The Autistic Lord's Wife

I was chosen as a Thorne family daughter-in-law from childhood. At twenty, I married Asher Thorne, a man with autism. For five years, Asher consistently disliked me. He recoiled from my touch, let alone shared a bed with me. Then, he met a girl. In front of her, he reined in all his quirks, awkwardly striving to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, and give her gifts. Even his study, a sanctuary I was forbidden to enter, was flung open to her without reservation. I knew Asher had found someone he liked. And I knew I no longer wanted to care for him. So, I sought out Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. 1 Before I met Asher, my life had been far from easy. My mother, an aesthetics devotee, was captivated by my father's striking looks. She fell head over heels, diving into a whirlwind romance and sharing a bed with him before doing any proper background check. And then, there was me. It was only after I was born that my mother discovered my father was from a prominent, wealthy family. The kind who could wave a hand and ensure she'd never worry about money again. But the bad news was, my father was a live-in son-in-law, a man who married into wealth, taking his wife's name. In other words, he was a social climber, relying on his wife to enter high society. And my mother? She was his mistress. When his legitimate wife came to catch him in the act, she found my mother. Usually, my father acted quite grand around my mother, but in front of his wife, he was as subservient as a beaten dog. My father immediately cut all ties with my mother, disowning me in the process. My mother raised me alone, and our lives were difficult. She drove a pedicab, set up small street stalls, and was once chased by city inspectors for miles, losing a shoe along the way. Eventually, she grew tired of that life. She told me she would find me a better path. I don't know what methods my mother used, but she somehow obtained a paternity test proving my father was indeed my biological parent. Then, she stormed to my father's mansion, creating a scene and demanding he take responsibility for me. Concerned about a scandal, the wealthy family agreed. From that day, my mother and I were separated. The day I was sent to Sinclair Manor, my mother's smile was tear-streaked. "Aurora," she said, "you'll never go hungry again." But my mother was too naive. My father saw me as a stain on his reputation, and Mrs. Sinclair detested me. Those below them were quick to shift loyalties, naturally treating me with disdain. As for my half-sisters, they devised new ways to torment me every single day. My mother would never know any of this. That encounter at the gates of Sinclair Manor was the last time I ever saw her. She had terminal cancer and couldn't afford the medical bills. After sending me to my father, she took her own life by jumping into the river. I grew up in Sinclair Manor as an adopted daughter, living cautiously. When I was fifteen, I met a boy at the Sinclair estate. He had cut his arm on rose thorns, and the wound was still bleeding. Yet, he seemed completely oblivious, listening to music in the garden with headphones on. I thought for a moment, then brought him antiseptic to clean the wound and a bandage to cover it. Later, I learned his name was Asher Thorne. His grandfather had brought him to visit the Sinclairs. For reasons unknown to me, Grandfather Thorne took a liking to me and wanted me as his grandson's wife. Being an old, established family, my father naturally agreed without hesitation. My sisters, upon hearing the news, scoffed and ridiculed me. "Do you really think you've landed a good catch? If it were a truly good match, why would it be your turn?" "That Asher Thorne, he's had autism and bipolar disorder since childhood. He's not normal." But because of the engagement to Asher, Mrs. Sinclair finally treated me with some semblance of kindness. My life at Sinclair Manor became much more bearable; at least they stopped bullying me. I often thought back to that first meeting, the slender boy quietly listening to music in the garden. He didn't know he had unknowingly helped me so much. I was genuinely grateful to him. I began to learn about his condition, studying how to interact with him in the future. Then, at twenty, arranged by both families, I married Asher Thorne. 2 I didn't realize how much Asher resisted marrying me. After I moved in, he never gave me a kind glance. He wouldn't allow me to touch him, let alone share a bed with me. On our wedding night, he threw a terrible tantrum in the bridal suite. "Go away." "Don't be in my room." "Get out. Get out now." I hung my head in shame, a wave of humiliation washing over me. That day, Grandfather Thorne sought me out. He explained that Asher had always been solitary and disliked interacting with people. The caretaker who looked after Asher had recently passed away, and Asher's condition had been particularly bad lately. He asked me to be patient and give Asher some time. I nodded in agreement. From then on, I took on the responsibility of caring for Asher. I juggled my time between school and Thorne Manor. I had to remind Asher to take his medication on time, take him for regular hospital check-ups, and meticulously plan his meals and choose his clothes. Thankfully, Asher wasn't a block of wood. He gradually began to respond to me. For instance, he stopped saying "Get out" to me. For instance, when he saw me asleep on the sofa, he would awkwardly cover me with a blanket. And for instance, when I had terrible period cramps, he would brew me a cup of warm ginger tea. But he never shared a bed with me. The Thorne family had a single male heir in each generation, and Asher was the only one of his generation. Grandfather Thorne was eager for great-grandchildren and pressured me many times. But if Asher wasn't willing, there was nothing I could do. Finally, in our fifth year of marriage, Grandfather Thorne completely lost his patience. Without my knowledge, he drugged Asher. Then he put Asher in my bed, locked the door, and trapped us inside. That night is still vivid in my memory. The pain. It was excruciating. Driven by the drug, his eyes were glazed over, his body acting purely on instinct. But he had no experience, and his movements were rough. I felt a tearing pain, and tears streamed down my face. As dawn approached, I couldn't bear it anymore and passed out. The next afternoon, I was awakened by the sound of things being smashed. 3 Asher was in a terrible rage. He smashed my phone, shattered the flat-screen TV on the wall, and tables and chairs crashed to the floor. When he saw me awake, he walked over to me, holding a mirror. The mirror reflected my image. I hadn't even had time to put on clothes, my body covered in red marks and bruises. He pointed at my reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. "You're so dirty, so disgusting." "I hate you." "I never want to see you again." That day, my body felt terrible; I stumbled when I walked. But when Asher had one of his episodes, he'd disappear. I had no choice but to go look for him. I didn't bother eating, searching from noon until after midnight. I searched almost every place he usually went, until my calves trembled uncontrollably. But I still couldn't find him. As I stood exhausted and desperate at the front door, gasping for breath, Asher finally returned at one in the morning. A girl stood beside him. She had a dimple when she smiled, and it was incredibly sweet. The girl looked up at him. "It's my first time meeting someone with such similar interests as you." Her voice was soft and admiring. "Meeting you was the greatest gain from this concert." It was then I realized Asher had gone to a concert alone. His phone had died, and he couldn't remember his way home, so the girl had brought him back. Asher walked very slowly; the way home was short, but he took a long time. They talked about music, about composers and performers I didn't know. Asher had loved music since he was a child. He had studied under famous masters and opened his own studio after graduating, composing many renowned pieces. I stood silently by the front door, listening. They talked for thirty minutes, but Asher never noticed I was there. It was the butler who couldn't bear it any longer and spoke up. "Master Asher, it's very late. You should go to bed." He paused, then added, "Mrs. Thorne has been waiting for you." The girl looked over, pausing slightly, then asked Asher, "Is this your wife?" Asher's face flushed with discomfort. After a moment of silence, he nodded. Then he immediately added: "Under duress." "Don't like her." "Hate her." In that moment, I stood rooted to the spot. A surge of shame inexplicably rose, making me feel utterly mortified. The girl's name was Ivy. Ivy tugged on his sleeve, her eyes curving into a sweet smile. "It is getting late. We'll see each other next time." From that day on, my relationship with Asher plummeted back to freezing point. He refused to speak a single word to me. On his birthday, I gave him a new pair of over-ear headphones. I had heard the sound quality was excellent, and they had sold out many times, so I had specifically pre-ordered them six months in advance. But Asher simply took a lighter and, in front of me, burned the headphones into shattered pieces. "Don't like you." "Don't like what you give me either." "Trash. Don't want it." That birthday, he went out and spent it with Ivy. Ever since that first meeting, he and Ivy had kept in touch. Recently, Ivy had even interned at his studio. When he came home that evening, he was wearing a silver ring. It was a birthday gift from Ivy. I looked at the scattered remains of the headphones on the floor, an immense weariness rising from the depths of my heart. The next day, Grandfather Thorne suddenly called, asking me to come to his study. He wanted me to retrieve a document and give it to his secretary. But I remembered Asher had always forbidden me from entering his study. I hesitated. Grandfather Thorne urged me, saying the document was urgent and his secretary was already waiting at the door. After a moment's thought, I went to retrieve the document. Before leaving, I restored everything in the study to its original state. But Asher still found out I had entered his study. His phone was linked to the study's surveillance camera. He rushed back from his studio, his brow furrowed with irritation and gloom. "You can't go in, you can't!" His emotions, like an invisible storm, raged through the room. Because I had entered his study to retrieve a document, he even had the entire room thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. I stared at him blankly, voicing the confusion in my heart. "Why can't I go in?" During this time, Asher often invited Ivy to visit our home. They would discuss music in the study, spending the entire day there. Why could Ivy enter, but not me? "Also, I'm not dirty. Why did you have people clean the study?" His face grew even colder. "She's different from you." "She understands music. She's a kindred spirit." "You don't. Going in just makes it dirty." After all these years, I was accustomed to his terse expressions, and I instantly understood his meaning. When his emotions flared, I usually tried to calm him. But that day, knowing he was furious, I couldn't bring myself to soothe him as usual. I closed my eyes. "Asher, speaking like that is truly hurtful." At that moment, my blood sugar dropped, and I stumbled, taking a step back. But I was standing right in front of the study door. The door wasn't closed, and that step backward inadvertently took me inside the study. Asher misinterpreted it as me challenging him. His eyes turned chilling, veins bulging on his forehead. He pointed at me and said many terrible things, which ultimately distilled into three sentences: "Get away from me!" "This is my home, not yours! Get out!" "Don't ever appear in my house again!" These words weren't new to me. When I first entered Sinclair Manor, my half-sisters had said the same thing. Back then, I'd quietly cried into my pillow, feeling utterly worthless. I thought, one day, I must have a home of my own, a home no one can ever kick me out of. After marrying Asher, I mistakenly believed this villa with him was my home. Although it couldn't shield me from every storm, it was my refuge. But today, he screamed at me, telling me the house was in his name, his family paid for it, and this wasn't my home. He told me to get out. Emotions surged, a sense of helplessness threatening to swallow me whole. I hung my head, calculating the days. It had been ten years since I met Asher at fifteen. At fifteen, thanks to our engagement, I had five years of comfortable living. At twenty, I married Asher and meticulously cared for him for five years. Five years for five years; I had repaid the Thorne family's kindness. I was weary of this life. I wanted a divorce. 4 Once the thought of divorce took root, it grew like a seed bursting through soil, rapidly spiraling out of control. A week later, I met with Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. Grandfather Thorne sat on the sofa in the old manor, tapping the table with his index finger. "Why?" he asked. I told him Asher had someone he liked. In front of her, he would rein in his temper, awkwardly trying to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, give her gifts, stubbornly trying to please her. With Ivy around, Asher's mood would significantly improve. Whether objectively or subjectively, she was a better fit for Asher than I was. Grandfather Thorne listened, saying nothing. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and asked me seriously, "Aurora, do you know why I chose you as my grandson's wife?" "Because I brought Asher a bandage?" I asked him. He shook his head. "No. I investigated you. I knew you were kind-hearted, and I knew your awkward status, how you were disliked at Sinclair Manor." His gaze was steady. "You needed this engagement. With the engagement, your life would be much easier, out of respect for the Thorne family." He paused, his voice softening slightly. "And precisely because of that, you would see Asher as a lifeline, grateful to him, tolerant of him, even indulgent." He sighed. "When I learned you chose psychology as your major in college, I knew I hadn't been wrong; you truly were that way." He sighed again. "A child from Asher's background, if he hadn't fallen ill, would naturally be highly sought after. But he, unfortunately, developed this condition. I only have this one grandson, so naturally, I had to plan for him, to find him an absolutely loyal wife who would care for him for life." He looked at me directly. "The Ivy you speak of, I don't know what kind of girl she is. I don't feel comfortable entrusting Asher to her." He continued, laying bare his reasoning. "Aurora, you grew up in Sinclair Manor; you know what wealthy men are like. It's not unusual for them to have one woman outside, let alone ten. Compared to them, Asher is inherently simple, not given to that kind of recklessness. He's already quite good." His gaze sharpened. "Besides, as long as I'm alive, no woman can challenge your position as his wife. What more could you be dissatisfied with?" I understood his meaning, but I no longer wanted to live a life with a fixed horizon, confined to caring for an autistic man. "Asher drove me away," I told Grandfather Thorne earnestly. "Now, my presence only irritates him. Lately, his episodes have become more frequent too." Hearing this, Grandfather Thorne's expression gradually grew serious, and he began to reconsider my relationship with Asher. After a long while, he finally relented. "Aurora, let me think about the divorce. You should go home for now." He added, "And Asher is your husband, after all. His opinion must also be sought in this matter." I nodded, standing to leave. Asher would surely agree. He would probably be eager to sign the divorce papers. A gentle spring rain was falling today, and the wind outside was strong. As I left the old manor, I saw Asher. He stood by the partially open door, wearing a white shirt and holding an umbrella. A large puddle had formed at the tip of the umbrella. I wondered how long he had been standing there, and how much he had heard. The moment he saw me, his lips tightened, and his face turned pale. "You said you want to divorce me?"

? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "392901", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel