Contract Wife's Hidden Identity Revealed
For years, I was known as Killian Emerson’s only weakness, the anchor for the ruthless crime boss while he built an empire. I thought it was for us, a life he was building to protect me.
But then I found out the truth. My high school bully, Dallas, was his mistress. He paraded her around at galas, bought her penthouses, and funded her multi-million-dollar cat sanctuary.
He bought her a sanctuary for stray cats while my brother was dying. I begged him for money for a life-saving treatment, but he told me he was busy and hung up. My brother died alone. Killian didn’t even come to the funeral.
When he finally called, he sounded bored. "Sorry to hear about your brother," he said casually, while I could hear Dallas in the background asking him to go ring shopping.
In that moment, the last bit of love I had for him simply died. He had forgotten every promise, even the one he made to ruin Dallas for carving "Worthless" into my wrist years ago.
Now, he protects her. He even let her crush the last memento my brother ever made for me, then broke my wrist when I lunged at her. After a car crash he caused, he left me bleeding in the wreckage to save Dallas, without a single look back.
But the biggest secret was yet to come. Lying in a hospital bed, a call from the county clerk revealed the truth. Killian and I were never legally married. The entire foundation of my life was a lie designed to control me.
And now, I'm taking back everything he stole from me. Starting with his empire.
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Chapter 6
Elena POV:
A nurse bustled in, her expression a bright mask of professional cheerfulness that felt like sandpaper on my raw nerves.
"Oh, you're awake! Mr. Emerson had us fill the room with these for you. Isn't he the most romantic man?"
She gestured to the peonies, their cloying scent clogging my throat, making my eyes water and my skin begin to itch.
Romantic. He'd forgotten my severe allergy.
It wasn't just a detail; it was everything.
He didn't love me. He loved the idea of being a man who loved his wife, a man who filled her hospital room with flowers. The specific flower, the specific woman, didn't matter.
The door opened and Killian stepped inside, holding a vase of lilies—another flower he should have known I disliked.
He looked tired, a shadow of a bruise under his eye.
"You're awake," he said, his voice tentative, as if testing the temperature of the room.
I said nothing. My eyes remained locked on the vase of peonies on the nightstand.
With a surge of cold energy, I shoved it.
It crashed against the floor, shattering, sending a spray of water and petals across the white linoleum.
"Get out," I whispered, the words barely audible.
Instead of leaving, he knelt, playing the part of the caring husband, picking up the larger shards of glass.
"Elena, let's just talk."
He cut his finger. A drop of red welled on his skin. His eyes instinctively flickered to mine, that old, familiar search for sympathy.
I turned my head away, staring at the blank wall.
"It was a tactical decision," he said, his voice low as he straightened, wrapping a tissue around his bleeding finger. "In a hit, you protect the most vulnerable asset first. Dallas was on the passenger side. It was just… tactics."
He offered me a box of my favorite chocolates, a peace offering. I slapped them out of his hand.
They scattered across the floor, mixing with the broken glass and ruined flowers.
"I said, get out."
The mask slipped. The patient, concerned husband vanished, and the ruthless Don I knew so well emerged.
His jaw tightened, his eyes hardening to ice.
"Don't be stupid, Elena. Who do you think is paying for this room? Who paid for every single one of Leo's medical bills before…"
He trailed off, the threat hanging in the air between us.
My finger, trembling slightly, pointed to the door.
Killian stared at me for a long, hard second. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The sound echoed in the silent room, and finally, the tears came.
Hot, silent tears of grief and a sheer, soul-crushing exhaustion.