BRINGING MY WIFE BACK

Chapter 001: Grief The grand bedroom now felt suffocating. Amidst the lavish surroundings, Atthy sat frozen on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were wide as she struggled to process every word that had just fallen from her husband's lips. Duke Hugh Griffith—the man who was supposed to be both her protector and lifelong partner—stood casually beside the bed. As he gathered the clothes scattered across the floor, he spoke with unwavering certainty, each word piercing her like a blade. "You're nothing but a foolish woman. You think far too highly of yourself. To me, you're no better than those women begging for a man's attention on the streets for a bag of coins." Hugh's voice was flat. There was no anger. No regret. Only contempt. Atthy's body trembled. It felt as though an invisible sword had pierced straight through her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to argue. She wanted to fight back. But reason forced her to remain silent. This was her marriage. Even if it existed only on paper. Her family had placed all their hopes on her. She could not afford to destroy everything. Yet this first night together was nothing like any young woman could have imagined. "So, are you satisfied now that you've slept with me?" Hugh asked with a sneer. He looked at Atthy as though she were an object not even worthy of respect. Behind his arrogant gaze, a flicker of hesitation surfaced before disappearing beneath his cold demeanor. "Satisfied?" Atthy's voice still trembled, but it gradually grew firmer. "Do you think this marriage is nothing more than ambition and deceit? Am I only a tool for you to assert your position?" Hugh frowned. "I only want to make your place clear, Athaleyah Galina. Remember where you came from. Don't let the title of 'Duchess' on a piece of paper make you forget that you're merely a chess piece in this greater game." Atthy's gaze sharpened. "My place? You mean I'm nothing more than a 'Duchess on paper'? Your Grace, Duke Hugh Griffith, I'm not a puppet for you to toy with however you please. I have my dignity, and I won't continue to bow to your insults." Silence enveloped the room. The luxurious chamber suddenly felt cold. The clothes strewn across the floor seemed to stand as silent witnesses to the argument between two people trapped in a political marriage. Amid all that splendor, Atthy felt only one thing. Loneliness. "Do you think that sleeping with me means you can control me? Woman... I, Duke Griffith, am not a man you can manipulate simply because I've enjoyed your body." Hugh's voice became even sharper. "I can find women like you on the streets with ease. And you? You're just one of them." Atthy bit her lip to keep herself from crying. Yet amid the ruins of her shattered pride, courage slowly began to grow. "Why would you say something like that to me? On my first night as your wife? Is this what you consider proper? It's been three months since our marriage, and you've barely acknowledged my existence. Was all of this nothing more than a game to reinforce your authority?" Hugh fell silent for a moment. A trace of hesitation crossed his face before his cold expression swallowed it once more. "I want you to understand, Athaleyah. I want you to recognize your place so you won't be intoxicated by that empty title. I'm giving you the chance to admit who you really are. What is it that you truly seek?" Atthy's anger finally erupted. "Is it wrong for me to want to win my husband's heart?! So in your eyes, I'm nothing but another piece in your game? My existence and my feelings mean absolutely nothing? I'm tired of swallowing every one of your insults. And tonight... I refuse to stay silent any longer." Hugh narrowed his eyes. For a brief moment, Atthy's courage genuinely shook him. "Will you continue arguing with me? Then are you prepared to walk away from the marriage that, at the very least, gives you power and status?" Atthy stepped closer. Her eyes were as sharp as a drawn blade. "I know exactly what I want. I want to choose my own path. I want to live according to my own will—not your ambitions or your political games. I will not sacrifice my dignity for the empty ambitions you hold so dear." Once again, Hugh fell silent. Then, in a hoarse voice, he said, "Athaleyah Galina... what you've just said contradicts everything I've believed about you. But I'll give you a choice. I've heard enough of what you want. You're free to leave me. There's no need to use the King as an excuse. With my authority, I'll make sure you won't face any trouble out there." "I'll leave," Atthy answered firmly, though her voice still trembled. "But you must promise me one thing. Leave my family alone. Don't lay a hand on them. Let them live in peace. I'm choosing this path not to hurt anyone, but for my family's peace." Hugh stood motionless. For a fleeting instant, the shadow of regret appeared behind his proud expression. Only for a moment. His pride quickly buried it. "You're truly stubborn," he muttered. "I am." Atthy's gaze never wavered. "And it's that very resolve that keeps me from living in your shadow any longer. I refuse to become another piece in a power struggle that destroys who I am." A few moments later, Atthy turned away. Her head felt heavy. But her desire to leave was stronger than her desire to stay. Hugh simply watched her retreating figure. For reasons he could not understand, something inside him suddenly felt as though it had been torn away. As Atthy walked farther and farther from him, Hugh finally called out, his voice much softer than before. "Athaleyah..." Atthy did not answer. Only her eyes blinked once. Hugh drew a slow breath. "Don't regret this." A faint smile curved Atthy's lips. Not even slightly did she falter. "Don't worry." "I won't." Hugh's pride refused to acknowledge one undeniable truth. His instincts were screaming louder and louder. It would not be Atthy who regretted this. It would be him. Hugh opened the door to his chamber with calm, measured movements. But the moment he saw Atthy's three personal maids standing stiffly outside, his gaze turned razor-sharp. They had been waiting for him. All three stood with their heads lowered and their hands folded before them, trying to appear obedient. Yet their unease was far too obvious to conceal. "Good morning, Master Hugh," Stella greeted him, forcing a smile despite the slight tremble in her lips. Hugh did not answer. Instead, his piercing gaze swept across their faces one by one like the edge of a blade. Stella lowered her head even further. Bella bit her lip, struggling to suppress her anxiety. Rosa, the youngest, nearly lost her balance as her knees weakened. Silence. The tension was suffocating, as though the very air around them had grown heavier. "Is there something you'd like to say?" Hugh's voice remained calm, but the pressure behind it made it difficult for them to breathe. They exchanged uneasy glances. None of them dared to speak first. "We... just wanted to make sure the Duchess didn't need anything," Bella finally answered. A lie. Too carefully prepared. Hugh let out a quiet breath. He had no interest in hearing their excuses. "You should already know..." Hugh paused, deliberately letting the words hang in the air. "...that I'm not a man you can fool twice." The three of them froze. "One more mistake..." Hugh stepped half a pace forward, enough to make them instinctively retreat. "...and there won't be a third chance." His gaze remained cold. There was no explosive anger. Only an absolute decision that left no room for argument. At that moment, all three understood one thing. Hugh Griffith would never give them another opportunity. Without waiting for their reaction, Hugh walked past them as though they no longer meant anything to him. The three maids remained rooted to the spot, trapped in a fear that now felt far more real than ever before. "My lord, is there anything I should prepare?" Helena, the head maid, asked as she arrived with brisk, efficient steps. "Summon Alwyn to my study immediately. And send for Dr. Windfold as well. Tell him to examine her condition," Hugh ordered firmly. Helena blinked in surprise. "My apologies, my lord?" "She... seems to be injured. No... she is injured... Never mind! Just take care of her!" Hugh's voice grew increasingly tense. His expression remained cold, yet Helena caught something unusual beneath it. Awkwardness. She frowned inwardly. Why did this man, as cold as an iceberg, look... embarrassed? Still, she kept her curiosity to herself. Professionalism came first. "Yes, my lord." Though she answered obediently, her mind was filled with questions. Her attention then shifted to Atthy's three personal maids, who were still standing anxiously outside the chamber. "What's wrong with them?" "What are they hiding that they can only communicate through glances?" But her master's orders were more urgent. "What are you all waiting for?! Get inside!" The moment they entered the bedroom, their expressions changed instantly. Helena gasped. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to cover her mouth. The room was in complete disarray. But what truly tightened her chest was Atthy's condition. "Ah, Duchess!" she cried, hurrying to her side. "What happened to you?" Atthy looked at her. Her eyes were empty, yet unwavering. Her face looked utterly forlorn, as though silently begging for help without speaking a single word. And yet, beneath all that sorrow, her dignity still stood unbroken. Helena knew. Atthy was not a woman who accepted pity easily. That was precisely why seeing her like this hurt so much more. "Duchess, I'll go at on—" "Helena," Atthy interrupted in a hoarse voice. "Leave me... Please, let me be alone." Helena fell silent. The request caught her off guard. But seeing how fragile the Duchess looked, she restrained herself and finally nodded. With a heavy heart, she left the room. She ushered Atthy's three personal maids out with her. Yet something continued to trouble her. The three maids still looked deeply unsettled. The tension had not truly left their faces. There was something they were not saying. Translation Notice This novel was originally written in Indonesian. I am not a native or professional writer in English (or any other translated language). To make this story accessible to international readers, I use AI-assisted translation throughout the translation process. However, every translation is carefully reviewed and refined by me. I strive to preserve the original meaning, emotions, characters, cultural identity, and narrative style while ensuring the language reads as naturally as possible. If you come across any awkward wording or translation issues, I sincerely appreciate your understanding and welcome constructive feedback. My goal is to continually improve the reading experience without compromising the soul of the original story. Thank you for reading and supporting my work. — BIUL