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Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 838 | Released on: 22/01/2026

d her mouth tasted like metal and exhaustion. The

ly. The smart home schedule. Darius h

ring the ruined green dress. She didn't care. S

ed in a fresh navy suit, drinking espresso and reading news o

ommanded, his eyes scanning a headline. "You need your

or a second, she considered eating it. She was starving.

to the stainless steel

" she said, h

get a bottle of water. Her

the tile. The atmosphere in the room tightened instan

rchway that led to the foyer, blo

for pre-op testing at nine," h

cold water bottle

ver from his dinner, presumably. A dinner

rabbe

is expression bored.

ng the serrated tip at his chest

up to the blade until the tip was press

"It would solve a lot of problems, Jada. I wouldn't ha

ch it consumed her. But could she stab him? Could she

pped in her throat. She cou

lattered to

h relief. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders

! You are making this h

o mu

It wasn't a standard ringtone.

went wide, the aggression evaporating, replaced by a sheer

s phone from

r ID:

ter vanished. The husband vanished. In th

pressing the phone to his

s wrong?" His

utching her chest. Seeing him panic for

e on the other end. All the

m coming right now. Don't close your ey

s from the counter. He ran toward the door, his

counter. She grabbed

"You leave me in prison to r

He ripped his arm away with excessive force, sending Jada stumbli

ild. "She is fighting for every breath she takes. Don't you dare co

mparison hung in the

nted to the private elevator. The doors sl

in the silence

hip. She looked at the

s drifted to

panic, such a rush to ge

d the lockdown. The

Chapter End

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Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

Gale Kaaya Modern

“I wore my favorite emerald silk dress to Per Se, thinking our third anniversary would finally be the night Darius came back to me. My heart was pounding with hope, but the moment he covered the rim of my champagne glass with a cold, marble-like hand, that hope died. He didn't bring a gift; he brought a personal assistant and a medical consent form. His ex-girlfriend, Hazel, was dying of liver failure, and I was the only compatible match they had found in the world. The realization hit me like a physical blow: he hadn't married me for love, but for a "harvest." When I screamed that I wasn't a spare part, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he threatened to pull the funding for my grandmother's Alzheimer's care, holding the only family I had left hostage to save his "one who got away." He locked me in our penthouse under a high-tech security protocol, guarded by private contractors like a prisoner in a gilded cage. While I was trapped, he was at the hospital holding Hazel's hand, wearing the Patek Philippe watch I'd bought him for his birthday. I watched their updates on social media, Hazel tagging him as her "hero" and "true love," while I was left alone in the dark. Darius told his lawyers I was just being "dramatic" and that I'd get over it once the settlement check cleared. Every memory of our three years together felt like a long-term investment in an organ transplant. How could I have been so blind? How could the man who promised to cherish me turn into a monster who only saw me as a regenerating asset? I stopped fighting and started calculating. I agreed to the surgery on one condition: a signed divorce decree and an ironclad trust for my grandmother that he could never touch. I refused his millions, took back my maiden name, and walked into that hospital with my head held high. I was giving them the piece of me they wanted, but it was the last thing they would ever take. As the elevator doors closed on Darius's desperate face, I knew that when I woke up, I would finally be free.”