Relax. They're only going to take a few photos. You still wear the Rowe name, after all, and I don't care to be cuckolded."

He turned to the others. "I'll leave her to you. Be sure to get plenty of nude shots. Once it's done, you'll be paid accordingly."

With that, James turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

A crisp click.

The sound of the lock turning.

I crumpled to the floor. I hadn't imagined James could be this ruthless, that he meant to cut off every last way out for me.

The pain in my body wasn't a fraction of the pain in my heart.

The men exchanged a glance, then lunged forward, tearing at my clothes.

I fought with everything I had, begging desperately, "No! Get off! All of you, get away from me!"

"I'm Mrs. Rowe. Aren't you afraid of what I'll do to you afterward?!"

With nothing left to lose, I threw out my title, hoping to scare them.

They only burst into jeering laughter.

"Everyone in Ashford City knows Constance Vance is Mrs. Rowe in name only. It's just a label, nothing more."

"Sure is. Heard that when you caught Mr. Rowe's fifty-second lover, you slapped your own face fifty-two times begging him to keep you."

"A pathetic little bootlicker like you, you think Mr. Rowe spares you a single thought? Stay quiet and we'll make it nice for you."

My stomach dropped.

I realized they wanted far more than a few photos.

So I summoned every last bit of strength to fight my way to a chance at survival.

I looked at the half-open window, threw myself toward it without a second's hesitation, planted my foot hard, and flung myself out.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

James glanced over and saw I was awake, his tone full of reproach. "It was just a few photos. Did you really have to throw yourself off a ledge? Playing the chaste, wronged martyr. Who's the act for?"

"If those branches hadn't broken your fall, you'd be paralyzed right now. Constance, can't you show a little sense? Stop making scenes."

Listening to the same old scolding, I stared at the ceiling, heart cold as dead ash, and gave no answer.

When James saw I wouldn't speak, the tension in his face eased a fraction, and he opened his mouth to say something.

A distinct ringtone cut through the room. James picked up his phone and shot me a look before answering.

Seeing no reaction from me, he pressed the speaker button.

The next second, Marcella's sweet voice filled the entire ward. "James, the light in my room is broken. Could you come pick me up and let me stay at a hotel for the night?"

"Forget the hotel. Just come to my place." James cut a sidelong glance at the bed.

On the other end, Marcella gasped, then hesitated. "That... wouldn't that be a little awkward? What if Constance gets upset?"

James's gaze turned taunting. He deliberately held the phone out toward me. "Go on. Say something."

"Huh? Constance is right there with you?" Marcella sounded startled.

I pressed my dry, cracked lips together, looking at that face, so familiar and so strange. In the end I closed my eyes and rasped, "It's fine. You can have the master bedroom for all I care."

James's brow knit tight. Before Marcella could get another word out, he hung up.

His eyes fixed on me, hard.

I met his stare with a calm face.

After a long moment, James let out two short, scornful laughs. "Keep it up. Keep playing the part."

"Seven whole years, and only now do you learn to play hard to get. Constance, you really are a joke."

"Next time you want to throw your life away, do it somewhere far from me. Don't die in front of me. It turns my stomach."

With that, James turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Ding!

I picked up my phone and saw a new message in my inbox.

I opened it. My overseas teaching application had been approved.