𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

THE HUSBAND AND WIFE

“I want to hear you,” he whispered, a dark, seductive edge to his voice.

But how could she find pleasure in this pain? He gripped her waist, his hands cold against the feverish heat of her skin, but she bit her lip until it bled rather than let out a single sound. Her refusal to engage—her utter stillness—felt like a slap to him. It was a failure. He couldn't reach the woman inside; he was only breaking the shell.

“Dead weight,” he spat.

He pulled away with a look of pure self-loathing. Feeling like a failure, he grabbed his clothes and walked into the shower, leaving her exposed and trembling on the bed.

Jane didn't move. She didn't even try to cover herself. Why bother? Her own husband had treated her like something he’d bought at a discount. She felt a wave of nausea.

Even the women on the streets are treated with more honesty than this, she thought.

She wanted to run. But where? She had taken the money. She had signed a contract to be the anchor for his drifting mind. If she left, the “loving” version of Victor—the man who truly needed her—would surely snap. He would be labeled a madman and locked away. And if his treatment stopped, her own family back home would suffer.

She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed, her fists pounding against the mattress in a silent, desperate scream.

Downstairs, the kitchen was buzzing. Sylvia, the sister of Victor’s sister-in-law, Sarah, walked in with a pout.

“Is Jane still not down?” Sylvia asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

Sarah looked up from the stove.

“She went up with Victor’s coffee ages ago. And look at the time—it’s 9:00 AM. You’re only just waking up?”

“What is she doing up there? Feeding him with a bottle?” Sylvia snapped.

The jealousy in her voice was obvious to everyone.

“Victor and Jane are husband and wife,” Sarah said firmly, counting the breakfast plates.

“Their business is none of yours.”

Sylvia’s face darkened.

“Oh, Sarah, leave her be,” their aunt chimed in.

“You know how much Sylvia loved Victor.”

Sarah sighed and looked at her aunt.

“She ‘loved’ him until a better option came along. She rejected him back then because she was in another relationship. Now that she’s single and Victor is settled, suddenly she’s ‘always loved him’?”

Sarah’s voice turned steel-cold as she looked at her sister.

“Victor is my brother-in-law, but I love him like my own blood. I won't let you use him as a backup plan. He isn't a toy you can pick up when you're bored.”

“Besides, he can't breathe without Jane. Forget about him.”

Sarah wiped a stray tear, grabbed the breakfast tray, and walked to the dining room. Sylvia stood frozen, bitter regret washing over her for the moment she had once said “no” to Victor.

The family gathered around the long mahogany table. Harry, Victor’s older brother, looked around.

“Where are Victor and Jane?”

“They’ll be here, Harry,” Sarah said with a knowing smile.

“They’re a young couple, give them a minute.”

“Here comes the stars of the show,” Victor’s younger sister, Lily, chirped, pointing toward the stairs.

Victor walked in, looking sharp, followed by a pale, weary Jane. Harry looked at them sternly.

“I’ve told you both, don't be late for breakfast.”

Victor winked at his brother and surveyed the table. There were only two seats left—one next to Sarah and one next to Sylvia.

Sylvia’s heart leaped as Victor walked toward her side of the table. She practically started dancing in her seat.

To be continued…