The Billionaire's Broken, Voiceless Wife

"Mr. Hardin, you're coming to pick her up now? Great, great. We'll wait for you at the entrance." After hanging up, the doctor's obsequious smile vanished, replaced by a cold glare. "You'd better keep your mouth shut. Know what to say and what not to say. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to bring you back in." Amelia went pale and shook her head vigorously. "No... won't say." Her tongue was missing a piece, making her speech halting. The doctor figured she didn't have the nerve to tell the truth anyway. Soon, a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled up slowly. The window rolled down, revealing a strikingly handsome face. "Get in." At the sound of that familiar voice, she stood frozen, then slowly lifted her head to meet those dark, heavy eyes. The name that rushed to her lips-"Elliot"-she swallowed back. "Mr.... Mr. Hardin." The man who was legally her husband. All that remained was that cold, distant address. "Don't make me repeat myself." His voice was icy, threaded with impatience. Four years apart, and he was more commanding than ever, more devastatingly handsome-and more terrifying to her. Once, she had chased him relentlessly for ten years, clinging and shameless, the laughingstock of the entire city. Now, she was deathly afraid of him, desperate to avoid him at all costs. She dropped her head and limped toward the black car, her left foot clearly off. Elliot glanced at it, a trace of mockery in his eyes. "Amelia, still using that trick? Playing for sympathy only works so many times. Looks like that place didn't cure your bad habits. You-" The next moment, she began to tremble violently, her pupils contracting. Her knees gave out from standing too long, and she collapsed to the ground. She couldn't go back! She would die there! Her left leg had been broken years ago when she tried to escape and an orderly caught her. It had never healed properly. These four years, she had learned her lesson. She would never compete with Elyse for anything again, never cling to the title of Mrs. Hardin. She would give it all back! "I'm... sorry. I know... I was wrong. Please... don't send me back in!" "You-" Elliot stopped mid-sentence. The old Amelia-arrogant, overbearing, ruthless-would never have apologized. She had been insufferable, done every bad thing imaginable, climbed into his bed, forced him to marry her. And now she was apologizing. But wrongs had to be paid for. "Looks like sending you there finally taught you some sense. Get in." Amelia didn't move. She stared at the car as if it were a monster. That was how she had been taken-forced into a car just like this and driven to Westcliff Rehabilitation Center. Cold sweat broke out on her back. Her teeth chattered as she forced out the words, "Can... I not go?" "I'm not asking. Get in." Finally, she climbed in and curled into the corner, barely touching the seat, trying to take up as little space as possible. Elliot frowned. Before he could speak, she began trembling and apologizing nonstop. "Sorry... sorry... I got your car dirty. I'll wipe it... wipe it clean." She knelt on the seat and started scrubbing the leather with her sleeve, even though there was no mark. "Almost... clean. Not dirty. I'm not dirty..." The wounds on her fingers tore open, and blood dripped onto the leather. She grew more frantic, scrubbing harder. "I'll get it clean. Don't hit me. Don't hit..." Elliot realized something was wrong. He told the driver to stop, got out, and pulled her out after him. "What are you doing? Are you crazy? You-" He stopped mid-sentence as he looked down at the hand he was gripping. Five fingers covered in fine scars, thick with calluses, joints swollen. Not a single nail left-just bare, cracked fingertips oozing blood. It was hard to believe these had once been a violinist's hands. The old Amelia had been spoiled and willful, but she played beautifully. The media had called her hands "God's gift." He frowned. "What happened to them?" She yanked her hand back, trembling, her face deathly pale. "I... got sick. My nails... rotted and fell off." Elliot's lips pressed together. A strange feeling stirred in his chest. But then he remembered what she had done, and hardened his heart again. "You'd better behave. These self-pity tactics won't work on me." He still believed this was just another one of Amelia's schemes. Not worth sympathy. Soon, the car wound up the hill to the Rollins family villa. Before they even reached the door, they could hear laughter and chatter inside. "Oh, Mom, Dad, stop teasing me. Elliot and I aren't like that." "Elyse is shy. When it comes to feelings, they have to be mutual." "That's right, Elyse. Don't worry. Once Elliot gets back, he'll get a divorce." Amelia's face showed no emotion. Her heart had already been shattered so many times it felt nothing. So that was why they had brought her out-for the divorce. The people in the living room turned at the sound of their arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Rollins sat on either side of a delicate-looking young woman, doting on her. They had been her parents for twenty years-until a routine体检 revealed she wasn't their biological child. An investigation uncovered the truth: she was the daughter of the Rollins family's former maid, who had switched the babies out of jealousy during childbirth. Her world collapsed. She was forced to change her name-from Amelia Rollins to Amelia Mcpherson. And the real Rollins daughter, Elyse, was brought home. Everything was returned to its rightful owner. She had accepted her fate and gone back to her biological parents-only to discover they planned to sell her into a brothel. She had barely escaped and fled back to the Rollins family, only to fall into another nightmare. "Sister! You're back!" A pair of slender arms wrapped familiarly around hers. Elyse said warmly, "Sister, it's so good to see you! I've missed you so much these past few years. How were you in there?" Amelia's face went white. She tried stiffly to pull her arm away, but Elyse held on tight. Elyse leaned in close, smiling, but her voice dropped to a whisper only Amelia could hear. "Amelia, why didn't you just die in there?" Amelia's pupils contracted. She stared at Elyse, who smiled back innocently, then let her gaze drop to Amelia's bare nail beds. Her smile widened. "Does it hurt? No nails, no more violin for you. Oh, and I heard you tried to run. I had them break your leg so you couldn't. Happy? Every bit of suffering you went through in there-I ordered it." Crash- The emotions she had been holding back exploded. With every ounce of strength she had, Amelia shoved Elyse away and lunged for her throat, her eyes wild. "You... it was you! I knew it! You... did it on purpose!" Four years of beatings, four years of hell-all because of Elyse! She had been trapped in that place, unable to live, unable to die, dreaming every night of escaping. "Sister! What's wrong with you? Cough... that hurts!" Mr. and Mrs. Rollins rushed forward in alarm. "Amelia! What are you doing? Let go!" A powerful force yanked her off. Her head slammed against the sharp corner of a table. Pain exploded, blood gushed, streaming down her face. "Amelia! You're asking for it!"