Betrayed: Reclaiming His Contracted Wife

CHAPTER 1

~Sloane

“Good day, Mrs. Walters, your husband sent me here.” The man walked in, his tailored suit fitted perfectly like he was born with it, shoes clinking softly against the tiles. I blinked, taking him in; he didn't look like a driver. I shoved away my thoughts and managed to say something.

“Did Liam ask you to pick me up?” I asked, face lit up. I couldn't wait to see my husband.

“No, Mrs Walters. I'm here to deliver something.” He replied, his voice laced with something I couldn't place, face bare of emotions. The server strolled across the room, stopping just a few inches away from my bed. My mind spinned, the enticing aroma of the hot coffee hit me, and I realized I'd held onto the mug for a longer time than normal.

Why hasn't he sent the driver yet? Where is he? The questions formed in my head—already at the tip of my tongue—but they didn't come out.

He stretched an envelope I never noticed he was holding, passing it like it was a death warrant. My eyes drifted between his face and the envelope; my expression went blank. “What's this for?” I asked, and he didn't give a reply.

Without a second guess, I snatched the envelope, whatever was inside already screaming my name. I removed the little seal and pulled out a letter.

Tension heightened as I unfolded it; my heart pounded that I was scared he might hear. I paused, my fingers still lingering on the paper, brushing the edges. I glanced at his face to distract myself. His look had shifted to something calculated, like he was bracing himself for a reaction.

I opened the letter, the heading like cold icy water: "Letter of divorce and Permanent Custody of Child."

For minutes, I couldn't say a word. Forcing myself to read the last paragraph of the letter.

“Our defendant, Mrs. Sloane Walters, has been diagnosed with psychotic disorder after a car accident, which will warrant the plaintiff a divorce and full custody of their son, Nathaniel Walters, to protect his mental health and early life.”

I stared at it, the words sinking its sharp claws into my brain. I read again, slower this time, each word grating against my mind. My throat tightened; tears burned behind my eyes.

My eyes moved slowly around it. It was stamped by the court.

A strange heat rushed over me, ravaging every nerve in my body, battling with the heat radiating from the mug I've held for minutes. My fingers tightened around the handle, knuckles turning white.

“He…he was supposed to take me home.” I paused, face crumpled like papers. “Why would Liam send me divorce papers?” My voice was shaky and tight.

“You have to sign the papers, ma'am.” He said, stretching forward a pen.

My eyes moved to the right-hand side. Liam's signature stared back at me, well scripted like a prized calligraphy, hitting me more than a bullet would.

It took me five seconds to regain my senses and another five seconds to decide what to do next.

I kicked my legs out of the bedspread draped over me. The hot coffee spilled as I jumped off. The mug crashed onto the floor, its shards flying across the room. I didn't wait for the sound to settle. I stumbled slightly, a wave of dizziness crashing on me; it looked like every objects

moved in circles. I didn't wait. Didn't back down. I ran.

“Ma'am”

“Mrs. Walters, you need rest. Please wait.” The nurse that attended to me earlier called.

The sound of the server's shoes and her flat heels filled my ears through the hallway. I bolted out in no seconds. And whether it was a miracle or coincidence—a cab was parked outside like it was waiting for someone. I rushed in, jamming the door.

“To Walter’s mansion,” I said; the words rushed out as I peeped out of the window, praying silently that they wouldn't stop the car. The driver zoomed off.

The soft hum of the engine beneath the car sounded violent, like heavy waves strongly crashing against the shore, ready to break everything down. I wished time passed so fast that I could get home and speak to Liam. To tell me all of this was a lie.

I just recovered from a fatal car accident; a truck rammed into my car. Now, I'm awake to meet the strongest accusation - a mental issue.

I was lost in thoughts when the car stopped.

“Madam,” the driver called, tilting his head backwards just to see the backseat. I jumped and rushed out of the car.

I reached the gate, holding the bars, hitting on the bell, but no one answered. Where might Silas be? I peeped through the gate bars. No one came.

My eyes widened in horror when I saw the gatekeeper. Honestly, I almost thought it was a hallucination. It wasn’t Silas. It was…a different person entirely.

I rushed to check the house number by the fence; it was the same.

“How may I help you, madam?” The gatekeeper asked carefully in a way that made my stomach twist, his eyes scanning me, as he took quick steps towards the gate.

I tilted my head to meet his gaze head-on. The questions were moving freely out of my mouth. “When did you start working here? Where is Silas?”

He didn't reply, his eyes studied me, probably searching for a reaction, but the only thing I could give was confusion.

“Sorry madam, it seems you're in the wrong building. We don't entertain strangers.” He said, his voice calm and almost casual, making my ears burn.

“You don’t entertain strangers? “In my house,” I snapped back, and honestly, I was running out of strength. I wasn't fully recovered.

“You'll have to leave,” He said, giving me a stern look - the one security wears whenever they're about to throw an intruder out.

“No, I'll not. Where is Liam?” I screamed, holding onto the gate rails for self-support.

“Who's there? Why the noise? Let her in.” Someone called from inside, definitely a female's voice, but I didn't see her face.

The gatekeeper opened the gate, and I rushed in. I ran towards the entrance, and when I looked up, the muscles of my legs stiffened. I froze to the spot, blinking, “Am I running mad?” I asked myself, ruffling my hair backwards.

This isn't the house I used to live in. Everything was changed, down to the window rails. The steel doors I loved were now marble. It's fine. Liam could change anything he wanted in the house. No way I wouldn’t recognize my husband's house, which is equally mine.

“How may I help you, miss?” A 5’7 woman stood by the door, her green eyes staring back at me, blonde hair bouncing down her shoulders. She looked like she ran off a magazine; everything about her screamed wealth.

I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and talked. “Sorry, there’s a mixup somewhere. This is our house...me, my husband, and my son. House 6B, Maple Street, North Province” I said, the words tumbling out, I wanted to convince her I was right - especially myself.

I felt the wound on my forehead open, blood sticking to the bandage before trailing down to my eyelid. I stared at my house—exactly the same structure, but it looked strange.

“You're definitely at the wrong place.” She objected immediately, not missing a beat, her forehead creasing.