After My Husband Sheltered His Mistress, I Stopped Loving Him

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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.

Seven years ago, to keep my dying mother alive, I worked eight jobs a day, and even that barely touched the medical bills that swallowed us whole.

Then one afternoon, in the middle of a delivery run, I came upon a car wreck. I called for help, and only then noticed the fuel leaking from the wreckage.

The moment I'd dragged everyone clear, the car went up in flames.

When the rescue crew arrived, I climbed back on my bike and rode off, never dreaming that one rescue would rewrite my entire life.

Not long after, a woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Rowe of the Rowe Group sought me out. Her son had been left comatose, she told me, and a fortune-teller had read our birth charts and declared them a perfect match.

She asked if I would become her daughter-in-law, marrying him to turn his luck and save his life. The compensation she offered was considerable.

For my mother's sake, I agreed. I signed a private contract with Mrs. Rowe, and on the strength of her promises, I took on the burden of nursing her son.

After a full year of my care, uncomplaining through every hardship, James Rowe finally woke.

With the media circling and the pressure mounting, he married me once he opened his eyes.

At first our life together was happy enough. He even tried to accept me. But three years in, when my mother passed, James changed completely.

He started staying out all night. He stopped answering my messages, ignored my calls, and flew into a rage if I so much as said a word or two to him.

Then came the kept women, a new one every few days. Now and then one would last three months, but every last one got swapped out in the end.

Until Marcella Pruitt appeared. The day I sent someone to dig into her background happened to be the day of my prenatal checkup.

But before that file ever reached my hands, she stabbed me thirteen times.

It was only after I finally saw her in person that I understood why James guarded her the way he did.

She bore a striking resemblance to his first love. Those eyes, especially. They were too alike.

The contract was nearly up anyway. This marriage, this living hell, was due to end.

I pulled myself back to the present and looked at the last line of the emailWould you be willing to join us?

Without hesitation, I pressed Yes, then sent off a reply, letting them know I would arrive in Maldea in four days.

Once that was done, I went straight to check myself out of the hospital.

Back home, I began erasing every trace I'd ever lived there.

Matching clothes, matching slippers, matching little couple's trinkets, all of it went into the trash.

While clearing out the vanity, I found a pair of pink pearl earrings, James's gift for our first anniversary.

I could still see him then, his eyes soft, his movements stiff as he fastened them on me. My Connie can pull off anything! From now on, I'm buying you so many more pearls!

A pity. From our fourth anniversary on, James never gave me another. He stopped marking the holidays altogether.

Every time, I'd cook a full table of food, and he'd stay out all night. I'd plant myself stubbornly at that table until dawn, and still he wouldn't come home, and the food would go cold.

Just like this lopsided marriage of ours, growing bleaker by the day.

I steadied myself, dropped the earrings into the trash, and pulled open a drawer to find it crammed with the written promises James had once given me.

In those first three years, every time he wronged me, James would write me a promise. And every one of them began the same wayCV.

My name is Constance Vance.

Back then, drowning in that sweet, happy marriage, I thought those letters were his own private pet name for me.

A pity I'd guessed wrong.

A year ago, I learned that James carried a first love in his heart. When he'd crashed that car, she had been inside it with him.

She wasn't among the people I pulled out. I looked into it later and understood: she'd been thrown into the gap between the back seat and the trunk, completely outside my line of sight, and so she missed her best chance at rescue.

That girl was namedCelia Vance.

So CV had been hers alone.

The instant I knew the truth, I finally understood why every promise James wrote carried such thick guilt, such deep self-reproach.

He'd been atoning to his first love. Through me.

I crushed the promise in my hand, and my heart felt like two invisible hands had ripped it clean in two, the pain so sharp I couldn't stand.

One hand braced on the vanity, the other sweeping every last promise into the trash.

Anything that was never mine, I want none of it.

I burned every last piece, then reached out to the Vanishing Society. Only after I'd sent them my exact requirements did I tuck my phone away.

When I looked up, James was standing in the doorway with Marcella tucked against his side.

His eyes dropped to the brazier, brows knitting together. "What are you throwing a fit about now?"

I said nothing.

No matter what I did, in James's eyes it was always some childish tantrum.

I'd heard accusations like this more times than I could count. Once, when I still loved him, I would have fought to explain myself.

But I didn't love him anymore. I couldn't be bothered to explain anything.

Marcella's gaze grazed the brazier without lingering, then she hooked her arm through James's and shot me a taunting little smile. "Connie, surely you're not going to start playing the heartbroken martyr just because of one thing he said?"

"All this pretending you don't care about anything. You're trying to get his attention again, aren't you? Win him back?"

She put on an air of perfect understanding. "Oh, who'd have guessed it. Connie's almost thirty, and she's still throwing little-girl tantrums."

"But we're both women, so of course I can read those little games of yours."

With that, she gave James a coy push and pouted. "Aren't you going to go comfort your wife? She is the lady of the Rowe house, after all. What if she gets upset and sends someone to bully me again?"

James ruffled her hair and reassured her, indulgent. "Don't worry. She wouldn't dare touch you. I looked into last time, too. It was another one of my enemies who arranged it."

Listening to them, the hands at my sides clenched tight.

With his resources, there was no way James hadn't uncovered the truth and the person behind it.

But to keep Marcella happy, he'd still chosen to hire someone to take those photos of me, to ruin my name.

I gave a self-mocking laugh. All at once, these seven years felt like the work of a fool.

Seven whole years of my youth, wasted on a man who was never worth it.

I'd even wrecked my own health for him.

"What are you laughing at?" James's eyes sharpened, fixed on me.

I picked up a glass of water and doused the flames, calm. "Nothing. It has nothing to do with you."

With that, I had no wish to stay a moment longer. I turned and walked out.

The next day, the moment I finished canceling my identity records, James's message came through.

Bring a box of condoms to Allure Bar. Twenty minutes.

The same as always.

James only ever remembered protection at the last possible second, with the arrow already drawn on the string.

Sometimes, by the time I arrived, I'd walk in on the live performance.

To that kind of thing, I'd long since gone numb.

I was about to ignore it when I remembered the peace pendant hanging at his throat, the one my mother had prayed over for him.

A man like him didn't deserve to wear it.

I turned and headed to the store, bought what I needed, and hailed a cab.

I made it in fifteen minutes. I'd just raised my hand to knock when I heard the jeering through the gap in the door.

"James, you've really got a knack for this. You've trained Constance to heel so well, you say one word and she doesn't dare say two."

"Right, right. James, you got any secrets? Share some wisdom with us."

The room went quiet.

James took a drag of his cigarette and answered, idle. "First, you treat her well. Indulge every little mood, no conditions. Let her fall in deep. Then, once there's no one left around her, she'll depend on you with everything she has."

"After that, no matter how you push her away, she can't leave you. Because in her world, outside of you, there's no one else."

The words set off a wave of laughter and agreement around the room, everyone praising how brilliant his methods were.

Standing in the doorway, I felt like I'd been dropped into ice, my limbs rigid, the blood running backward through me.

For years I'd never understood the change in him. I'd always believed it was something I hadn't done well enough.

Now, hearing the truth with my own ears, I finally understood. It wasn't that I wasn't good enough. It was that some people were never worth a single ounce of my heart.

Constance, why aren't you going in?

Marcella's sweet, simpering voice drifted up behind me.

I'd barely turned around when she snatched my hand and yanked hard, throwing herself backward.

By the time I understood what was happening, James had already come out of the private room, carefully easing Marcella up into his arms.

She huddled against his chest, eyes rimmed with red. James, don't blame Constance. I'm sure she didn't mean it

James's gaze cut toward me, sharp as a blade. Apologize.

Two cold words, and just like that, I was guilty.

I clutched the plastic bag and tried to defend myself. It wasn't me. I didn't push her

Let it go, James. If Constance says it wasn't her, then it wasn't her. Marcella played the picture of grace and understanding.

Her mouth said she didn't care, but her body just happened to reveal the scrape across her palm.

James's brow knit, the chill around him deepening. Constance. Apologize. Don't make me say it a third time.

A few of the rich boys from the room spilled out to watch the show.

Just apologize already, Constance. James won't lift a finger for you anyway. Hahaven't you noticed there's no one standing behind you?

Pushes someone over and still acts like she's in the right! Who does she think she is, Marcella? Everybody's darling?

No wonder she can't have kids. Probably because she's made up so much bad thing, so shell never bear a child and secure her place as Mrs. Rowe.

Listening to the steady drip of their mockery, my long-dead heart gave a dull, aching throb.

The deaths of those four children had always been a thorn buried in my chest.

Constance, my patience has limits. James's face darkened.

Marcella cooed her fake comfort. It's all right, James. Constance is Mrs. Rowe, after all. I'm just a nobody, a little commoner. How could I ever measure up to Mrs. Rowe?

I'd already dug up everything about her background. I lifted my eyes to her, my pale lips curving faintly. Do you really have no background?

Something guilty flickered in the depths of her eyes.

She shrank back behind James as if frightened.

His brow furrowed as he shielded her behind him. Constance, you'd threaten Marcie right in front of me?

Someone get over here. Make her kneel right there. She doesn't get up until we're done.

The bodyguards trailing him stepped forward at once and forced me down onto the floor, rough and unceremonious.

Bone struck concrete with a hard crack, and the pain pulled a sharp gasp out of me.

Before they went back into the room, I clawed desperately at the hem of James's trousers, my voice low and pleading. James, that peace pendant on your neck. Give it back to me.

I'll kneel two days and two nights. Just give me back the peace pendant.

James reached up and touched it, then kicked my hand away, looking down at me from on high. It's a piece of junk. You actually think I want it?

When we're finished in there, I'll give it back.

The door shut. I knelt there, numb. Now and then a passing guest pointed and whispered. I heard none of it.

I don't know how long it had been when the thick smell of smoke suddenly reached me, and the next second the door swung open.

My voice came out raw. James, the peace pendant

Before I could finish, he hauled me up by the arm. The room's on fire. Move.

He had Marcella tucked against his other side. She slid me a glance, unreadable, then said in a worried toneJames, this is all my fault. I didn't keep that fire under control Constance's peace pendant is still in there. Let me go back for it.

Marcella made a show of leaving, and James caught her back, pulling her hard against him.

"It's a worthless trinket. Lose it, buy another."

With that, James reached for my hand, meaning to take me out with him.

I glanced at his neck and saw the red cord truly wasn't there anymore. I jerked my hand away from his and turned, walking straight back into the private room.

James moved to stop me, but just then Marcella let out a soft cry. "Ah... I think my calf got burned. Will it scar? James, I'm scared..."

His attention snapped to her. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped Marcella up and left.

After they were gone, I searched the smoke-choked room for a long time before I finally found the peace pendant, abandoned in the corner of the sofa.

By then the flames had spread, but I didn't care about the risk of being burned. I reached out, snatched it up, and clutched it against my chest.

My mother had knelt up ninety-nine steps to pray for this before she died.

Just as I reached the door, the frame collapsed in flames. I threw myself clear of it, dodging desperately, and finally made it out.

The moment I escaped, my vision went black and I passed out cold.

When my mind surfaced again, before I could even open my eyes, I heard James's voice cut through the room, leaving no room for argument.

"Graft her skin onto Marcie. Marcie's only twenty. She has her whole youth ahead of her. She can't be left with scars."

"As for Constance Vance, she's already past her prime. There's no need to worry about her."

The doctor seemed to hesitate. "But Miss Vance's burns cover a large area, while Miss Pruitt's burn is only the size of a fingernail. There's really no need..."

Before the doctor could finish, James cut him off, impatient. "If I remember correctly, I own this hospital. I'm the one who pays your salary."

The doctor paused a few seconds, then gave in. "Yes, Mr. Rowe."

"But Miss Vance doesn't have much undamaged skin left. I'm afraid we can only graft from the scalp..."

"Then take it from there. Anything goes wrong, it's on me." James didn't hesitate at all.

I lay limp on the bed, and when I felt a faint sting in my arm, my consciousness sank back into darkness.

When I woke again, three days had passed.

I looked at myself in the mirror, wrapped head to toe in bandages, and my eyes brimmed.

I lifted my hand and touched the top of my head.

The thick hair was gone. Only cotton and bandages remained, with a faint seep of blood through them.

Ding!

I picked up my phone and saw a message from Mrs. Rowe.

The divorce paperwork is finalized. I'll give you the divorce certificate and your mother's belongings tomorrow. Do you need me to buy your plane ticket?

I worked my stiff fingers.

No.

I had just stepped out of the bathroom when I saw Marcella sitting at the head of my bed, holding the peace pendant I'd dragged out of the fire.

My pupils shrank. "Give it back!" My voice came out harsh.

I lunged to take it back.

But Marcella dodged me with ease.

Click.

A flame leapt from a lighter, and Marcella held the pendant above it.

She gloated. "Constance Vance, you think you're so capable? I want you on your knees, repenting to me!"

Repent for what?

I opened my mouth, asked nothing, my eyes locked on the pendant in her hand.

Seeing I didn't move, Marcella offered a "kind" reminder. "Back when you saved James, why didn't you save Olive? Because you already knew he was the heir to the Rowe family, so you wanted to slip in while she was gone."

"Constance Vance, who said you had no schemes? Look how cushy these seven years have been for you. You almost gave birth to a bastard, too."

"Tsk, tsk. You breed like a sow. I've already killed three of your bastards, and I never imagined you'd manage to conceive a fourth. Cheap to the bone."

She paused, her expression delighted, her gaze dropping to my flat stomach. "Heh. But a bastard's still a bastard. I won't let him be born, and he won't live!"

Dread rose in my chest. I asked, my voice cracking, "Who are you, really? Why would you go after my children? They were innocent!"

No matter what, the children were innocent.

And yet Marcella wore the look of a petty soul drunk on victory.

Rage surged through me. I wanted nothing more than to rush at her and tear her apart.

Marcella smiled gently and said it plainly. "Olive was my sister. I came to take my revenge."

"Whose fault is it that you didn't save my sister back then? All these years you've climbed up on her flesh and blood, and you've had quite the comfortable life, haven't you~"

My face was bloodless. I wanted to explain, but there was nowhere to begin.

Marcella held up the peace pendant and arched a brow. "Kneel. Kowtow to me."

"Keep going until I'm satisfied. Maybe then I'll give it back. Otherwise"

As she spoke, her fingers loosened.

I lunged forward to stop her. "No! Don't let go! I'll kneel!"

My mother had earned that pendant on her knees, one bow at a time, the whole way. I couldn't lose a single thing of hers.

Slowly, I sank down.

Marcella pressed again. "And the kowtow."

My hands curled into fists at my sides. Swallowing the humiliation, I lowered my head to the floor.

She clicked her tongue, displeased. "Looks like you don't know how. Fine. Let me teach you."

Before I could lift my head, she yanked it up by force, then slammed it back down.

A heavy thud.

My whole skull spun. A hollow ringing filled both ears.

Marcella wasn't finished. She kept her grip on the bandages around my head, hauling me up, driving me back down.

A dozen times over, until pain wracked my body in shaking spasms.

In the end, too weak to hold on, I passed out.

When I came to, the charred remains of the peace pendant lay beside me.

Exhausted, numb, I gathered the pieces one by one.

My phone lit up. A message from James.

I'm taking Marcie to a birthday party today. Get yourself up to the second floor and stay there. Don't come down and cause trouble.

I pressed the screen dark and turned to check myself out of the hospital.

When I reached the Rowe residence, I went in through the back door. After collecting my things from Mrs. Rowe, I left without a backward glance.

Halfway there, someone knocked me out.

When I woke again, I was hanging over a cliff, with an equally unconscious Marcella beside me.

Before I could make sense of it, James arrived, travel-worn and breathless.

The kidnapper before me was raw with hate, glaring at James. "James Rowe, you got my son killed. Today I'm going to make you lose the one you love too."

"Come on, two choices. Pick one. Hahaha!"

Everything in me went to ash. I knew he wouldn't choose me.

The next second, James said, every word firm: "I choose Constance. Let her go. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you, just don't hurt her."

Something flickered in my chest.

But the kidnapper burst into wild laughter and let Marcella go. "So a wild flower really can't beat the one at home. You play around out there, but it's still Mrs. Rowe you carry in your heart. How touching."

Then he turned to me, his face twisting. "So. It's your turn to die."

He cut the rope without hesitation. In the instant I fell

I saw James sprint forward, pulling Marcella into his arms, his big hand clamped tight over her eyes.

His own eyes, fixed on me, were full of something complicated, and indifferent.

Behind that covering hand, Marcella deliberately gave me a smile, mouthing the words without sound: I won. Die, you bitch.

In that moment, the last shred of feeling left in me dissolved into nothing, and I smiled, at peace.

Dying this way didn't seem so bad after all.

"James, what about Constance, she"

Before Marcella could finish, James cut in. "Don't worry. There's a rescue team down below. I arranged it all in advance. She'll get a few scrapes at most."

"Come on, let me take you to the hospital first. Once she's back, I'll give her some compensation."

Before James left with Marcella, he had the police take the kidnapper away to be charged.

After three long hours, James finally got the call from the rescue team.

"Find her and take her to the hospital. No need to report to me."

The voice on the other end was frantic. "Mr. Rowe, we couldn't find Miss Vance. We couldn't even find a body"