Cry for help

My husband told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a social media influencer, a woman whose lies were as polished as her feed.

But when her baby was found with a small cut on her lip, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous monster who attacked an innocent child.

My husband, the man I had stood by through everything, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he ordered a guard to take a needle and thread and sew my lips shut.

"She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.

He then had me hung upside down in the lobby of my own wellness retreat, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.

As I dangled there, bleeding and broken, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.

But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I' d planted in the baby's room. And they had no idea that my family could crush his entire empire with a single phone call.

Chapter 1

Audrey Wallace POV:

He told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure. Five years ago, a car crash stole his memory of our love, gifting him a new life with a woman whose lies were as polished as her social media feed. Now, he stood before me, openly kissing her, while I, his legal wife, handed him the papers he thought were just another business deal, not the divorce I had meticulously orchestrated to finally break free.

"Audrey, the 'Magnolia Suite' is ready for our esteemed guests," I said, my voice smooth, practiced.

Jake Foster, the man who was once my husband, barely glanced at me. His arm was wrapped around Jada Floyd's waist. She was a social media influencer, all glistening smiles and carefully curated perfection.

"Finally," Jada purred, her eyes scanning the opulent lobby of my postpartum wellness retreat. "This place better live up to the hype, Jakey. My followers expect nothing less."

"It will, darling. Audrey runs a decent enough establishment, for what it is," Jake replied, a dismissive wave of his hand. It was a knife twist I had grown accustomed to. My life's work, reduced to "a decent enough establishment."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from Clara. Did you do it? Are you free yet? Elliot asked about you. I saw Jake reaching for the pen on the counter. My hand instinctively darted to my pocket, shoving the phone deeper into the fabric, out of sight.

His gaze, cold and sharp, flickered to my quick movement. He paused, a momentary suspicion in his eyes, then shrugged. He signed the document I slid across the polished mahogany counter. The contract, I' d told him. For Jada' s extended stay. He never read anything I put in front of him anymore. Just signed.

He didn't know he was signing away his claim to me. He signed our divorce papers.

A small, bitter laugh threatened to escape me. He thought he was just authorizing Jada's luxury. He was unknowingly signing his own exile from my life. The irony alone was almost enough to make me smile.

"This place smells like lavender and desperation," Jake muttered, his nose wrinkling. He pulled Jada closer. "Make sure Jada has everything she needs. Organic juices. No gluten. And absolute privacy for her 'inspirational' content."

Jada giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You're the best, babe."

My stomach churned. The sweetness of their public display was a venom that slowly corroded my insides. I offered them a tight, professional smile, picking up the signed papers. The thick parchment felt heavy in my hand, a strange mix of freedom and finality.

As I reached for the next form, my fingers brushed Jake's. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but a jolt went through me. A ghost of a memory, perhaps.

Jake recoiled as if burned. His face contorted with disgust. "Don't touch me," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

His hand shot out, not to push me, but to slam my wrist against the edge of the counter. A sharp crack echoed in the silent lobby. Pain exploded, radiating up my arm. I gasped, stumbling back, clutching my throbbing wrist. My vision swam.