From The Background Wife To His Unreachable Memory

Brayden made his way into the main conference room at TrueLight Group's headquarters, having just come in from outside for the meeting. The moment he crossed the threshold, a subtle unease settled over him. Around the table, his executives wore strained, unnatural expressions, their gazes flickering away the instant they met his. Though each of them tried to compose themselves, the tension lingered—thinly veiled curiosity mixed with something that looked disturbingly like pity. A shadow crept across Brayden's face. Ignoring the odd atmosphere, he pulled out his chair, his movements deliberate as he prepared to begin. Before he could speak, however, the door burst open. One of his assistants, Nate Bailey, hurried in, breath uneven. "Mr. Hughes." With his phone squeezed in his hand, Nate stood there, drenched in sweat. A faint crease touched Brayden's brow as his dark, steady gaze settled on Nate. With one long finger, he gave the table a light tap and asked in a calm, authoritative voice, "What is it?" Nate gulped, brushed the cold sweat from his forehead, and quickly held out the phone. Taking it without a word, Brayden lowered his eyes to the screen. Bit by bit, the look in his eyes turned colder. For a long moment, he said nothing at all. Time itself seemed to grind to a halt. Across the glaring screen, a cascade of trending topics stabbed into his vision—"Low Sperm Count," "Brayden Hughes Impotent," and "Brayden Hughes Tricked"—each one more vicious than the last. Looming beneath them, a grotesque headline flashed. "Can Someone with Low Sperm Count Get a Woman Pregnant?" One after another, the words sank in. With every headline he read, Brayden's expression hardened, shadows gathering across his face until it turned cold and ominous. His jaw locked so hard that the muscles in his face gave a faint, angry twitch, and a chilling, oppressive force seemed to pour off him. Under his breath, he cursed, wondering if Verena had completely lost her mind. Then he opened the interview video, and as Verena's words played through the speaker, the hand gripping the phone tightened until his knuckles blanched with fury. Without a word, he shoved back his chair and strode out of the conference room. The stunned executives could only trade baffled looks, none of them certain whether the meeting had just been dismissed. Everyone assumed Brayden had lost his composure because he was genuinely impotent. Brayden didn't know what his subordinates were whispering behind his back. All he could think about was punishing Verena. He drove home at a reckless speed, fury riding with him the entire way. The second he stepped through the front door, the housekeeper, Jayde Foster, hurried over with a practiced smile. "Mr. Hughes." "Where's Verena?" The question came out flat and icy. Startled by the look in his eyes, Jayde faltered and answered in a shaky voice, "She's... she's upstairs." Without another word, Brayden stormed up to the second floor. By the time he shoved open the bedroom door, Verena had just come out of the bathroom, fresh from her shower. Not a flicker of surprise crossed her face when Brayden's temper finally snapped. Casually lifting a towel, she began drying her damp hair, deliberately ignoring him as she brushed past his rigid frame. Just as she moved by, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. In the next instant, he yanked her back and pressed her hard against the wall. Without uttering a word at first, he leaned in, his lowered gaze icy and intense as it locked onto her face. "How could you stand in front of reporters and spin that kind of lie? You know better than anyone whether I'm potent, don't you?" While the words left his lips, a dangerous heat flickered behind his dark eyes. Trapped beneath that piercing stare, Verena couldn't shake the uneasy feeling rising in her chest. Of course, she knew perfectly well that Brayden was anything but impotent. Love had never been part of the equation, yet in a twisted, inexplicable way, he had always been intensely fixated on her body. Ever since their marriage, whenever desire struck him, he would drag her into it without restraint, never satisfied until he had taken what he wanted again and again. Only when her voice broke into helpless sobs, pleading for him to stop, would he finally relent. Control had always been his nature—unyielding, forceful, leaving no room for anyone else's will. Whether it was in bed, at work, when he ordered her to take birth control, or when he forced her to confront his mistresses, her feelings had never once mattered to him. Over the past three years, she realized, he had grown accustomed to her silence, her obedience, her quiet acceptance of everything he imposed. That was why her sudden defiance now ignited such fury in him. After all, a man so consumed by pride would never tolerate being challenged. At the thought of this, a sharp sense of self-pity washed over Verena. While she could endure the petty provocations from other women, Mila was different—Mila was the one Brayden held closest to his heart, and that made her impossible to ignore. What stung far more, however, was the way he had schemed behind her back, manipulating everything just to push her into a divorce for Mila's sake. Mila had long since become an unbearable thorn lodged deep beneath her skin. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides before slowly loosening again. A sudden weakness washed over Verena, leaving her drained. She couldn't even tell what she had truly gained from clinging to this marriage all this time. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, she lifted her gaze and met Brayden's eyes, her expression cool but edged with quiet defiance. "I wouldn't call it spreading lies, would you? As far as I can tell, your performance isn't exactly impressive. Your technique lacks finesse, your stamina leaves much to be desired, and you don't even bother trying anything different. Honestly, I've never once enjoyed it. Didn't the other women ever mention that? Or were they simply too afraid to tell you the truth?" Each cutting word Verena threw landed squarely on Brayden's pride, striking deeper than he expected. A dangerous darkness pooled in his eyes as his jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. A faint, mocking laugh slipped from his lips. "Looks like you've grown quite fearless, Verena, haven't you?" Without warning, his fingers clamped around her chin, firm and unyielding, forcing her face upward until her gaze locked with his. Disgust flickered through her chest. "Let go of me," she snapped, twisting sharply in his grip. His hold didn't loosen in the slightest. As she struggled, the towel barely clinging to her damp body slipped free and dropped silently to the floor. Shock froze her in place. Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming across her skin in an instant. Before she could react—before she could even bend to retrieve it—Brayden closed the distance and crushed his lips against hers. The kiss deepened with growing intensity as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed tight, and he only released her when her breath turned unsteady. Air tore from Verena's lungs as she struggled to pull back, yet Brayden's grip locked her in place. Something feral burned in his eyes, a dark hunger that made her feel as though he might swallow her whole. "Let go of me!" Fear laced her voice; after three years beside him, she understood that look far too well. Ignoring her protest completely, Brayden seized both her wrists in one hand and forced them above her head, pinning her with effortless strength. His other hand slid behind her head, fingers threading deep into her damp hair, anchoring her where she stood. He kissed her with wild urgency, his movements intense and almost out of control. All the strength drained from her body in an instant, her knees weakening beneath her. "Brayden… wait… mm…" Her protests broke apart into soft, helpless fragments, each word swallowed before it could fully form. Desperation made her twist and struggle, trying to put distance between them, yet Brayden paid no attention at all, as if her resistance meant nothing. With a swift, forceful motion, he lifted her off her feet and tossed her onto the bed. "Brayden, stop—I don't want this…" Verena blurted out, panic tightening her voice. Before she could even push herself up, his body pressed down over hers, trapping her in place. His hands roamed without restraint, coaxing and igniting sensations she couldn't suppress. The moment spiraled forward with reckless inevitability, and in the end, he took what he wanted from her. Something in him seemed provoked by Verena's earlier words, driving him to be far rougher than before, relentless in a way that left her overwhelmed and struggling to endure. By the time he finally pulled away, satisfied, every ounce of strength had drained from her. Limply, she remained sprawled across the rumpled sheets, her body heavy and unresponsive. Without a glance back, Brayden headed into the bathroom. Still lying there, Verena stared blankly at the soft, amber glow of the ceiling light, her thoughts drifting unwillingly into the past. Three years earlier, Mila had gone overseas to continue her studies, and in her absence, the Jones and Hughes families had arranged their marriage. From the very beginning, Brayden had believed it was Verena who had forced Mila to leave. That conviction had never wavered. For three long years, he had treated her with nothing but cold indifference. More than once, he had made it painfully clear—if she hadn't been the Jones family's daughter, the woman he would have married without hesitation… was Mila. Determined to push her away, he had gone out of his way to act like a reckless playboy, using every trick he knew to drive her toward divorce. For years, whispers about Brayden's affairs had never truly faded, and fresh rumors of a new woman at his side seemed to surface every few weeks. Time and again, her brother had urged her to walk away from the marriage, yet she had always chosen to endure, clinging stubbornly to the feelings she had carried for Brayden since she was younger. Now that Mila had returned to the country, it was obvious he would stop at nothing to force a divorce so he could openly be with Mila. Rather than continue living under his cold disdain, Verena decided she might as well make the first move herself. Just then, Brayden shoved the bathroom door open and strode out, steam clinging faintly to his skin. Crossing to the bed, he stared down at Verena with frigid contempt. As he rubbed his damp hair with a towel, a harsh, mocking smile tugged at his mouth. "You're not that impressive either. All you know how to do is throw a tantrum for attention." Even after everything that had happened, he still believed today had been nothing more than another one of her petty schemes. When Verena said nothing, Brayden turned away and began dressing at an unhurried pace. In a flat, indifferent voice, he said, "About Stella today…" Before he could finish, Verena drew in a long, weary breath and finally said the words she had never once found the courage to speak. "Brayden, let's get a divorce."