Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The moment my finger touched the fingerprint scanner, the heavy door clicked open with a sharp “click”
The study reeked of ink. Research papers and international academic awards lay scattered across the floor
All of it belonged to Julian.
| stepped through the doorway and looked at the man sitting behind the desk-my husband, Professor Julian Grant. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, his the knotted with meticulous precision, his face pale as marble. No one would guess that just minutes ago, he’d been consumed by raw, primal passion.
In the surveillance footage, Julian’s ears had been flushed red, his gaze obsessed and focused, his movements rough and impulsive-completely devoid of
elf-control.
lowered my head, my eyes stinging.
walked over and reached for his fingers. “Julian… can we tonight?”
ust as I expected, he frowned.
Disgust twisted his features as he yanked his hand away, pressed his lips into a thin line, and stared at the book on his desk. With obvious difficulty, he forced
ut one word: “Dis…gusting.”
ulian rarely spoke. His autism made him reluctant to communicate unless he felt extreme resistance-then he’d squeeze out a few words.
ike now. When I asked for his touch.
stared at his long, elegant fingers.
knew Julian despised physical contact. For seven years of marriage, we’d maintained a completely sexless relationship. Occasionally, he’d “help me out” in >ther ways, but always with his eyes shut tight, expression cold and distant, as if enduring excruciating pain.
ust like this moment. His rejection so obvious I couldn’t ignore it.
But just one hour ago, in this very study, Emma had been lying naked across his precious research files while he provided her with “psychological therapy.” He
adn’t shown a trace of disgust then.
Why?
was his wife! How could I lose to some psychologist he’d known for less than two weeks?
My fists clenched tight. The seven-stitch wound on my shoulder throbbed with dull pain-Julian’s bite from two days ago, during one of his pre-medication
pisodes.
Every time I tried to give him his pills, he’d lose control. Screaming. Biting. Clawing.
couldn’t bear to use a muzzle, afraid he’d hurt himself. So I’d hold him tight and let him tear into my flesh until blood ran down my arms.
seven years of this. Seven years of bites and scratches.
My body was covered in scabs and scars. Not an inch of unmarked skin left.
Hideous
But what was the point of dwelling on it?
laughed bitterly, remembering last month’s history charity lecture I’d organized for Julian. Cost me over a million dollars.
Emma was a passionate history enthusiast and one of the country’s most renowned psychologists. She’d cornered Julian, talking endlessly about how nations rose from post war ruins in the mid 20th century, expanding their global influence step by step. Her eyes burned with worship and obsession.
And Julian-usually silent as stone-had actually spent three full hours talking with her.
Afterward, Emma eagerly submitted her resume for the position of his personal therapist.
Td agreed immediately, hoping desperately that she could cure him.
Chapter 1
And the result?
I closed my eyes, remembering the family banquet where I’d accidentally opened the real-time surveillance feed of Julian’s autism therapy sessions.
Wet, obscene sounds had immediately blasted from the speakers.
On screen, my husband Julian gripped the desk with white knuckles, veins bulging at his temples, his gaze both obsessed and vacant.
And beneath him… the female doctor writhed and thrust with practiced skill.
The guests’ whispers followed immediately:
“Autistic people can still get aroused? I thought Julian was completely impotent. Why doesn’t he react that way with Diana?“
“That’s the difference between love and indifference. No matter how sick he is, he’s still a man. The way he looks at that doctor… God, like he wants to devour
her.”
“Diana Cross could live like an Upper East Side queen, but she chooses to waste away with a husband who doesn’t even care she exists. She deserves this.”
“Don’t you know? Julian used to be the golden boy of New York society. If he hadn’t taken Diana’s place during that kidnapping-locked in that elevator on the 42nd floor, tortured for two weeks until he developed autism-he never would have married her.”
Right. Seven years ago. The kidnapping that shocked all of New York.
Julian had taken my place. Been locked in that skyscraper elevator for two weeks without food or water, nearly dying.
When the police finally found him, he was curled in the corner like a broken animal, covered in filth, barely recognizable.
The once proud and composed Julian stared at nothing, completely unresponsive to external stimuli.
The diagnosis: severe trauma-induced autism.
My family arranged our marriage immediately as compensation.
On our wedding night. I’d been nervous but excited. I’d harbored a childhood crush on Julian for years, never imagining my dreams might come true.
I swore I’d take care of him and cure his condition.
But that night, Julian lay beside me completely unresponsive, watching my hesitant advances with dead eyes before spitting out a single word:
‘Leave.”
The memory sent a wave of bitter resentment through me.
