His Regret, My Unbought Freedom

My husband left me to die in a fire, choosing to save his mistress while I lost our baby in the flames.

But my suffering had only just begun. He and his lover then tried to poison me, swapping my life-saving medication for tranquilizers.

When that didn't work, he orchestrated a car crash that shattered my legs, leaving me crippled and helpless.

His final act of cruelty was on his yacht. He watched as his mistress framed me, then locked me in a room with a group of thugs who left me for dead.

I threw myself into the ocean that night, choosing the cold, dark water over the monsters on that boat.

I survived. I rebuilt my life, found a man who cherished my broken pieces, and was about to get married.

Then, August crashed my engagement party. He told me he'd destroyed his mistress and was giving me his entire fortune. He thought he could buy his way back into my life.

He was about to learn that some things can't be fixed with money.

Chapter 1

Allie POV:

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me, a painful echo of the fire' s smoke that still burned in my lungs. My body was a battlefield, aching in places I didn' t even know existed. But the deepest wound was the hollow space inside, where a heartbeat should have been. It had been just days since the lake house fire, days since August had chosen to carry Harper out while I lay trapped, days since I lost our baby. Now, I lay in this hospital bed, my voice barely a whisper, asking for a divorce.

A tiny, foolish part of me-the part that always clung to hope-still imagined him fighting for me. That he would see the devastation in my eyes, remember the years of our life together, and pull me back from the brink. I closed my eyes, picturing him bursting through the doors, his face etched with worry for me.

Then the sharp ring of his phone cut through the silence. My eyes fluttered open. He was pacing by the window, his back to me, his shoulders hunched. The way he answered, his voice dropping to a low, urgent tone, told me everything I needed to know. The slight tremor in his hand, the sudden tightness in his jaw. It wasn't about me. It was never about me anymore.

"Harper? What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice laced with an anxiety so profound it felt like a physical blow. The words were a bitter pill, confirming my worst fears. He didn' t even glance my way, his entire being focused on the hushed conversation.

A cold dread seeped into my bones, a familiar feeling of utter insignificance. My chest tightened, a burning ache spreading through my ribs. It wasn't the physical pain from the fire, but something far deeper, far more insidious. I was invisible. A ghost in my own life.

He finally turned, his eyes glazed, as if he'd just remembered I was in the room. "Harper isn't feeling well. The doctor wants her to rest," he explained, his voice flat, devoid of the earlier urgency he' d shown for her. It wasn't an explanation, it was an excuse, a dismissal. My pain was secondary, if it existed at all.

"Does it matter?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Does anything I feel, anything I need, ever matter to you, August?" The words tasted like ash. My worth in this marriage had dwindled to nothing, a currency no longer accepted.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing the tears back. I wouldn't cry. Not in front of him. Not anymore. My hand clenched on the thin hospital sheet, white knuckles stark against the pale fabric. I had to be strong. For myself.

"The doctor said you need the bone marrow donation, Allie," he said, his tone switching to a businesslike command. "It's for Harper. You agreed." He didn't ask; he stated it as an unchangeable fact, a transaction already made.

"Make sure she's comfortable," he told a passing nurse, his voice soft, almost tender. "Just a minor procedure, but she's quite fragile." He was talking about Harper, who was in the same hospital, under observation for an entirely different, far less life-threatening reason. My own life hung by a thread, but his concern was reserved for her.

My mind reeled back to a time when his touch was a balm, his gaze a sanctuary. When a simple cut on my finger would send him into a frenzy, demanding the best care, his eyes full of genuine worry. Now, I was facing a life-threatening procedure, and he spoke of Harper's "fragility" over a common cold. The contrast was a brutal slap to the face. How had we fallen so far? How had "us" become "her"?

"Isn't he just the sweetest?" I heard a nurse murmur to her colleague, her voice carrying clearly through the thin hospital door. "So devoted to his wife after everything she's been through."

"Oh, he's been doting on her since she arrived," the other nurse replied, oblivious to my presence behind the door. "Apparently, a small fall, but he insisted she get the best room, the softest pillows, a parade of specialists. You should have seen him, wiping her brow, holding her hand. Said she was his everything."

The words hit me like a physical blow. A tsunami of grief and betrayal washed over me, stealing my breath. My chest constricted, a suffocating band of pain. My vision blurred, spots dancing before my eyes. My head pounded, a relentless drum against my skull. My heart, already shattered, felt like it was tearing further apart.

A sudden, sharp pain flared in my side, a burning sensation that brought me back to the present. I gasped, a strangled sound escaping my lips. My hand flew to my abdomen, clutching the spot. The nurses, finally noticing my distress, turned with wide, concerned eyes.

"Mrs. Dalton? Are you alright?" one of them asked, rushing to my bedside. Her voice was tinged with alarm.

"What's happening?" the other one cried, her gaze fixed on the monitor. "Her vitals are crashing! And... is that a hemorrhage?"

Panic flared in their eyes, mirroring the terror that was now consuming me. "She's bleeding internally," the first nurse whispered, her voice barely audible. "The bone marrow aspiration… it could be catastrophic."

"Catastrophic?" I heard the word, but it felt distant, unreal. My body screamed, a primal agony that threatened to rip me apart. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when I was already broken.

Just then, the door burst open. August stood there, his face a mask of confusion, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his voice sharp with a sudden, unexpected fear.