“After three years of effort, there had to be some result, right?”
Three years. The words hit me like a dagger, cold and sharp. It had been three long years since I lost my ability to walk.
Ruslan grew visibly elated, pulling Thea into a fervent embrace.
“Aurelle is paralyzed,” he murmured, his voice soft yet resolute. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch her. You’re far more than just a passing comfort to me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you and the baby.”
His words carried a weight of conviction, and Thea leaned in, her eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction.
“What good is protection? My child will still live like me, hidden, nameless, and unacknowledged.”
Ruslan paused, his enthusiasm momentarily tempered by her words. After a moment of thought, he spoke, his voice steady but low.
“When it comes to the child, I’ll handle it. I’ll make Aurelle the godmother so the child can inherit everything, openly and rightfully.”
A slow, contented smile spread across Thea’s face as his promise sank in.
But for me, the room's warmth dissolved into an icy void. My heart sank, heavy and cold, as his words stabbed deeper than any blade could.
Ruslan’s schemes were nothing short of insidious, turning me into the godmother of his mistress’s child.
Once they left, I finally stepped out of my hiding spot, my heart heavy with silent fury.
Moments later, Ruslan returned to the villa, his steps halting abruptly when he saw me. Panic flashed across his face like a storm breaking.
“Aurelle,” he stammered, his voice trembling, “have you been home this entire time? Did… did you hear anything?”
I shook my head, my expression unreadable, my voice devoid of emotion.
“No, I’ve been in my room sleeping.”
Relief washed over him visibly, and he exhaled audibly, his tension dissolving like morning mist.
“Good, good,” he muttered, crouching down in front of me. He wrapped his arms around me in what felt like a hollow embrace.
“I was just on a video call earlier. I’m glad I didn’t disturb you.”
Resting his head against the crook of my neck, he whispered with saccharine sweetness, “Darling, I really love you.”
That evening, Ruslan was in an unusually buoyant mood. He personally cooked a lavish dinner, setting the table with care. Then, kneeling before my wheelchair, he massaged my legs and feet, the gesture dripping with pretense.