He Killed Me Without Anesthesia

I was the woman Beckett Thorne had jilted seven times. In our social circle, I wasn't a person; I was a punchline. Then came Cade Sterling. He showed up with his entire empire in tow, offering me a ring and a promise of sanctuary. He told me he was "born under a dark star"—a man shadowed by a string of personal tragedies and bad luck. At the time, I didn't care about the superstitions. I thought I’d finally found a soul as bruised as my own. I thought it was love. The first year of our marriage, a freak car accident left me shattered. The second year, I lost the baby. My entire world collapsed into a heap of sterile hospital sheets and grief. Even then, I clung to the wreckage. I chose to believe these were just the cruel whims of fate, the "dark star" he’d warned me about. Until tonight. April Fool’s Day. The party was in full swing when the mask finally slipped. A group of men had Cade cornered near the bar, raucously demanding to know why a man of his stature had insisted on marrying a "seven-time loser" like me. Cade laughed. It was a light, effortless sound, but his eyes drifted toward Bella, who was standing just a few feet away. "Bella was so obsessed with Beckett," he said, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. "I had to clear the board for her. Removing the competition was just... strategic." Bella’s eyes welled with tears as she threw herself into his arms. "So the 'bad luck' was all an act? You did all that for me?" The room went bone-chillingly silent. I felt the blood drain from my limbs, leaving me cold as ice. Cade stepped toward me, reaching out to ruffle my hair with that familiar, patronizing tenderness. "Happy April Fool’s, babe. Don’t take it so hard." I recoiled, breaking his touch. My voice came out flat, a dead sea of calm. "I want a divorce. And this time, Cade, I’m not playing." … Cade’s expression darkened instantly. "Norah, don't be dramatic. Don't throw a tantrum." Sensing the shift in the room, Bella wiped her eyes and reached for my hand. "Norah, please don't be mad. Cade was just joking. Don't let a little prank ruin what you two have because of me." Before tonight, I would have believed her. Cade’s "devotion" had been armor I wore against the world. He was the man who had flown eight hours across the country just to make sure I took my medicine when I was flu-ridden. He was the man who stayed awake through time zones just to hear me say "goodnight" because I’d once mentioned feeling insecure. I looked at him now. That handsome face felt like a stranger’s mask. "Divorce," I repeated. "I’ll have the papers drawn up. I don't want a dime of your money." Norah only married Cade for the money. I’d heard it a thousand times. In the breakroom at his office, at every gala, even from his own mother’s lips. Cade had never silenced the rumors. Every time I heard them, my guilt had only deepened, driving me to love him harder, to prove I wasn't the gold-digger they thought I was. Cade stared at me, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Fine. If we’re doing a 'truth session,' let’s go all the way." "The car accident? I arranged it. The injuries wouldn't have been permanent if I hadn't intentionally delayed signing the surgery consent forms. I needed you off the board so Bella wouldn't have to compete with you in the gala circuit." My breath hitched. He wasn't done. "The miscarriage? The prenatal reports were faked. The baby was perfectly healthy. But you having a child would have complicated Bella’s standing in the family inheritance. The day of your surgery, I wasn't 'away on business.' I was out helping Bella find her lost puppy." Bella squeezed my hand, her voice a saccharine whine. "Norah, he’s just talking out of anger. You know you’re his number one." The onlookers whispered, their eyes full of envy—not for me, but for Bella. They marveled at the lengths a man would go to for his "true" obsession. They all knew. They all saw it. And I was the only one standing in the wreckage of my own life. It felt like a physical blade through the chest. Because of that "accident," I’d lost my career as a professional ballerina. Cade had "generously" hired the best medical teams for my rehab, making himself a saint in the eyes of the public. When I lost the baby and the doctors said I could likely never conceive again, Cade had poured millions into a bio-tech lab for artificial womb research, claiming he just wanted us to have a family. People called him the husband of the century. It was all a lie. A curated, expensive performance. I had pitied him for his "dark star." I had sacrificed my body and my dreams for a ghost. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to scream. "Norah," Bella chirped, eyeing my neck. "That necklace is so unique. Can I have it?" I instinctively reached for the emerald pendant. Cade had given it to me, claiming he’d climbed a mountain to a secluded monastery to have it blessed for my protection. I’d never taken it off. "Norah, for God's sake," Cade snapped. "You're the older sister. Can't you just let her have one thing?" Before I could move, he lunged forward and ripped the chain from my neck. The gold bit into my skin, leaving a raw, stinging welt that began to bead with blood. It was always like this. My parents, my lovers—everyone demanded I "yield" to Bella. When I refused to let her win a dance competition as a teen, my father had intentionally fed me an allergen that put me in the ICU for three days. When I didn't give her my bridal bouquet, Cade had "gifted" her my custom-made wedding dress for her own collection. He had promised me "singular devotion." But in the space between Bella and me, I was always the shadow. Clatter. The necklace hit the floor, the emerald shattering against the marble. "Oops," Bella giggled. "My hand slipped. I’ll buy you a better one, Norah." "It’s just a necklace," Cade said, dismissing my pain before I could even speak. "It’s over. Let it go." I knelt on the floor, my fingers trembling as I tried to pick up the shards. Maybe a jeweler could save a piece of it. Maybe I could save a piece of us. "Pathetic," Cade muttered. He stepped forward, his heavy dress shoe grinding the remaining fragments into dust. "You’re ruining the mood." He turned and walked away. The crowd followed him, their heels crunching over the emerald remains of my heart. I tried to stop them, but they moved like a tide, oblivious to the woman on her knees. The stone was gone. Irreparable. I was hauled into the car a few minutes later. Bella took the passenger seat as if it were her throne. "Norah, don't be like that," she said, pulling up a photo on her phone. "Cade actually bought me a whole set of that emerald style—earrings, bracelet, the works. He went to that monastery and spent three days praying for me. The one he gave you? The monk just gave that to him for free because he was such a good customer. It was a trinket. Don't be so sensitive." "Bella has a heart condition," Cade added, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "As her future brother-in-law, I have to look out for her. Are you really going to be jealous of a sick girl?" The "blessed" heirloom I’d cherished was a gift-with-purchase. A scrap thrown to a dog. As we hit the highway, Bella began to gag. "Norah, the smell of grease on you is making me nauseous. The car is too small for this." Cade’s stomach was sensitive, so I’d spent three years personally cooking every meal to ensure it was clean. I had worried about the smell of the kitchen clinging to me, but Cade used to pull me close and whisper, “Babe, it smells like love. I never want you to change.” "Get out," Cade said. I blinked. "What?" "Bella’s sick. You’re making it worse. Get out and find your own way home." The rain was beginning to pour, a heavy Atlantic curtain. He looked at me with none of the warmth he’d faked for three years. He looked at me with boredom. I was pushed out onto the shoulder of the highway. My old leg injury from the accident began to throb in the cold. I watched his taillights vanish into the grey. I walked until the world blurred. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I’d been out for twelve hours. My phone was silent—not a single text from my husband. I opened Instagram. Bella had posted a photo: two hands intertwined, fingers locked. The caption: The truth finally came out tonight. No more secrets. No more missing each other. Cade’s "confession" wasn't for me. It was his mating call to her. He’d used my destruction as a bouquet for her. I couldn't reach him to pay the hospital bill. I had to discharge myself, limping back to the house we shared. The door was opened not by our housekeeper, but by Bella. "Oh, hi Norah," she said, leaning against the frame in one of Cade’s shirts. "You’re just in time. Cade’s throwing me a 'Freedom Party' tonight. You’re welcome to watch." She looked like the mistress of the house. I felt like a trespasser in my own life. "Cade," Bella called out, smirking at me. "You were right. She couldn't even last twenty-four hours before crawling back. I lose the bet." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "It’s just a game, Norah. Don't be a killjoy." The guests in the foyer laughed. "She really can't live without his checkbook, can she? Bella was being generous giving her three days." Cade looked at me, his lip curling in disgust at my rain-soaked clothes and tangled hair. "Your stuff is in the basement storage room. Bella gets nightmares, so I’m staying in the master suite with her tonight. Go clean yourself up. You look revolting." I sat on the edge of the small cot in the basement, the sounds of the party thumping through the ceiling. I rested my hand on my stomach. The hospital had given me the news. I was two months pregnant. A miracle. A second chance. I stared at the divorce papers I’d drafted. Once he signed them, we were done. I would raise this child alone. I would be the mother I never had. I found a metal bin and a lighter. One by one, I started dropping things in. The dried flowers from our anniversary. The polaroids. The letters. If I was leaving, I was leaving no trace. "Norah! What the hell are you doing?" Cade burst in, his face contorting as he saw the flames. In the center of the fire was a leather-bound journal. It was our "Three-Year Diary," filled with his handwritten notes of every "happy" moment we’d shared. "Have you lost your mind? You’re burning that to get my attention? You’re pathetic." The fire climbed higher. Cade’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous command. "Take it out. Now. Or don't ever ask for my forgiveness." He stood there with that arrogant tilt to his head, waiting for me to scream, to cry, to reach into the fire for the scraps of his affection. I didn't move. Something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of genuine panic. He reached toward the flames himself, but it was too late. The journal crumbled into black ash. "Cade! You're hurt!" Bella cried, rushing in to grab his hand. "Let me get the first aid kit." "Norah, this is on you," Cade hissed, nursing his singed fingers. "Since you're so intent on being destructive, I’ve decided. Bella loves your new choreography—the one for the national competition. Since your leg is useless anyway, I’m giving the rights to her. She’ll perform it under her name. Consider it your contribution to the family." He watched me, waiting for the break. He knew dance was my soul. He knew I’d spent three months in this basement, agonizing over every beat of that piece. "Cade," Bella whispered, looking at the door. "Beckett is here." Beckett Thorne, the man who had left me seven times, walked into the basement followed by a line of suited security. "Cade," Beckett said, his voice like flint. "If you’re taking Bella, then we’re trading." "Trading?" Cade laughed, though he moved to shield Bella. "We’re not in high school, Beckett." "You want my wife? Fine. But you won't leave me with nothing. The Thorne and Sterling families are equals. I’m taking Norah." Trading wives. Like cattle. Like property. I looked at Cade. My stomach cramped—a sharp, stabbing warning. I didn't know what Beckett would do to me, but I knew his hatred for Cade was a bottomless pit. "Cade," I whispered, the first sign of fear breaking my mask. "Please. Just this once." My parents wouldn't help me. I was the "disposable" daughter. If Beckett took me, I was a dead woman walking. "Cade, I’m scared," Bella whimpered, clutching his arm. Cade looked at Bella’s fake tears, then at me. He stepped forward and shoved me toward Beckett. "Three days," Cade muttered to me, his voice low. "Just stay with him for three days until Bella’s divorce papers are finalized. Then I’ll come get you." I didn't answer. My heart had finally stopped beating. "Regrets?" Beckett asked as he led me to his car. "If you’d chosen me back then, I might not have married you, but I would have kept you fed." I didn't respond. I felt sick. "You know why I broke those engagements, Norah? It was Cade’s idea. He told me it was the only way to prove to Bella that I didn't want you. He played us both." Of course he did. For the next forty-eight hours, Beckett used me as a weapon. He staged photos—us in bed, us at dinner, my head on his shoulder. He sent them all to Bella. It worked. Cade came for me, breaking down Beckett's door in a jealous rage. But as he threw me into the back of his car, he didn't look like a savior. He looked like a demon. "You couldn't wait, could you?" he spat. "How long has this been going on? Is that why you're pregnant? Whose bastard is it, Norah?" The car smelled of Bella’s perfume. A pair of her lace underwear was tossed carelessly on the seat. The nausea hit me in waves. "Don't look at me like that," Cade sneered. "Bella and I... we couldn't help ourselves earlier. Deep feelings, you know? You should understand, considering you're carrying a Thorne brat." He didn't wait for my explanation. He didn't care that the baby was conceived on our anniversary, the night he’d been so "drunk with love." He pulled up to a private clinic. Security dragged me toward the operating room. "Cade, stop! It’s yours! Please, check the dates!" I screamed, but he was beyond reason. "You’ll say anything to keep that leverage over me," he growled, his pulse jumping in his neck. "No anesthesia. I want her to remember the cost of betraying me. Do it now." The pain was a jagged, tearing void. I felt my child—the only thing I had left to love—being ripped away from me. I felt the light go out. "Doctor! We're losing her! She's stopped fighting! Her heart—"

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