Three Years Paralyzed, Watching Him Love Another Woman

I stumbled upon Ruslan Wyatt’s dark secret; he had planted hundreds of hidden cameras throughout our home.

But I didn’t shed a tear. Instead, I chose to play his twisted game.

Feigning my usual routine, I pretended to leave the house, only to slip back and hide inside the wardrobe.

From my concealed spot, I witnessed a scene that left no room for doubt: Ruslan and his mistress entwined in a brazen display of passion.

His voice was deep and shamelessly husky. “Let’s make this quick. Aurelle usually takes a thirty-minute walk before she returns.”

The mistress stifled a laugh, her tone dripping with mockery. “A paralyzed cripple? It’ll take her at least three hours to make it back.”

Hearing her words, Ruslan shot her a sharp, warning glance.

“Aurelle is determined and resilient. She’s the person I love the most, and she’s my bottom line. Disrespect her again, and we’re done.”

What he didn’t know was the secret I had kept for months: my paralysis was a thing of the past. I could stand, walk, and leave whenever I wanted.

I stepped out of the wardrobe, wiping the tears that had betrayed me only moments ago. Without hesitation, I picked up my phone and dialed.

“I’ll accept the offer abroad.”

…

Exactly thirty minutes had passed, not a second more, not a second less.

Just as Thea Hunter was preparing to leave, Ruslan stopped her abruptly.

Hearing his voice, her face brightened with a mixture of hope and delight.

“Mr. Wyatt, are you reluctant to let me go?”

But his response was far from what she had anticipated. He frowned, gesturing toward a lacy piece of underwear wedged in the sofa cushions.

“Take that with you. Don’t let Aurelle find out,” he said curtly.

Thea’s expression soured instantly, her excitement giving way to irritation. She pouted, her tone laced with annoyance.

“Wow, so I’m nothing more than a tool for your pleasure? Poor baby in my belly, suffering alongside me…”

The mention of pregnancy made Ruslan freeze, his entire demeanor shifting. His eyes widened with disbelief, a spark of joy breaking through his usually composed exterior.

“You… you’re pregnant?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Slowly, he placed a tentative hand over her stomach, his expression a mix of wonder and elation.

Thea, seeing his reaction, smiled coyly, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“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.