Chapter 4Let My Traitor Husband Drown Slowly

The search for Killian made the local news every night for two weeks.

Beatrice didn't care. She didn't even realize he was missing at first; she was too busy hovering over Luna in the private wing of the hospital.

The nurses were less than impressed.

"She was carrying twins," one whispered to me in the hall. "But if they hadn't been so... active... during the storm, her uterine wall wouldn't have been so compromised. They were caught in the act when the water hit. The bacteria from the floodwater caused a massive infection. It’s a miracle she’s alive, but the babies..."

Luna was in a coma, bleeding out from complications.

Then, after fifteen days, they found him.

Killian had survived by eating whatever washed up in the debris—contaminated, rotting scraps. His wounds had turned gangrenous, untreated and festering in the humidity. By the time he reached the ICU, he was swollen beyond recognition.

Even the people in the "bullet chats" didn't recognize him. The "God-like Artist" now looked like a piece of waterlogged meat.

Looking at him, I remembered the early days. We were childhood sweethearts. We were happy, once. But then his art took off, and I became the "boring corporate wife" who didn't understand his soul. He found his "soul" in the wide eyes of his students.

Last month, when Luna’s ex-boyfriend leaked explicit photos of her online, Killian had stepped up. He’d used his "artistic expertise" to testify that the woman in the photos wasn't Luna. He claimed it was me. His wife.

When I confronted him, he had pinned me by the throat against our bedroom door.

"Jade, I gave you the dignity of being a professor’s wife. Why must you hurt her? The uploader confessed you hired him out of jealousy. I’m just letting you take the fall to balance the scales. I owe her my life. If she wanted my head on a platter, I’d give it to her."

I had slapped him then, with every ounce of strength I had.

When I woke the next morning, he was gone, leaving a note saying he was going to a "remote gallery opening." In reality, they were hopping between cheap motels and riverside campsites, playing out their tawdry fantasy under the guise of "art."

The doctor in the ICU shook his head. He was trying to find a polite way to say Killian was a wreck. His bones were shattered, protruding through the skin in places, and the infection had reached his marrow.

"We can stabilize him," the doctor said, voice low. "But he’s been out there too long. He’ll never walk again. He’ll be lucky if he retains any mobility in his arms."

I wiped a stray tear, pulled two hundred-dollar bills from my purse, and tucked them into the doctor’s pocket. "Please, just keep him alive. That’s all that matters."

"Jade...?" Killian croaked from the bed. He sounded like a ghost.

I rushed to his side, clutching his bandaged hand. I made sure to squeeze just hard enough to find the broken phalanges beneath the gauze.

Killian’s pupils dilated. A muffled scream tore through his throat. He shook with agony, but he was too weak to pull away.

"It’s my fault," I whispered, leaning close to his ear, my voice a silk-wrapped blade. "Don't worry, darling. You're in such bad shape... I’ll take care of everything. The house, the studio, the accounts. I'll handle it all."

Fear flashed in his clouded eyes. He understood. Everything he had built—his reputation, his wealth—was slipping into my hands.

"Don't thank me. I did what you asked. I saved Luna first. Sadly, she lost the babies, and you’ll never walk again, but I know you’d make the same choice a thousand times over. After all, we’re one soul, aren't we? I know you better than anyone."

His throat hitched. "Jade... you... monster..."

He tried to curse me, to ask if I’d done it on purpose. Instead, he just choked on a mouthful of black bile.

The floating text was buzzing:

[The wife better watch out. Marcus—I mean Killian—is the protagonist. He’ll have a miraculous recovery once the baby is born, and then it’s over for her!]

[Wait, today is Luna’s due date! Here comes the miracle!]

Right on cue, the sound of a thin, wailing cry echoed from down the hall.

"My Luna is a fighter!" Beatrice’s voice boomed in the corridor. She strutted past the door, throwing me a look of pure venom. "She’s given us a beautiful grandson, unlike some barren women I know—"

She took the bundle from the nurse and suddenly, the bragging stopped. A heavy thud followed as Beatrice collapsed onto the linoleum.

"What... what is this monster? This can't be my grandson! You’ve swapped him!"