CHASING THE UNWANTED WIFE

6 - Miserable

Couldn’t live without her?

A bitter laugh rose in Callista’s throat—loud and mocking. Mocking herself.

Because the truth was the exact opposite of it: her husband couldn’t wait to live without her.

Theron didn’t even want to be near her, but could not break free from the cage of a marriage that had trapped him.

Five years after being forced to marry her, Theron was hardly ever home. He had officially taken seat as Chief Executive Officer of DS Global Group. A multinational holding company with interests in technology, real estate, finance, logistics, and energy.

His position gave him more reason to stay away from home—business trip, overtime, another subsidiary to visit, a new client to meet, or another board meeting to attend.

Meanwhile, Callista was always left alone in their huge, cold house.

Her married life became a never-ending cycle of coldness, neglect, and pain.

Whenever he was home, Theron remained indifferent toward her. Distant. He never smiled at her. Sometimes, his hostility toward her was almost palpable. The cold tension between them had become a shackle around her, biting into her skin, exhausting her.

“Let’s divorce.” Theron De Santis’ voice was a deep baritone, each syllable dripping with unmistakable resentment. A chill settled over the bedroom they had shared as husband and wife for five years.

Callista drew in a sharp breath. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her features.

For several moments, she said nothing, simply gazing down at her husband. He sat slumped on the floor. His back pressed against the end of the bed. The stench of alcohol hung heavily around him, while his eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot.

Seeing him broken shattered her, and every day, she broke a little more.

Five years had already worn her down, draining her spirit.

Earlier that evening, she had been working as a nurse in the maternity ward when their housekeeper called to tell her that her husband was home and in a very foul mood. Without hesitation, she had logged off and driven home. Immediately.

Her husband had always been her first priority because she loved him—dearly, with all her heart—even though all he had ever given her in return was pain.

Theron looked up at her. Disgust and hatred flashed in his eyes. “Several years and you’re still excellent at one thing—at making me feel utterly disgusted.”

The harsh edge in his tone deepened the tension in the room, making it almost palpable. There was no warmth in his voice, but his eyes were what truly shook Callista Rosetti to the core.

Dark and unblinking.

In his cold, calculating gaze, she saw herself reflected—an unloved and unwanted wife standing helplessly before the man she loved. Someone starving for attention. A woman who was desperate to be seen. A person begging for even a crumb of love.

Why couldn’t Theron learn to love her back? Was it really so difficult for him to give her even the smallest scrap of affection?

Five years had passed—five long years—yet he still didn’t love her.

That truth was a weight that crushed her spirit and stole the light from her eyes.

Her trembling hands curled into fists.

“I hate you,” Theron spat, his words as sharp as a shard of glass, piercing her chest. In his right hand, a glass of whisky hung loosely between his long fingers.

He was drinking again…

As if losing himself in alcohol could somehow make him forget who she was to him—his wife.

“I know you hate me, but stop drowning yourself in alcohol.” Callista bent down and reached for her husband, wanting to help. But before her fingers could even touch him, his hand shot out, knocking hers away with enough force to send a jolt through her.

“Stay the hell away from me!” he barked.

The sting of the slap lingered on her skin, but the pain went far deeper. “Theron…”

“Stay the hell away from me,” he repeated, his voice lower now, but the disgust in it even more cutting.

Callista paused and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and control her emotions. She did her best to hold back her tears, even though they were already welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Then came the crash of the whisky bottle as it flew across the room and struck the wall. Theron had thrown it. The loud bang rang in her ears, making her flinch.

Next, he hurled the empty glass, his bloodshot eyes fixed on hers, the sharp glint in them seemed to say he was miserable and falling apart because of her.

Callista’s gaze dropped to his hands. His knuckles were red and bruised, probably from punching the wall before she arrived home. She swallowed hard, trying to force down the invisible lump in her throat. “Theron, please stop. You’re only hurting yourself.” Her voice was pleading.

He chuckled. “What does it matter to you if I hurt myself?” he asked sarcastically. “You’ve hurt me more. You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined us.”

Us.

The word carried a meaning Callista understood all too well. He was referring to his relationship with the woman he truly loved—Isolde.

He still couldn’t forget her.

Maybe… he never would.