Betrayed: Reclaiming His Contracted Wife

CHAPTER THREE

~Edmund

The city rolled past the windows as I stared forward. The breeze from the air conditioning hit me, making me hyper aware that I wasn't too lost in thoughts. It was my father's fifth death anniversary, and I couldn't help but recall the great life he lived. The memories and all that reminds me of him are gone—equal to nothing.

The only therapy, better referred to as a solution, was visiting the park. That was the last place we visited before his death. And maybe it's nature or my instincts; it's like he lived there. I feel his presence every time I visit; it's surreal, like some blessing from heaven.

I stared beside me, admiring the white flowers, and returned my focus to the road. Then, I saw her—a staggering lady, like her legs were against the law of fiction. She walked on, almost stumbling in her gray hospital scrub.

Before I could think, “Get her into the car,” I ordered, and rather than asking questions. Smith, my driver, looked back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes.

He maneuvered towards the lady and stopped the car abruptly; the guard jumped down, taking her into the car.

She didn't fight. Didn't resist, and for the slightest moment, I wondered why—maybe she needed an escape.

The door opened and closed, and I noticed her presence beside me, her little weight on the seat. Who is she?

Her shaky breaths filled my ears. I could imagine her chest rising and falling.

“Do you realize how risky it is to walk around on the street at night?” I asked, eyes staring forward, noticing the little tag on the front seat.

“Ohh, maybe I didn't, until I got kidnapped.” She replied, her words cutting sharp, more than the slow voice slurred at the end, betraying her stirred-up confidence.

I turned to look at her, blood dripped from beneath her bandage, and she didn't seem to care so much. I caught a flicker of fear in her green eyes, her black hair forming loose waves down her shoulders.

“Well, if you say so.”

“You can be nice and drop me somewhere safe so I wouldn't be a victim one more time.” She said, wincing slightly, as she adjusted the bandage sticking to the surface of her wound.

“I won't until you tell me why you're walking aimlessly.”

Her face fell, every bit of practice slowly disappearing, and her shoulders fell as if the weight of the world was on them. I watched her until a stray tear ran down her cheek.

“I'm homeless,” she said, voice low, tinged with sadness. “My…my husband abandoned me.”

I wanted to ask where he went to and who her husband is, but I let her talk.

“I had an accident weeks ago; I woke up in the hospital…waiting for him… until he sent a man to deliver divorce papers… I don't know where he is... he left with my son.” She sniffed, the tears running freely now.

“Years...I dedicated years of my life, resigned. Now, see where this got me... He cut all ties and froze our joint account. Maybe I'm just crazy like he said.”

“You're not crazy,” I said, choosing my words like a sniper picking targets, unsure of a proper way to console her.

“Where are you taking me to?” She asked.

“Somewhere safe,” I replied, staring out of the window, my fingers grazed over the flower beside me. Her gaze fell to her lap, hands resting in between. Then I saw it, close to a plastered wound —a hospital hand band with her name, “Sloane Walters, 27.” She turned to the window, eyes scanning the road as if she were planning an escape route.

Fewer people. Tall buildings lined the road. She turned back to me, brows etched in frustration. “This is the worst k********g I've seen. Next time, you should try to invest in gags and blindfolds. ”

“Well, we shall see.” I said, chuckling at her statement, and let the silence settle. This time, it became heavy—like answers behind my actions are buried in it.

Smith pulled through the gates, heading straight to the parking lot. The engine stopped, and the guard opened the doors. She stepped down, limping slightly.

I helped her up the stairs; her hands twitched, and her eyes were like someone who just made the worst decision. Like someone that wanted to run.

We've barely stepped into the living room when I call out “Bernice.” She rushed towards me, as she was in a corner, expecting me to ask for her assistance.

She bowed. “Help her to a room,” I ordered, and she reached for Sloane's arm, tilting her head slightly.

Sloane took reluctant steps, one, then two. She turned back to look at me, as if I just asked Bernice to take her to the moon.

When they were out of sight. Out of earshot. I turned back and settled on the couch, pulling out my phone almost immediately. My hands flew across the screen, then hovered for seconds before pressing call.

Lucas picked up almost immediately, “Yes, boss.”

“I need more information about someone. Her name is Sloane...Sloane Walters.”

“Okay boss, please hold on.”

With immediate effect, I could hear his fingers fumble with his keyboard, the background sound of his running monitors filling the silence between us.

“Boss, Sloane Walters is Liam's wife… Liam Walters.She works as a jewelry designer. She….”

For a moment, blood rushed to my ears, making them ring. My hand tightened on the phone pressed close to my ear, as if I didn't want a sound to slip out, even though I was alone.

I didn't hear the rest of the words he said.

“Sir...sir,” Lucas called, and I hung up.

A week later, the soft glow of the chandelier stained Sloane's features, making half of her face dark with something raw and unguarded. Her gaze remained on the television, like she was watching something more important than animal documentaries. The hand wrapped around a glass of wine, fingers running over the rim like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She was getting comfortable in a way I like. Once in a while, she zones out, no matter how strong she tries to be. Leaving her whole past and living in a stranger’s house. I slid into the couch, leaning towards the table to pick up the remote control.

“If you’re so much in love with boring series, then let's watch the news. Those publishers are soggy pieces of toast.” I said, my fingers pressing the buttons to switch channels.

She glanced at me slightly, returning her gaze to the television as she straightened invisible wrinkles on her dress. She laughed, crumbs of croissant falling on her chest. “I agree...but I love animals,” she said, voice cracking with unsettled laughter.

“Ohh, let me…” The words caught in my throat when I saw Liam on the news. I was about to switch the channels. My hand stiffened.

The headline said, “Billionaire Liam Walters and his new wife, Aria Campbell, are planning to launch the biggest art gallery in the city of Florence.”

The interviewer positioned the microphone towards his mouth as he spoke. A brunette lady was standing too close to him; her hand slipped in through the crook of his arm, body pressed too close like she was meant to live in his skin, staring at him like some kind of god. Cameras flashed from different angles, staining the red carpets.

“My wife and I can't wait to reveal the special artworks we have.”