My Husband Waited Faithfully for His Dead Moonlight, Unaware I Am Her

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Five years of recovery, five years cloistered away, and the moment I was discharged, I pulled every string, twisted every arm, to marry James Osmondthe man Id secretly adored for years.

On our wedding night, his voice was a whip-crack, cold and cutting: Im in love with someone else. Dont expect anything from me. This marriage is a business deal, pure and simple. Dont cross the line.

But one night, he was drowning in liquor, and in his drunken haze, he mistook me for his dearly departed love, Minnie. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming, pressed me against the wall, kissing me with a feverish intensity that stole my breath. We were entangled all night. The morning after, he was nearly throttling me. Trying to mimic her while Im drunk? Youre not worthy!

Later, my old illness flared up, and I was wheeled into his private hospital room. The walls were covered in paintings, every single one his work. The woman in the portraits was me, during my sickness. Back then, my hormones were out of whack, my body bloated, my face marred by angry red splotches. A world away from the carefully maintained, slimmer, more attractive woman I am now.

How could you be so cruel? Not even letting me see you one last time?

Jamess hot breath, thick with the scent of whiskey, whispered those words into my ear. And I knew, with a sickening lurch, that I was once again shamelessly stealing the tenderness meant for someone else. Jamess chiseled features softened, inch by inch, his gaze burning with an intensity that startled me. My body, held gently by him, stiffened. A chill ran through me, as if Id plunged into an icy abyss. Yet my heart hammered a frantic rhythm.

Im not I shook my head, a frantic, helpless gesture. But as I tried to pull away, my knee gave a sudden, agonizing jolt. The familiar, searing pain shot through me, tearing a jagged rift in the fragile illusion of warmth. My face went pale, and I instinctively bit my lower lip.

He, however, seemed utterly heartbroken, his voice tinged with a mournful whine. I finally dreamed of you, and youre pushing me away? And as if terrified I might confirm it, he pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation. Im not mad anymore, just dont leave me. His nostrils flared, and his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, glowed in the dim light, fixed on me with a pitiful, vulnerable plea.

My heart clenched, a bitter ache spreading through me. I knew his gaze saw through me to another, yet I, despicable as I was, felt a traitorous flutter. A deluge of kisses, wet with tears, rained down on me, scorching and desperate. Every inch of his invasion, coupled with the pain in my leg, left me helpless yet consumed, clinging tightly to his shoulders. As if only through this fleeting fantasy could I brave the certain chill of tomorrow.

The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, I was jolted awake by a familiar, searing ache. Every joint in my body felt like it had been wrenched apart by the previous nights tempestuous encounter, now screaming with retaliatory agony. My hand trembled as I fumbled under the bed, searching for the hidden compartment where I kept my hormone medication. The coldness of the bottle made my fingertips twitch, nearly dropping the pills. This morning tremor, this weakness, was the permanent mark Lupus had etched into my being.

Seven years. This incurable, chronic autoimmune disease was like my emotions: only suppressed and controlled, never truly free. I swallowed the pills dry, pressing my hand fiercely against the worst of the throbbing in my knee. Only when the excruciating pain subsided into a tolerable dull ache did I finally breathe a sigh of relief, cautiously curling back into his embrace. My eyes greedily traced his brow, his nose, to his slightly reddened lips.

Four years. It had been four long years since I could look at him like this again. Those four years hadnt etched a single line on his face; instead, theyd refined the breathtaking softness of his youth, transforming it into a potent, mature intensity. The sliver of stolen tenderness was now laced with an overwhelming sadness. Tears welled up, unbidden, and I quickly wiped them away, terrified of shattering this fragile dream.

Had enough looking? His voice, crisp and cool, held a hint of annoyance. My heart leaped. I instinctively clapped a hand over my nose, then, realizing the red blotches that once plagued it had long vanished, I sheepishly lowered my hand. The next second, his hand clamped down on mine, viciously, so tightly my wrist began to ache. I looked up, only to fall into the frigid depths of his eyes, seething with anger.

Trying to mimic her while Im drunk? Youre not worthy! Spending so much effort to climb into my bed C you dont feel ashamed? I find it disgusting.

He flung my hand away in disgust, and I stumbled, losing my balance, crashing into the bedside table. A jolt of pain shot through my left shoulder, leaving it numb. My eyes, betraying me, welled up. He stood, dressing, then looked down at me, his voice sharp and unyielding. Make an appointment to get checked. Youre not fit to carry my child.

If this happens again, I wont hesitate to bankrupt your family and send them to prison.

The door slammed shut with a bang.

The tender warmth of last nights drunken embrace was shattered by his contempt. His words, iced and sharp, felt like countless tiny ice picks, piercing deep into my joints, triggering waves of throbbing pain that threatened to dismember me. After he left, I curled up on the floor alone, taking a long time to slowly regain the strength to support my body.

I struggled to the wall, leaning against it, holding my breath as I stepped onto the scale. In the weak morning light, I felt the slightly slack skin around my waist. In the mirror, I pressed hard against my cheeks. As if, with enough pressure, I could peel back the smooth skin and glimpse the ugly red blotches from years ago. A shift in the light, and the faint redness in the mirror vanished.

I was so much thinner, so much prettier than back then, yet still, I couldnt catch his eye. I blinked, forcing back the burning in my eyes, and irritably tossed the hormone medicine bottle back into the depths beneath the bed. James hadnt come home for days. I stared at the steaming dishes on the table, watching the heat slowly dissipate, a hollow ache spreading in my chest.

Mr. Osmond is busy with a new medical acquisition, Mrs. Osmond. Perhaps you shouldnt wait up? Liam, his secretary, came to pick up some documents. Seeing me lost in thought at the dining table, he finally couldnt help but offer a word of advice. I slowly turned my head, habitually clasping my left wrist, my voice a little shaky. She did she pass away from illness? Liam looked uncomfortable. Please dont put me in a difficult position, Mrs. Osmond.

I lowered my head, not pressing further. His deceased beloved was his biggest taboounquestionable, unexplorable. Ever since Jamess marriage to me, with the help of the Sterling family, he had completely shifted the groups focus to medical equipment and biopharmaceuticals. Even if he didnt say it, anyone could see his obsession and guilt regarding his lost love.

Ive been simmering this chicken soup for ages. Ill come to the office with you.

Years ago, whenever he visited me at the hospital, he would bring a bowl of chicken soup if he had time. Made with ginseng and astragalus, it was a little bitter. Now that I was making it myself, I realized how much effort it took. The chicken had to be plucked, gutted, blanched to remove impurities, then simmered over low heat for two or three hours, never leaving its side. I wondered how he managed to do all that while attending classes. Now that I could get up and cook, I wanted him to taste it. I also just wanted to see him. Liam hesitated several times, but eventually let me into the car.

At the office, Liam swiped me into the elevator, then rushed off to the conference room, clutching his documents. The moment the elevator doors opened, a bright, captivating figure seared my vision. The woman wore a perfectly tailored red strapless gown, her skin like snow, her figure graceful, as she spoke softly to someone nearby, a smile playing on her lips. Hearing the movement, she turned her head slightly and our eyes met. My breath hitched.

It was Scarlett Rivers. I would never mistake her. Years ago, when James volunteered at the hospital, she would always follow him, wearing pretty dresses, her laughter clear and bright. Her affection was radiant and bold, her pursuit uninhibited and frank. A stark contrast to me, then, swollen with hormones due to my severe illness, my face covered in red blotches, lying in bed, feeling utterly mortified.

Hello? Are you looking for Mr. Osmond? She smiled gently, her gaze sweeping over my slightly oversized top and dull, yellowish hair, her tone still perfectly polite. I stood frozen, my fingers unconsciously curling, tightening around the handle of the insulated container. I came to drop something off.

Oh, I see. She nodded understandingly, her voice still soft, but with a natural, almost proprietorial air. Mr. Osmond is still in a meeting. You might have to wait a while. Her gaze returned to my face, as if she suddenly remembered something, and the corners of her lips curved into a perfectly appropriate smile. Oh, forgive me, I got carried away talking.

Theres a gala tonight, and Mr. Osmond has high standards for his date. We couldnt find anyone more suitable on such short notice, so Im stepping in as a temporary replacement. This outfit is also just put on; I hope its not too inappropriate.

Date. High standards. Temporary replacement. These words, like tiny needles, pricked at the most vulnerable spot in my heart.

A familiar, dull ache, triggered by emotional turmoil, spread from deep within my knee. I instinctively took half a step back, my spine pressing against the cold wall just to stay upright. The moment I averted my gaze, I suddenly caught my reflection in the nearby floor-to-ceiling window. My face was pale, my oversized top barely concealing my slightly rounded stomach, a result of the hormones. My hair was loosely tied back, dry and yellowish. It was a laughable, tragic contrast to the radiant Scarlett Rivers before me.

In that instant, my indignation deflated, and my sense of grievance lost its foundation. Yes, of course. Wasnt it only natural that he would choose to bring her? What right did I have to feel wronged?

I stared blankly out the window as night fell, the streetlights a blur of endless traffic. A car emerged from the distant darkness, then gradually disappeared into the deeper night. The world seemed muted, pressed into silence, leaving only the blurry reflection on the glass, an expression I hadn't even realized was there C a blankness, a fragile intensity born of pain.

When I looked back, James had appeared, standing not far away. He watched me, his eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn't decipher, a profound sadness. But the moment I looked back, bewildered, a startled shock flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by icy anger. His probing gaze locked onto me again, his eyes as cold and deep as a dark pool.

Is Sterling Enterprises so powerful that you even investigated her habits and expressions? Or do you think climbing into my bed changed your status?

I panicked, suddenly straightening up, the sharp pain in my knee causing me to stumble for a moment. I hurriedly clutched the chicken soup, stammering an explanation: No, no, I didnt investigate.

I just cooked some chicken soup for you, wanted to bring it for you to taste. It simmered for two hours

Under his cold, disdainful stare, my voice trembled, eventually trailing off into a meek silence. He sneered, his tone laced with ice. Hah, chicken soup?

Then why, of all things, did you choose to bring me chicken soup?

Im sorry, I, I didnt know you and her, I just, I just I was flustered, words stuck in my throat. Just what? That Im thinner and prettier now, so I want to pursue you again? But even with my illness controlled, I was only better-looking than before. Could I ever compare to the woman who held his heart? I silently closed my mouth, lowering my eyes, not daring to look at him.

He strode closer, the silent pressure instantly filling the air around us. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, his voice suddenly dropping, laced with an incredulous, furious rage: You even found out the exact brand of shower gel she liked?!

I didnt! I dont know I was frantic and incoherent, my left wrist starting to throb and tremble with nerves. The one at home ran out, I just bought whatever was handy

Silence! He almost roared, his jawline taut, his eyes swirling with extreme sorrow and pain. You are not worthy to speak of her! And you are not to investigate her! And you are certainly not to imitate her! I told you, what we have is just a transaction! Youre to discreetly uphold the title of Mrs. Osmond, who gave you the audacity to desecrate her like this?!

Id been married to him for two years, and though he disliked me, hed always been distant and polite. His furious reprimand felt like the final straw, breaking my already taut nerves. My heart felt as if it had been seized, a violent pain exploding and spreading. My left wrist suddenly gave way, unable to hold the insulated container. The scalding chicken soup splashed onto the floor, splattering my calves, stinging with a searing burn.

Im sorry, Im sorry I knelt awkwardly, my right hand pressing fiercely against my uncontrollably trembling left wrist. Tears streamed down my face, silently, like a broken dam. Apologizing for repeatedly intruding on his raw, bleeding wound. Apologizing even more for this infatuation and insistence that was destined to be futile. My voice caught in a sob, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Ill clean it up.

He looked at my huddled, trembling figure, a flicker of something complex in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by an even deeper coldness. He bent down, stopping me from reaching for the spilled container. His eyes held a mix of weariness and disgust. What exactly are you doing now, looking like this? His voice had regained its calm, but it was even more cutting. Trying to win my sympathy?

I bit down hard on my lower lip, shaking my head desperately, but choked too much to make a sound. You better not be.

Scarlett quietly approached, her face a picture of perfectly calibrated concern with a hint of awkwardness: Mr. Osmond, we need to leave for the gala. He flung my hand away, coldly dropping a command: Have Liam take her home.

And from now on, dont let her up here without my permission.

Understood. Scarlett replied respectfully, her gaze at me filled with a hint of mockery and taunt.

In the news conferences that followed in the next few days, Osmond Industries once again successfully expanded its footprint in the medical field. And always behind him, you could see that dazzling figure. Scarlett Rivers, smiling brightly, her demeanor poised, handled every challenging question from the media. A bold reporter pushed to the front, asking sharply:

Rumor has it youve been married to the Sterling heiress for years, yet recently youve been attending galas with your assistant. Does this confirm the rumors of your marital discord? Scarlett tried to intervene, but James raised a hand to stop her. His eyes darkened slightly, his cold gaze fixed on the camera: Its true that the Sterling heiress and I are incompatible. Weve decided to divorce. His tone was calm and resolute, yet every word was a knife plunging into my heart.

The knitting needles for the scarf in my hands tangled, and a needle sharply pricked my fingertip. A bead of blood instantly welled up, staining the yarn. But I was lost in a daze, staring at the screen. Not until the night swallowed the last ray of twilight did I quietly put away my knitting. Silently waiting for him to come home, for the final declaration.

That wait stretched for three months.

Initially, I just felt unusually tired and drowsy, often falling asleep on the sofa without warning. My body became alternately hot and cold, and my limbs and cheeks began to swell, leaving deep indentations when pressed. What terrified me most was the reappearance of the familiar, butterfly-shaped red rash on my face, growing more vivid by the day. The appearance I had so painstakingly maintained was visibly crumbling, reverting to my most mortifying state from years ago.

I frantically rummaged under the bed for my pills, attempting to belatedly control it. But my body felt out of control, plummeting towards an abyss. My joints became unbearably swollen and painful; I couldnt even hold a water glass. Until one morning, a wave of nausea struck without warning. I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting until I was dizzy, seeing stars. The nausea and dry heaving became more frequent. I often spent entire nights hunched over the toilet. Not from vomiting, but because my joints were so severely swollen and painful that I couldnt find the strength to even lean against the wall.

It wasn't until my abdomen visibly rounded and my period was long overdue that I belatedly realized. I might be pregnant.

A tidal wave of panic overwhelmed me. This child was coming at the worst possible time. And I couldnt bear another round of pain and humiliation. I realized that for the sake of the baby, I had to escape! I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain as I packed my luggage. I staggered as I pushed open the door, only to come face to face with James, who had finally returned from his business trip. He looked travel-worn, his eyes pausing, a flicker of confusion. Then those probing eyes sharpened, locking onto mine.

I flinched, my heart threatening to leap from my chest, but I quickly calmed myself. I was two sizes larger than three months ago, bloated and almost back to my former state. My face was also wrapped in a thick scarf, revealing only my eyes, so he shouldn't recognize me. I lowered my head, silently quickening my pace, trying to slip past him. But he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. His usually stern voice was now hoarse and broken, even tinged with an unbelievable euphoria and a careful, pleading tone:

Is that you? Violet? Youre not dead, are you? Youve finally come to find me?