The Vice President's Caged Wife

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Everyone at the corporation envied me from a lowly janitor to the wife of the Vice President.

My husband doted on me. I never had to lift a finger.

But no one knew that in private, he would have people bind my legs with rope.

When he saw the bloody marks on my legs, his expression would soften as he stroked my face.

"Honey, when you look so fragile, you're most like her."

I applied medicine to my leg wounds, having learned to ignore Ethan's insane ramblings.

We'd been married for three years.

I'd grown accustomed to this side of him, and I'd suffered enough from resisting.

In name, I was his legally wedded wife.

In reality, I was nothing more than a substitute for his dream girl.

But what did it matter?

I was originally just a janitor in the corporation building. I had no choice, and I couldn't escape his villa.

Whatever Ethan wanted from me, I could only comply.

He leaned against the wall, a smile still playing at his lips.

"Honey, walk for me. Let me see."

My hand paused while applying the medicine. Without much hesitation, I got out of bed efficiently and walked barefoot across the cold floor.

I tried to walk lightly, slowly.

I arched my feet too hard, tearing open the wounds I'd just treated.

Blood trickled down from my ankles, staining the floor tiles red.

But he seemed oblivious, only closing his eyes slightly, as if already asleep.

He didn't say stop, so I didn't dare stop.

The wounds hurt terribly. I lost focus for a moment and stepped down a bit harder.

My footsteps became clearly audible.

In the silent room, my heart pounded as I prayed Ethan had truly fallen asleep.

But he hadn't.

He simply opened those eyes like spring water and dropped all pretense of a smile.

He stared at me coldly.

"Walk."

After speaking, he tossed over a hemp rope covered in bloodstains.

I said nothing, quietly tying the rope around my ankles.

The coarse rope pressed against the still-bleeding wounds.

Between my two feet, only the width of a fist remained.

With each step, the rope ground into my raw flesh.

Forcing me to be even more careful, to take even more delicate steps.

I walked like this until my skin split and flesh tore.

Blood stained the hem of my dress, sticky and sickeningly sweet.

Ethan frowned.

He finally found it boring.

Having apparently seen enough of me, he brushed past me and went to his study alone.

I collapsed to the floor, hands trembling as I tried to untie the rope.

But the maid outside looked at me with the same expression as Ethan.

"Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington didn't say you could stop."

I bit my lip and used the table beside me to support myself as I stumbled to my feet.

Looking at the coldness and contempt in the maid's eyes, I lowered my gaze.

"I understand."

I walked on the cold floor, from when the moon hung in the west until dawn broke.

It wasn't until Ethan finished breakfast that he leisurely wiped his hands.

"My dear, you've worked hard. At tonight's corporate gala, you'd better put on a good show."

My feet were ice cold. After walking all night, my legs trembled.

But I could only act like a puppet, dressed up and sent to the car to play the role of a loving wife alongside Ethan.

When getting out of the car, having eaten and drunk nothing with my legs aching and sore, my feet were so weak I nearly fell.

Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me down.

Cheney, the gala host, covered her mouth and took me from his arms.

She teased with a laugh.

"Mr. Harrington really knows how to cherish someone. I should have my husband learn from you."

"The Chairman personally arranged this marriage for you you're truly blessed!"

I forced a smile at her.

Looking back at Ethan, his face showed doting affection, but his eyes held not a trace of genuine feeling.

I felt the pain and turned back to look at Cheney.

"Yes, my fate is truly excellent."

I survived in the corporation building until I turned twenty-two, with only three more years until I could be released as a free person.

But after the company's annual gala that year, the Chairman's personal letter arranged for me to become Ethan's wife.

They said that when I was pouring wine at the gala, Ethan caught a glimpse of me and fell in love at first sight.

He desperately pleaded with the Chairman to grant me to him in marriage.

Ethan famous from a young age, rising from a security guard to Vice President of the corporation through his achievements.

The man of so many wealthy young ladies' dreams.

Yet he fell for me, an utterly ordinary janitor with no power or influence.

What an honor.

In the joyous wedding, all my emotions were buried.

I was sent from the square corporation building to a square villa.

When Ethan lifted my veil, he seemed dazed for a moment.

I looked at him, my heart not entirely without hope.

We drank champagne together at the wedding banquet. The room was lit with scented candles.

He blindfolded me with a silk ribbon.

Through the pain, I thought this would be my life.

If he was sincere with me, then so be it.

Dazed and confused, I spent my wedding night.

The next day, Ethan got up and looked at me with interest.

"Like a pear blossom in rain, a beauty clutching her heart from now on, you'll be called Elara."

No discussion, no notice.

He brazenly changed my name.

I looked up at him then, refusing stubbornly.

"I'm not Elara. My name is Savannah."

But he seemed not to hear, getting up and leaving on his own.

I thought the matter would pass, but when I finished washing up, I found the room locked.

I was confined for two days and one night. No matter what I said or did, only one voice came from outside the door.

"Is Mrs. Elara requesting to go out?"

At first, I could repeat with dignity.

"I'm Savannah."

But when I was dying of thirst and retching from hunger, I learned that the wise submit to circumstances.

When they asked again outside the door, I clenched my fists.

"Yes, I am. Elara."

The door creaked open. Ethan came in holding a bowl of thin broth, gripping my chin and forcing it down my throat.

I struggled to swallow. What I couldn't swallow in time dripped down my chin into my collar, sticky and disgusting.

Ethan stroked my hair, smiling with satisfaction.

"Honey, how much better if you'd been this obedient from the start."

Back then I thought I'd simply encountered a pervert who loved to torment people.

But later, I discovered that Ethan wanted to remake me into someone else.

Someone he couldn't clearly remember.

That woman had saved him in his moment of crisis and left before he woke.

He only remembered her retreating figure and the coral earrings swaying gently.

So that nameless woman became the most perfect woman in his heart.

And my silhouette at the annual gala was eighty percent similar to hers.

But I found it absurd.

I told Ethan seriously.

"I'm not her. The person in your heart isn't her either. You only met her once. You don't understand her at all. You love only the person you've imagined."

Ethan looked at me, his eyes blood-red.

He grabbed my wrist viciously and despite my resistance, stripped off my outer clothes.

He had the maid push me, wearing only underwear, to crouch in the courtyard.

He made all the servants come watch me in my wretched state.

That day it snowed heavily. The snow-covered ground was freezing.

The snow under my knees melted, then froze into ice.

The winter sun was blinding but offered no warmth.

Ethan wore a mink coat, holding a hand warmer.

"What did you just say?"

I bit my lip hard. Ethan smiled contemptuously, extending a warm hand to slap my freezing face.

"You're just a janitor whose fate is worth less than paper. What right do you have to mention her? Being even slightly like her is your good fortune."

Seeing I still wouldn't speak, his hand moved from my cheek to my neck, then lingered at my collar.

His finger lightly hooked the neckline of my underwear.

"Admit you're wrong, or I'll strip you naked and let you freeze to death. Choose one."

The cold engulfed me.

I trembled, my bitten lip bleeding, my spine breaking as I became mud in the snow.

"I was wrong."

Who told me to be born humble? Who told me I was powerless?

Falling to this state I was wrong.

At the corporate gala, many wealthy wives looked down on me.

They gathered in groups, leaving me isolated to the side.

Cheney, who'd been warm earlier, went off to greet others, as if I were an unremarkable weed mixed among famous flowers an eyesore and pitiable.

Only one woman, similarly isolated, was willing to sit beside me.

She said she was a widow.

I glanced at her, understanding that this gala was essentially a matchmaking event for single men and women besides the unmarried, there were only couples like Ethan and me there to make appearances. A widow showing up here would inevitably attract gossip about being "restless." But that was others' prejudice, which I didn't share. Starting a new life after losing a husband was perfectly normal.

Those society wives and daughters avoided her to prevent being tainted by idle gossip that might affect their social image pure snobbery and herd mentality. And I, a janitor who married into wealth only through the Chairman's arrangement, was equally beneath their notice.

We were kindred spirits one outcast needn't look down on another.

We kept each other company until the banquet ended. She walked out with me.

Passing through the archway, she smiled at me. I found her face somewhat familiar.

Before I could place her, she plucked a flower and tucked it into my hair.

"Mrs. Harrington, I'm Vivienne Windsor."

She turned and left.

I walked toward Ethan in the distance, forcing a shy smile.

But as I approached, I found Ethan distracted, staring blankly in the direction Vivienne had departed.

"So similar, too similar."

I turned back, finally realizing where that sense of familiarity came from.

She and I shared similar height, build, and features.

The difference was that she had an extraordinary bearing the look of someone with excellent breeding.

Ethan and I returned home. He didn't speak the entire way.

As soon as we arrived, he rushed impatiently to his study.

The next day, before dawn, he woke me with dark circles under his eyes.

He handed me an invitation, his tone casual.

"Invite her to visit our home."

I opened the invitation and saw Ethan's familiar handwriting.

It bore the name I'd expected.

Vivienne Windsor.

I held the invitation, keeping my head down without speaking.

Ethan's gaze fell on me like something tangible.

"Honey, you'll be obedient, won't you?"

I was silent for a moment, then finally nodded.

He smiled with satisfaction.

His departing footsteps carried anticipation.

I stood there lost in thought, wondering if Vivienne could be Ethan's dream girl.

If so, what would he do?

Would he marry her? Then what about me?

An idea took root in my heart.

If Vivienne truly was that savior, Ethan would definitely want to be with her.

Then I, the substitute, would become an obstacle.

So could I perhaps ask Ethan to divorce me?

At this thought, my heart began to race uncontrollably.

Vivienne accepted the invitation.

I received her as a standard housewife would.

While strolling in the courtyard, we ran into Ethan in his suit.

He approached through the flowers and willows, impeccably dressed.

Standing in the sunlight, light and shadow played across his amorous features.

He apologized as if by accident. Vivienne didn't mind, her gentle eyes meeting Ethan's.

They exchanged pleasantries, gradually walking side by side.

The stone path in the garden wasn't wide. I fell back a step, following behind them with lowered eyes, listening to their conversation.

Ethan brought up five years ago, asking if Vivienne had been in the capital that year.

Vivienne smiled carelessly.

"If Mr. Harrington mentioned other times, I might not remember. But that year I truly can't forget."

Under Ethan's expectant gaze, her features like a painting, she spoke calmly.

"Five years ago, heavy snow in the capital it nearly froze quite a few people to death."

Ethan looked as if he'd been punched.

He froze in place, staring at Vivienne, unable to speak.

I followed behind them, slowly tightening my grip on my handkerchief.

Five years ago, Ethan's family was destroyed, and he became a vagrant.

He'd nearly frozen to death in that heavy snow.

His eyes reddened, words on his lips but unable to emerge.

He could only remove the red coral bracelet from his wrist and press it into Vivienne's hands.

He looked at her as if at a treasure lost and found.

"Wait for me! You wait for me! This time, I won't let you leave again!"

He turned and hurried away.

Vivienne held the red coral bracelet, turning back to look at me, her face innocent.

"What does Mr. Harrington mean by this?"