Married To His Cruelty, Not His Love

Alana POV: The world was a kaleidoscope of pain and blurry edges. I drifted in and out of consciousness. The gentle rocking of a car. The hushed voices of the staff. "She's stable, Mrs. Chase," a voice murmured. "Just a lot of bruising. And that arm…" My arm. It throbbed, a dull, constant ache. I remembered Clayton' s furious grip, the sickening snap. It had been broken. "Master Clayton was very worried," another voice said. "He personally ensured she was brought here. He was quite angry at Kiarra." Worried? Angry? The words seemed to hang in the air, mocking me. I forced my eyes open. I was in a private hospital room. White sheets, sterile smell. A nurse, her face kind, was adjusting my IV. "Mrs. Chase, you're awake," she said softly. "Try not to move too much. You have several fractured ribs and a broken radius." The staff member, a young woman named Sarah, who often helped me, leaned closer. "He truly was worried, Mrs. Chase. He told them to spare no expense. He even… he even asked if you had eaten anything." Eaten. The thought made my stomach churn. My jaw was too sore to chew. Even speaking was an effort. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, a painful rasp. So he cared if I ate. After everything. After letting Kiarra tear down my home. After breaking my arm. After letting his friends beat me. The door opened. Clayton. He walked in, looking impeccably dressed, a stark contrast to my bruised and broken state. He held a small, silver spoon. He sat on the edge of my bed. The spoon, laden with a spoonful of broth, came towards my lips. His touch was strangely gentle. "You need to eat, Alana," he said, his voice soft, almost paternal. "You're too thin." I flinched at his touch, but swallowed the broth. It tasted like ash. "Why?" I managed, my voice hoarse. "So I can be strong enough to sign your divorce papers?" He sighed, a long, exasperated sound. "Don't be difficult, Alana. Kiarra was upset. You shouldn't have provoked her. You know how she gets." My eyes widened. He was blaming me. Still. After everything. My ribs ached. My spirit felt crushed. "This whole thing," he continued, as if I were a naughty child, "it's become a mess. Your… incident… at the party. It's all over the gossip sites. Kiarra's image is taking a hit." He put down the spoon and pulled out a small, silk-lined box. He opened it. Inside, a diamond necklace glittered, catching the light. It was stunning. And utterly meaningless. "This is for you," he said. "To make amends." "Amends?" I rasped. "For what? For letting your girlfriend break my arm? For letting her bulldoze my home? For letting her friends beat me senseless?" He waved a dismissive hand. "A misunderstanding. Kiarra was just hurt. She got carried away. And the house… that was business. You'll get a bigger, better one. In the city." "What do you want, Clayton?" I asked, cutting to the chase. I knew this wasn't about "amends." He leaned closer, his eyes serious. "Kiarra wants you to issue a public statement. An apology." My blood ran cold. "An apology for what?" "For attacking her," he said, his voice flat. "And she wants you to state that you were having an affair. With her ex-boyfriend." My mouth fell open. My mind reeled. An affair? With Kiarra's ex? A lie. A public fabrication. He wanted me to admit to infidelity. To stain my reputation. To make it look like I was the villain, not her. Not him. I couldn't speak. The shock was too profound. He continued, oblivious to my horror. "It will clear Kiarra's name. And it will give us grounds for a quick, quiet divorce. With minimal fuss. You get the money, the new house, the diamonds. And you go away quietly." I finally found my voice. It was a raw, choked sound. "You want me to lie? To slander myself? To let her win completely?" He shrugged. "It's for the best, Alana. It'll make things easier for everyone. Especially for Kiarra. And for me." "Then why don't you just find a new woman?" I spat, the words burning my throat. "One who actually loves you. One who won't make you jump through hoops for her attention." His eyes narrowed. A cold, hard gaze. "Love?" he scoffed. "You think I love you, Alana? I had a… fondness. An affection. You were convenient. Placid. And you certainly weren't Kiarra." "And that fondness," he continued, his voice dripping with disdain, "is not enough to sacrifice Kiarra for. She's the one I want. Always has been. Always will be." A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Debate was useless. There was nothing left. No affection. No respect. No dignity. "So," he said, leaning back. "Are you going to sign the statement? Or are we going to have to make things… more difficult?" He meant it. He would make things more difficult. He would ruin me. He would ruin my mother. He would stop at nothing. I was trapped. Broken. Alone. A sudden, sharp knock on the door startled us both. The door swung open. Berneice Chase stood there. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over me, then landed on Clayton. "What is going on here?" she demanded, her voice like steel. "Clayton, what are you doing?" Clayton stood up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Mother. We're having a private conversation." "Evidently," Berneice said, her eyes flashing. She ignored him, walking straight to my bedside. She took my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Are you alright, child?" I managed a weak nod. She turned her gaze back to Clayton, her expression hardening. "I heard about Kiarra Nolan's antics last night. And the statements you're trying to force Alana to make. It's disgusting, Clayton. Utterly disgusting." "Mother, Kiarra was just-" Clayton began. "Kiarra Nolan is a spoiled, narcissistic brat," Berneice cut him off, her voice rising. "She has no class. No substance. And she will never be a Chase. She is a disgrace to this family name. And you, my son, are a fool for letting her manipulate you like this." The room fell silent. Clayton's face was pale. Berneice squeezed my hand. Her eyes met mine. A silent message passed between us.