Mrs. Rosewood’s Affair

CHAPTER 1: INFERTILE, THE BATTERED WIFE Mary Jane Fonte—Rosewood trembled like a leaf caught in a bitter wind, her fingers interlaced tightly on her lap, her knuckles pale and bloodless. Silence wrapped around her like a noose, thick and suffocating, as Doctor Geneva’s voice shattered the stillness with a truth too cruel to bear. “I’m afraid Mrs. Rosewood has… leukemia.” It was a bombshell detonated with the softness of silk. “Excuse me?” Ignacio’s voice cut through the sterile air like a knife, sharp with disbelief. “You’re saying my wife is sick? Not pregnant? What about the morning sickness, then?” His voice pitched with rising anger, clinging to denial like a drowning man to driftwood. His concern wasn’t love—it was legacy. He married me out of duty, not devotion, after scandalous photos of us in bed spread like wildfire through the media. A hurried wedding followed, forced by whispers and eyes that never blinked. But five months later, our marriage was nothing but a gilded cage. People envied me for marrying into the formidable Rosewoods—an empire built on old money, older blood, and unforgiving power. But if only they knew, I would trade this life for anonymity in a heartbeat. I loathed being the envied Mrs. Rosewood. Ignacio was no prince—he was a storm cloaked in designer suits. Cold. Calculating. Cruel. When we returned home, his handsome mask was peeled off, revealing the venom beneath. “You pathetic bitch.” SLAP. The sting should’ve broken me, but I barely flinched. I’d become numb to it—violence had become as common as breathing. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he roared, his voice a thunderclap of rage. “You think I wouldn’t know you trapped me? I should’ve f*****g killed you the night this all began.” His belt hissed as he unbuckled it, wrapping it around his knuckles like a predator preparing to feast. “I—Ignacio—” My voice cracked, frail and breathless. Terror bloomed in my chest like wildfire. My lips drained of color. My body froze. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve married your sister!” And with a guttural snarl, his fist collided with my cheek, the blow sending me sprawling. My temple throbbed. Blood beaded on my skin like crimson pearls. “I wish you were dead, Mary—” But before his fury could descend again, a presence interrupted. Loren. She appeared like a serpent slithering through smoke, not even glancing at my crumpled form on the floor. “Honey!” she giggled, eyes shining with something sickeningly sweet. Ignacio’s storm dissolved into sunshine. “Come here, baby.” And just like that, my husband embraced her. His arms, which knew only wrath with me, wrapped around her like she was made of glass. The sight twisted the knife in my chest. I was his wife, but she was his desire. They looked like a couple from a magazine spread—beautiful, untouchable, desired. I was just a footnote in their fairytale. “I missed you,” she purred, lips puckering. “And I missed you more,” Ignacio whispered, cupping her chin with worship in his touch. But their intimate display was shattered by the clack of heels on marble stairs. Mrs. Rosewood. Matriarch. Queen. Executioner. She descended with the grace of royalty and the judgment of a god. Her gaze cut through the air like steel. “What’s going on here?” “Ma!” Loren cooed, transforming instantly from temptress to saint. “Ignacio was just worried about my sister… she slipped and hit her head, but refused our help. Look—she’s bleeding!” Ma. A title I was never permitted to use. “Is that so?” Her gaze landed on me, and the disgust in her eyes was venomous. “Let her be. Touching filth only makes you filthy. That thing is not worth your pity.” Her words struck like bullets. I lowered my head, but the tears came anyway. No matter how used I was to their venom, it never stopped hurting. It flayed me open, fresh each time. “Yes, Ma,” Ignacio replied obediently. “Let’s go, Loren. I’ve wasted enough time on this worthless rat.” They vanished, as did Mrs. Rosewood, after one last look that burned like acid. And then the voice of my real tormentor followed. “Mary, what was that?” My mother appeared, lips twisted in scorn, father in tow, face like thunderclouds. “I told you not to anger your husband! You never listen!” “I—I didn’t—” “Save it,” my father growled. “If the Rosewoods throw us out, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself! Why can’t you just be Loren for once?! She’s smart, beautiful, and useful. You’re just a burden.” Had I committed sins in a past life? Was this hell my penance? I was starving for love in a house full of wolves. The next morning, I woke to the sharp scent of cologne and pain. My lips were swollen. My head ached. Ignacio stood above me, impeccable in his suit, and dropped something into my lap. “Take these.” I blinked. “What is this…?” “Contraceptives,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Just to be sure. No point in wasting money on another check-up.” “But the doctor said—” “Don’t you get it?” he snapped. “I don’t want a child with you.” His words carved straight through my heart like a blade dipped in poison. “I understand,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat. Then his phone rang. I saw the change instantly. “Loren? What? She’s hospitalized? I’m coming—don’t worry.” He turned to leave. I gathered my courage. “Is she okay? What happened—” “Worried?” he scoffed. “Wouldn’t this be your dream? To see her dead?” His words turned my blood cold. No goodbye. No backward glance. He was gone. Left behind, I stared blankly at my phone as it buzzed again. Cassandra. "Everyone’s waiting in Boracay! Don’t flake! It’s all on me, girl!" My lips curled bitterly. Would Ignacio let me go? No. But would his leash ever loosen? Also no. With trembling fingers, I replied: "I’m coming, Cass." BORACAY, PHILIPPINES “Mary!” Cassandra squealed, cheeks flushed with drink. “I thought you were gonna ghost us!” I smiled softly. For once, I wasn’t being yelled at, slapped, or judged. The ocean roared behind us like freedom calling my name. Cass and the others danced like they had no weight on their shoulders. I watched, sipped my drink, and exhaled. “You should leave him, Mary,” Cassandra leaned in, breath tinged with rum. “He doesn’t deserve you. You could run, y’know?” I laughed bitterly. “And be hunted by my own family?” They wouldn’t mourn my absence—they’d blame me for it. “Come on,” she grinned, “Let’s dance!” She pulled me up, and I let her. I wanted to forget. Just for tonight. And then—I felt him. A presence behind me. Warm. Steady. Male. The scent of mint and something sweeter curled around me. Arms, strong and sure, guided my body in rhythm with his. “Hey,” he murmured against my ear. I turned—and nearly forgot to breathe. He was breathtaking. All chiseled lines and sinful eyes. His smile was both invitation and challenge. “Are you a god?” I whispered. “Not quite,” he grinned. “But I’m called Dimitri. May I have this dance?” I nodded, lost in his gravity. We danced. We melted. His touch didn’t repulse me—it awakened me. I felt beautiful. Wanted. “What’s your name?” “Mary Jane,” I answered, shyly. “It suits you,” he said, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Then he kissed me. Not like Ignacio’s scornful sneers—but with reverence. With hunger. My body responded like it had waited years. “Wait,” I whispered, pulling away, breathless. “I need to tell you something…” But my phone buzzed. I glanced down. “Hold up.” Mary Jane’s voice cut through the laughter and music like a blade. Her fingers fumbled into the pocket of her dress, pulling out her phone. The moment she saw the screen, her entire face shifted. A message from Ignacio. ‘Where the f**k are you, Jane?!’ A bitter smile ghosted her lips—tight and hollow. The kind of smile born from months of silence swallowing screams. What she didn’t know was that Dimitri had been watching her from the shadows, his gaze pinned to her like a lighthouse to a shipwreck. She lifted her eyes, and in that moment, something inside her snapped—a fragile dam giving way to a torrent long suppressed. There, in her chest, was a spark. A reckless, roaring defiance that had long been caged behind Ignacio’s fists and her parents' scorn. “You wanna hook up, right?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, a little broken, but full of fire. Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “I do.” “Then kiss me.” A pause. “What?” “Don’t make me repeat myself.” She didn’t have to. In a heartbeat, his lips found hers. Their mouths collided—hungry, wild, and utterly unchained. The kiss was not tender. It was a war. A reclaiming. Her lips parted with a gasp as Dimitri’s tongue slipped in, and she melted into him like wax meeting flame. This was not like Ignacio. Ignacio’s touch had always been cold, claiming her like a prize he regretted winning. But Dimitri kissed her like she was the last woman left on earth. She clung to him—arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him deeper, closer, as if she could disappear inside him and be reborn. He groaned against her mouth, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. It was all too surreal. His touch feels warm, delicate like she couldn't ask for anything else in the world, because she will be safe here with Dimitri. She didn’t even notice when they stumbled into his room. One moment they were kissing, the next—lost in shadows and temptation. “You f*****g taste good,” Dimitri murmured, voice husky, gaze devouring. And then, piece by piece, her clothes were shed. Her dress hit the floor. Her bra slipped down her arms. Her underwear whispered away like secrets in the dark. She lay naked, sprawled across the sheets, heart hammering, soul exposed. For the first time, she wasn’t covering herself. For the first time, she wasn’t ashamed. She should’ve felt guilt, but she couldn't. For the first time in her life, she was doing something that was not totally against her heart. She should’ve thought of the storm that would follow, but she couldn't find it in herself that she needed to fear anything or even someone. But instead, she thought of freedom. Because in this moment, beneath Dimitri’s body, beneath his burning eyes and reverent hands— She was no longer Ignacio’s caged bird. She was a wildfire. And even if this ended in ruin, even if the world called her a sinner, a w***e, a disgrace— He was her choice. He was her sin. He was her salvation. And regret? She left that back in Ignacio’s house of horrors.