Everyone knew it was a sweet deal to be the side piece of Preston Thorne. I, his wife, was the reason. I didn't just ensure his mistresses received a top-tier benefits package with platinum healthcare and generous trust funds; I even arranged for regular overseas retreats and exclusive medical checkups. People joked that catching Preston Thorne’s eye was like landing a C-suite position in the infidelity market. Naturally, he became the most coveted man among young, ambitious women in our circles. But this time, the girl he fixated on, a young woman named Summer, refused to be bought. She was fiercely devoted to her long-time, penniless boyfriend. The night before Preston planned to use his power to coerce her, I initiated intimacy with him, a desperate attempt to delay him, to buy her time to escape. The next morning, Summer was gone. Preston discovered my sabotage, and in a rage, he had me committed to a private psychiatric facility. He stood over me in that sterile room, his expression terrifyingly calm, as he issued his final warning. "Kin," he said, using the nickname I loved, "just promise me you'll stop interfering, and I can have you back home. You'll resume your life as Mrs. Thorne, with every luxury and privilege that entails." Finally, I gave a soft nod. I had just learned, before I was taken, that my brother, Jared, had lost everything in a bad investment. He was drowning in debt. Only with Preston’s sudden capital injection had he avoided bankruptcy and disgrace. For my brother, I had to stop fighting. I had to disappear. 1 The driver had just picked me up from the facility when a devastating pile-up occurred on the highway. The car flipped. The driver was instantly unconscious. I was severely injured. As the paramedics rushed to the scene, I surfaced briefly through the agonizing pain. Even in that state, my hand instinctively fumbled for my phone to call Preston. The line rang for a long time before it was answered. I swallowed the coppery blood pooling in my throat and managed to gasp, "Preston, I..." His voice, when it came, was laced with irritation. "Didn't I send the car for you? I told you I'm busy. Kinsley, be sensible, okay?" The earpiece suddenly burst with chaotic noise. Then, a familiar voice cut through the static. It was Summer’s despairing scream: "Preston Thorne, do what you want with me, but why would you hurt him?" Preston’s reply was low and even, yet it sent a chill colder than any ice through me. "Summer, I warned you. If you dared to accept his proposal, I’d ensure he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair." So, the fragile, pure ideal he was so keen to protect was named Summer. I suddenly remembered why her voice was so familiar. It was the same frantic pitch I’d heard that first night I discovered his infidelity, the night I smashed every valuable object in our penthouse. Preston always managed to push people past their breaking point. Over the phone, Summer was weeping, begging him to leave her boyfriend alone. As I finally lost consciousness, her desperate pleas shifted. "Please, be gentle..." Her sobs of rage melted into fragmented, tiny gasps of pleasure. I woke up to find Preston sitting on a lounge chair nearby, casually scrolling on his phone. He noticed my gaze. He hesitated, then reached out a tentative hand, as if to check my temperature. I turned my head away. "I'm fine," I rasped. Preston scoffed, his expression hardening, and he withdrew his hand instantly. "Kinsley, you’ve just come back, and you pull this stunt? Don’t you think it’s time to rein it in?" My brain seized up. A stunt? "I’ve told you countless times," he continued, "no one will ever threaten your position. You are, and always will be, my only wife. What benefit is there in fighting with a girl fresh out of college, getting yourself into this state?" He thought the horrific accident was a pathetic attempt to compete with Summer. A move for attention. I opened my mouth, but the truth felt utterly meaningless, stripped of all weight. "I apologize. There won’t be a next time." I didn't argue. There was nothing left to say. Preston seemed satisfied by my capitulation. My brother had called that morning to tell me Preston had arranged the funds to pay off his next installment. See? I just had to be invisible, to know my place, and Preston would solve all our problems. "If you're miserable, Kin, you should go. Get a divorce. I’ll figure out the money." My arm ached from holding the phone. I knew the truth: the entire Thorne portfolio—cars, property, everything—had been seized and auctioned. The massive debt was still a gaping hole. Jared, who once lived in a two-thousand-square-foot river-view penthouse, had been beaten by debt collectors and was now in a damp, shadowy basement. It had taken three days for his life to collapse. I heard Preston had found him curled up on a tiny cot, pale, with blood on his lips. His blanket didn't even cover his feet. A container of untouched microwave pasta sat on the floor. We were utterly defeated, completely cornered. Now, Preston offered the car, the house, the money. All he asked was for me to be blind, to be a ghost who enabled his beautiful romance with the ideal girl. Given our situation, how could I refuse? I managed a weak smile. "I’m not miserable. I’m just being blind. I can do that." After my release from the hospital, I attempted to become the perfect, compliant wife. I stopped asking about Preston’s whereabouts or spending habits. When Preston needed a ride home, drunk after a business dinner, I gave the chauffeur Summer's number. When he mentioned a craving for the seafood bisque I used to make, I routinely called Summer and asked her to deliver it. When he needed custom cufflinks matched to a new suit, I told Summer to contact his private tailor. ... Three months into this routine, Preston did something unusual: he called to say he was coming home for dinner. 2 After the meal, as I mechanically laid out his suit for the next day, he grabbed me and forcefully pushed me against the wall. "Kin," he murmured, his voice tight, "you've been so good lately. Too good. It's not like you..." As his kisses trailed down my face, the unmistakable scent of Summer’s favorite gardenia perfume quickly saturated my senses. The room’s temperature spiked, making the cloying fragrance even more intense. A sharp, violent wave of nausea surged in my throat. I forced myself to endure it. But then, in the heat of the moment, Preston called out Summer's name. My mind went blank. I clenched the pillow so hard my knuckles turned bone-white. Then, with a sudden, animalistic burst of strength, I shoved Preston away. I stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed by the toilet, dry-heaving. Preston followed me, his eyes narrowed. Seeing my desperate retching, the desire in his eyes vanished, replaced by irritation. He leaned against the doorframe. "What’s wrong with you?" I couldn't answer, the sound of my continuous heaving echoing off the marble. He quickly lost patience. He merely threw a dismissive remark over his shoulder: "Go to the doctor tomorrow and get checked out." The roar of his car engine faded as he drove away, taking my sleep with it. Curled up in the corner of the bed, I fought against the intense physical discomfort, but it was useless. I got up. While rummaging for an over-the-counter remedy, I found it in the back of the cabinet: a tacky, cheaply made pearl necklace whose metal settings had begun to fade. The cold metal suddenly burned in my palm, forcing me almost to drop it. I remembered the toughest year of Preston’s life. We were twenty-two. His father had cut off all his funds to force him to start from the bottom. The millionaire playboy, accustomed to spending six figures a month, was living on a two-thousand-dollar salary, wearing clothes from a strip mall, and sharing a cramped dorm. I’d felt sorry for him and secretly split my allowance with him. Under the moonlight, his voice had choked up. "Kinsley, I’m so lucky to have you." To buy me a birthday gift, he worked himself to exhaustion, taking on extra shifts until he was dizzy. When he finally presented the pearl necklace, his face was flushed. "The quality is terrible compared to what you have in your closet, Kin. If you don't like it, you can just tell me..." I didn’t refuse. I took off my latest designer necklace and wore the cheap pearls for a year. For a long time, that necklace had served as Preston’s symbolic ‘get out of jail free’ card. Snapping out of the memory, I walked to the balcony. I wound up and threw the necklace with all my might. It disappeared into the flowerbed below, vanishing without a trace. Two months later. I had an unexpected visitor. Summer. She was wearing the latest couture suit and a heavy, expensive watch. Even her diamond earrings were a pair Preston had spent a fortune on at a recent auction. I knew she had accepted his twisted, possessive love. And like so many women before her, she had come to tell me to leave my marriage. "He doesn't love you anymore. There’s no point in clinging to this title," she announced. "And I need that 'Mrs. Thorne' title to clear my name from being a home-wrecker." But I needed that title too. I only had my brother left. I could concede anything else, but not this. Not the protection of the Thorne name. Seeing my lack of response, a flicker of genuine hatred crossed her eyes. She slammed her hand on the table and stood up. "Kinsley, why couldn't you control Preston?" she shrieked. "Why did you let him ruin me and my boyfriend?" "My life is a mess because of your incompetence! You’re the reason I’m like this!" "If I can’t be happy, you and Preston—the two people responsible for this—won't be happy either!" She lunged at me. Her full weight hit me, and my waist slammed into the metallic corner of the breakfast table. The agonizing pain stole my breath. I tried to push her away. But before I could exert any pressure, she suddenly collapsed onto the floor, sweeping the dishes and cutlery onto the tile with a crash. I turned back just as Summer cried out, clutching her abdomen. The fabric beneath her quickly turned a horrific crimson. Was she... pregnant? The housekeeper’s sharp scream filled the air, followed by Preston’s frantic shout from the foyer. The next second, a stinging, savage blow landed across my face. My lips immediately tasted of blood. "Kinsley!" Preston’s voice was a roar. "I thought you had learned your lesson these past months, but you're still doing this? You're still incorrigible!" An unspeakable bitterness, sharp and metallic, rushed up my throat. I choked out a weak defense. "I didn't push her..." Preston didn't even pause to hear me. He scooped Summer into his arms, his movements swift and protective, and rushed out the door. The man who could stay impassive during billion-dollar negotiations was now trembling slightly as he ran. A week later, Jared called. "Kin, could you just ask Preston why he suddenly unlinked the repayment account? If it’s too much trouble, forget it..." 3 I mumbled an acknowledgment, knowing my proud brother would only ask if he were truly desperate. When I called Preston, he answered immediately, as if waiting for my call. "What card? Oh... that one. I thought it was being fraudulently used, so I unlinked it. Is there a problem?" Preston's tone was dismissive, yet his words landed like a heavy hammer blow to my heart. My hands nervously twisted the hem of my shirt. I forced myself to beg. "But my brother can’t wait, Pres. Can you... can you please be merciful to me just one more time, like you used to be?" Pres. It had been a long time since I’d used the intimate short form of his name. Silence fell on Preston’s end. A moment of rustling, and then Summer’s voice came through. "Kinsley, you know the company is under a lot of financial pressure right now? You and your brother are like a bottomless pit—no matter how much he gives you, it’s never enough. You’re going to drag him down." Financial pressure... My mind flashed back to the morning headlines: "CEO Preston Thorne Spends Millions for Love! Ten-Million Dollar Villa and Luxury Cars Gifting Titles to Summer!" The financial pressure was caused by that, wasn't it? An endless bitterness spread across my tongue, a searing, agonizing pain. "Preston put me in charge of this matter," Summer continued. "If you can placate me, he’ll naturally help your brother with the money." I agreed without hesitation. "I’ll text you the address. Come see me tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what to do." I never imagined the address Summer sent would be my house. Standing outside, looking at the familiar stone façade, felt like gazing into a distant, lost life. The peach tree by the gate was blooming. The day Preston and I planted it, he’d asked me, "Do you know the language of the peach blossom?" I shook my head. He leaned in, gently biting my left ear, his hot breath making my head swim. "Kinsley, I want to be a prisoner of your love." A spring breeze pulled me back to the present. I gave a self-mocking smile and entered the yard. Inside, through the sheer white curtains of the massive glass wall, the sunlight illuminated the furniture. I saw two bodies entwined on the chaise lounge—my mother’s favorite piece of furniture. Preston's breathing was ragged. His voice was a mix of temptation and threat. "So we agree, you won't take it too far." Summer chuckled, playfully pushing his shoulder. "You gave me the house. Why are you suddenly so possessive?" He gave her the house? I lost control and stormed inside. "The house? Did you really give her the house?" Preston detached himself from Summer and slowly wrapped his silk robe around himself. "Yes. The paperwork is being finalized." The moment those words left his mouth, a ringing filled my ears. I couldn't hold my emotions in check any longer. I rushed him, beating my fists against his chest like a lunatic. "Why would you give it to her? You promised! You said as long as I behaved, you'd transfer the title back to me! Preston, why her? Why!" He grabbed my flailing hands and violently shoved me onto the sofa. Though the cushions were soft, the impact sent a sharp, dull ache through my abdomen. "She lost a child. This house is her compensation," he said flatly. "If you had lost a child that day, I would have compensated you too." "And Kinsley, don’t forget why you’re here." In that instant, I forgot how to cry, how to scream, and even how to hate. When a sliver of rationality returned, Summer was dressed. "Kinsley, I haven’t quite decided how to punish you yet. How about... you get down on your knees and beg me?" Looking up at Summer’s arrogant, triumphant gaze, a wave of intense humiliation washed over me. But I knew I couldn't refuse. Silence fell over the room. For a moment, I only heard a soft, muffled thud. It wasn't my knees hitting the floor. It was my backbone, straight for twenty-six years, finally and completely shattering. Summer smiled. "I don't have all day to wait. You know this house. You know where the security cameras are. If I check the feed and you're not kneeling, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help your brother." She looped her arm through Preston's, and they walked out. The pain in my stomach intensified. I could barely straighten up. Every time I tried to shift or stand, the camera in the corner gave a little mechanical whir. The person watching seemed to be reminding me that if I ran, if I stood up, my brother would be ruined. As night fell, I suddenly felt a gush of warmth between my legs. In the faint moonlight, I saw my trousers were completely soaked in blood. Terrified, I called Jared. I cried that I was dying, that I was bleeding too much. My brother arrived, still in his restaurant uniform from his part-time job. He lifted me, his arms trembling, and ran to the waiting ambulance. "Kin, stay awake! Look at me!" "Kin! Don't you dare close your eyes!" Just before the doors of the operating room closed, through the haze, I saw Preston. In all our years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen him so completely undone.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389653", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel