The Wife He Killed

Seven years of marriage. Seven years of Julian cursing my existence.

A vicious woman like you, hed say, looking at me with eyes full of hate. Why dont you just do the world a favor and die?

Well, congratulations, Julian. Youre finally getting your wish.

I stood in the hospital corridor, clutching the diagnosisGrade IV Glioblastoma. My hands were ice.

I dialed his number.

His voice dripped with impatience the second he picked up. "Daphne? What is it now? Another fake terminal illness? Did God finally decide to take out the trash?"

Silence. I couldn't breathe.

Hearing nothing but my shaky exhale, he let out a cold, lethal scoff. "Stop disgusting me. Don't call again until you're actually a corpse. Ill come collect the body then."

The line went dead.

I stared at the crumpled paper trembling in my hand. Six months left.

Suddenly, the absurdity hit me. These last seven years... they were nothing but a sick joke.

Chapter 1

It started with the first bite of winter. A migraine that wouldn't quit. Just a bad cold, I told myself.

But when the test results came back, the atmosphere in the office shifted.

Dr. Thornton, the department chief, sat behind his desk. He kept his hand firmly on the file, refusing to slide it across the desk. He looked... conflicted.

"Ms. Shen," he said, his voice grave. "You need to call a family member. Now."

I wasn't an idiot.

My fingers knotted together in my lap, knuckles turning white. A sudden, unnatural chill swept through my veins, freezing me from the inside out.

I forced a smile. It felt brittle on my face. "My family... isn't really available right now."

I leaned forward. "Dr. Thornton, give it to me straight. I have a high tolerance for bad news."

His eyes softened behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

Pity.

Pure, unadulterated pity.

A heavy silence stretched between us.

"Please," he insisted gently. "Call someone. You shouldn't be alone for this."

That was it. The confirmation. Even if I thought I was made of steel, this news was going to break me.

I glanced at the folder beneath his hand. Outside the door, the murmur of other patients filled the hallwaypeople with the flu, with broken arms, with lives that would continue.

I stood up. My legs felt like lead. "I'll make a call."

It took thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes of ringing, redialing, and staring at the gray sky before the other end finally connected.

"What kind of drama are you cooking up now?" Julians voice was a blade of ice.

My grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked.

I pulled the corners of my mouth up, forcing a light, airy tone. "Good news, actually. Come to City General. I want to tell you in person."

"You're psychotic," he spat. I could hear the rustle of movement, him pulling the phone away to hang up.

"I'm not lying!" My voice cracked, urgency bleeding through. "The doctor demanded a family member. Please."

Julian actually laughed. It was a dark, amused sound.

"What is it? Cancer? Did God finally decide to answer my prayers?"

Thump.

It felt like a physical blow to the chest. A sharp, jagged piece of glass twisting in my heart.

We had been at war for seven years. I should have been immune to his venom by now.

I wasn't.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had no leverage left.

I lowered my voice, making it soft, pleading. "Just... come. Please, Julian. We've been married for seven years. Surely that counts for something"

"Daphne, stop." The disgust in his voice was palpable. "You make me sick."

I stood alone in the biting wind outside the hospital entrance. My body was numb.

"Call me when you're actually dead," he sneered. "I'll come to sign the release forms."

Click.

I stood there until the sun dipped below the horizon and the streetlights flickered on.

Five o'clock.

He wasn't coming.

I scrolled through my contacts.

Empty.

There was no one else coming to save me.

Chapter 2

My mother, Alexandra, had just been discharged from the ICU yesterday. Her heart was a ticking time bomb; one wrong word could stop it for good.

I couldn't risk it.

So, I did the only thing I could think of. Before the hospital admin office closed, I scrolled through TaskRabbit and hired a college student.

Her job? Pretend to be my sister. Retrieve the diagnosis.

When she walked out of Dr. Thorntons office, the folder clutched in her hand, her eyes were rimmed with red.

She sniffled, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Sis... maybe you should really call your family for this."

I took the folder from her trembling fingers. A dry laugh escaped me. "Why do you think I hired you?"

That broke her.

Tears spilled over her lashes, hitting the linoleum floor with heavy, audible drops.

I paid her through the app, adding a generous tip. It took me ten minutes of soothing words just to get her to stop crying and leave.

Once her silhouette disappeared into the elevator, the reality finally crashed into me.

The words on the paperGlioblastoma Multiforme.

Six months.

That was me. It was my death sentence.

Human emotions are bizarre.

They arrive slowly, like a distant tide, and then drown you all at once.

I slumped into the back of an Uber.

Outside the window, dead yellow leaves swirled in the gutters, trapped in mini tornadoes by the biting wind.

Without warning, my vision blurred. Hot liquid tracked down my cheeks.

It wasn't fear.

It was clarity.

With less than six months left on the clock, the truth hit me with the force of a freight train.

The seven years I had wasted on Julian... what a pathetic, tragic waste.

I stumbled into the dark apartment, fumbling for the light switch.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I had no energy to cook. I boiled water, poured it into a Cup Noodles, and collapsed onto the sofa.

Click.

The front door unlocked.

My spine stiffened. I stared at the entryway, genuine shock freezing my hand in mid-air.

Ivy had just returned to the country after seven years. I assumed Julian would be glued to her side tonight, catching up on lost time. I didn't expect him home.

But the surprise evaporated the moment he stepped into the light.

Julian stormed in, his face a thundercloud.

And there, laced tightly with his fingers, was a small, trembling hand.

Ivy.

She looked like a porcelain doll that had been shattered, tears streaming down her perfect face.

I scanned Julians posture. Aggressive. Protective. He was here to execute someone.

I racked my brain. I hadn't seen Ivy in years. I hadn't done a single thing to bully his precious childhood sweetheart.

The second Ivy saw me, a fresh sob ripped from her throat.

"Daphne... I know you hate me. I accept that. But my sister is innocent! Why would you drag her into this?"

I blinked, stirring my noodles. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I lifted my chopsticks.

Julian crossed the room in two long strides.

He snatched the cup of noodles from the table and hurled it.

Crash.

The cup hit the trash can, splattering hot broth and soggy noodles across the rim and onto the floor.

"Ivy is talking to you!" Julian roared, veins pulsing in his neck. "Are you deaf?"

Rage surged through me, hot and blinding.

I shot up from the sofa, fighting the sudden, stabbing agony in my skull.

"If you two are insane, go to a psych ward! Get out of my face!"

Julian let out a cold, incredulous laugh.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you? You couldn't trick me into coming to the hospital, so you went after Ivy's little sister? You actually paid her to fake a terminal diagnosis for you?"

He stepped closer, looming over me, radiating disgust.

"Daphne. Are you exhausted yet? Because I am."

My head was splitting. The tumor pressed against my nerves, making my thoughts wade through molasses.

But the pieces finally clicked.

The college student I hired from TaskRabbit. The girl who cried over my death sentence.

Kaylee.

Ivy's sister.

Of all the people in the city, fate had to be that cruel.

Chapter 3

Maybe it was the blinding rage. Maybe it was the fact that I hadnt eaten all day.

But then, the monster in my brain woke up.

Black spots danced across my vision. A cold, sticky sweat slicked down my spine. My body screamed in protest, fueling a sudden, irrational spike of agitation.

I decided to stop fighting. If he wanted a villain, Id give him one.

I let out a scoff, leaning back against the sofa. "Tired? Not at all."

I locked eyes with him. "As long as I can make you and Ivy miserable, I could do this forever."

Julians face twisted. The veins in his forehead bulged, pulsing with fury.

He didn't speak. He just moved.

He took the diagnosis reportthe one claiming I had months to liveand whipped it at my face.

"A woman as vile as you?" He ground the words out, his voice shaking with hate. "You deserve a terminal illness. You should have died years ago."

The sharp corner of the paper sliced across my cheekbone.

A sting. Sudden and sharp.

I didn't flinch.

Julian grabbed Ivys hand, turned his back, and marched toward the door.

I watched the paper flutter. It danced in the air for a second before drifting to the floor.

Then, the world tilted.

A violent wave of vertigo slammed into me. The floor rushed up to meet my face.

Crash.

My hand flailed, desperate for an anchor. Instead, my fingers swept the porcelain tea set off the coffee table.

Shattered china. Spilled tea. Chaos.

At the door, Julian froze. He turned his head, glancing back over his shoulder.

To him, I must have looked pathetic. A woman knocked out by a single sheet of paper. A bad actress overplaying her hand.

"Disgusting," he spat.

He tightened his grip on his childhood sweetheart and slammed the door.

I watched his back retreat. No hesitation. No mercy.

Darkness swarmed the edges of my vision.

Then, it swallowed me whole.

Our marriage was a business transaction. A merger between families.

Seven years ago, Julian came to my house with his father. He asked for my hand.

I had loved him from the shadows for years. That day, when he looked at me with eyes full of tenderness and swore he wanted to marry me, it felt like a hallucination. A beautiful, impossible dream.

For the first six months, we were happy. Or so I thought. We played house. We were intimate.

Then came his birthday.

I spent the entire day in the kitchen. I cooked a feast. I set the table. I waited.

The clock ticked past midnight.

When the door finally opened, Julian stumbled in, reeking of whiskey.

The tenderness was gone. In its place was a look of utter despair and grief. A look I had never seen on him before.

He swayed toward the dining room. He looked at the food.

Then, with a guttural roar, he swept his arm across the table.

Dishes flew. Glass shattered. The meal I had spent hours preparing lay in ruin on the floor.

I stood frozen, paralyzed by shock.

"Julian?"

He didn't answer. He lunged.

His fingers locked around my throat.

The air cut off. My lungs burned.

His face was inches from mine, twisted into a mask of pure hatred.

"I married you!" He screamed, his voice cracking with agony. "I did what you wanted! Why did you have to force Ivy out of the country?"

"Why wasn't it enough? Why are you people never satisfied?!"

I stared at him. This wasn't my husband. This was a madman.

"Julian... what... what are you talking about?" I rasped, clawing at his wrists.

His grip didn't loosen. His eyes, usually so warm, now looked like they wanted to flay me alive.

"You conspired with my family," he hissed. "You got me kicked out of the company. You stressed my mother out until she had a heart attack. You cut off our bank accounts."

He squeezed harder.

"You did it all just to force me to dump Ivy. To force me to marry you."

My brain was starving for oxygen, but his words hit harder than the suffocation.

The pieces fell into place.

"So..." I choked out. "Ivy... she's the one you love?"

He didn't speak. He just glared, his grip turning my skin into bruises.

My heart, once overflowing with love, plummeted into a deep freeze.

"So," I whispered, my voice trembling, "you never loved me? You never wanted to marry me?"

Julian leaned in. Under the harsh white lights of the dining room, he delivered the killing blow.

"Love you?"

He laughed. A hollow, broken sound.

"No. I hate you. I wish you were dead. I wish you would all just die."

The world shattered.

Chapter 4

It took a long time for the adrenaline to fade, leaving only the cold, hard absurdity of the truth.

I stared at him, my voice steady, stripped of all emotion.

"Julian. I don't play dirty."

I lifted my chin. "And neither does my mother."

I loved him. I had loved him for years, a quiet, burning obsession in the back of my mind.

But I wasn't stupid. And I certainly wasn't pathetic.

You can't force a heart to beat for you. My mother had drilled that dignity into me since I was a child.

Julian didn't care. He threw my hand off him like I was contagious and slammed the door.

That was the end of peace. From that night on, we were at war.

When consciousness clawed its way back, I wasn't on my living room floor anymore.

I was in a hospital bed.

Sunlight streamed aggressively through the blinds.

Alexandra sat beside me.

My mother. The Iron Lady.

She was always impeccablehair coiffed, suit tailored, lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. But today, dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. Her usually perfect makeup was smudged.

She looked... human.

Seeing my eyes flutter open, she lunged forward, gripping my hand. Her fingers were trembling.

"Daphne," she demanded, her voice tight. "Did Julian do this to you?"

A sudden burn pricked the corners of my eyes. I fought it down, forcing a weak smile.

"Mom, no. Of course not."

"Don't lie to me!"

She stood up, agitation radiating off her. "If I hadn't come over last night, you would have died on that floor! No one knew! The tea set was shattered everywhere... were you fighting?"

The tea set.

My heart skipped a beat, then hammered against my ribs.

The diagnosis.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in my chest. If she found that paper...

We only had each other. If she knew I was dying, it would destroy her.

I forced myself to breathe. I scanned her face. She was angry, yes, but not devastated. She hadn't seen the paper. She must have been too focused on getting me to the ER.

The tension in my shoulders unspooled.

"Mom, really," I lied, my voice smooth. "It was just a migraine. I got dizzy and knocked the table over. Clumsy."

To prove it, I pulled up an old lab result on my phonea standard check-up from months agoand shoved the screen toward her.

"See? Just a bad flu and dehydration."

Alexandra glanced at the screen.

But she didn't look away.

She turned her gaze back to me, studying my face with an intensity that made my skin crawl. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

My smile began to waver. She knows. She sees it.

Buzz. Buzz.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand, shattering the tension.

She broke eye contact to answer it. Her expression shifted from maternal concern to CEO steel.

"I understand," she said into the receiver. "I'm on my way."

She hung up, looking torn. "Trouble at the company. Daphne, I..."

Shes been running the empire alone for years. Its never been easy.

"Go," I said quickly, relieved for the escape. "I'm not dying, Mom. Just a migraine. The doctors and nurses are here."

She hesistated, her hand hovering over her bag. Finally, she nodded. "I'll come back tonight. Call me if anything happens."

I watched her hurry out the door.

But as the room fell silent, a knot of unease tightened in my gut. Something felt... off.

I shook it away. I didn't have the luxury of paranoia.

Stage IV Glioblastoma.

Six months. Maybe less.

I needed to get my affairs in order.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Wesley.

My childhood friend. My confidant. A shark of a lawyer.

"Wes," I said when he picked up. "I need you at the hospital. I need to write a will."

Thirty minutes later, the door flew open.

Wesley stood there, still in his trench coat, windblown and out of breath.

He took one step toward the bed and froze. His eyes widened, scanning my pale face, the IV drip, the hollowness of my cheeks.

"Daphne..." His voice cracked, horrified. "What the hell happened to you?"

Chapter 5

I knew what he saw. I was disappearing.

In just two weeks, I had shed over ten pounds. The hospital gown hung off my frame like a sheet over a skeleton. My collarbones were sharp enough to cut skin.

Wesley collapsed into the plastic chair beside the bed. He looked at me, and his shoulders slumped.

"Dee... why are you doing this to yourself?" His voice was thick with frustration. "Dragging this war out with Julian... you're the only one bleeding."

He knew the truth. He knew my marriage was a sham.

"Let me file the papers," he pleaded, his eyes soft with pity. "I'll represent you. We'll end it."

This time, I didn't argue. I didn't fight.

I just nodded. "Okay."

Wesley froze. He stared at me, mouth slightly open, stunned by my surrender.

He was right. For years, I had stayed out of pure spite.

Julian and I had no love left. We were two scorpions in a bottle, neither willing to let the other escape.

Whenever we screamed at each other, the terms were always the same.

Julian claimed I was a viper who destroyed his relationship with Ivy. He wanted a divorce, but on his terms: I leave with nothing. A complete, humiliating purge.

He wanted the business deals between our families dissolved at my family's expense.

I refused to give him the satisfaction.

I wanted him to bleed. I wanted him to strip himself of every advantage he gained by marrying methe CEO title, the shares, the prestige. I wanted him to crawl back to the gutter to live his "noble, struggling life" with Ivy.

So, we stalemated. A seven-year war of attrition.

But the game was over.

I refused to have "Beloved Wife of Julian" carved on my tombstone. The thought made bile rise in my throat.

I looked at Wesley. "The Fu family has deep pockets. Beating Julian financially is a long shot, and honestly, I don't have the energy for a prolonged siege."

I took a breath, my lungs rattling slightly.

"But Grandfather Franklin and Uncle Philip... they value honor above profit. They still care about their reputation."

I locked eyes with him. "I need you to get me proof. Solid, undeniable proof of Julians infidelity."

Wesley nodded slowly, the lawyer in him waking up. "With evidence of adultery, we can leverage a better settlement. We can go for assets."

"I don't care about the assets," I interrupted.

"My mother has her own empire. She doesn't need their money, and neither do I."

I looked out the window. "I just want the record set straight. I want the Fu family to know exactly what their son did. I need leverage to ensure that once I'm gone, they never try to bully my mother."

Wesley frowned, leaning forward. "Daphne, stop. Your mom doesn't need the money, but you do. You're young. You have a whole life ahead of you. You can never have too much security."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

My lips were so dry they cracked. I tasted the metallic tang of blood.

"Me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Don't worry about my future, Wes."

I swallowed the copper taste in my mouth.

"I don't have the time to spend it."

Seven years of fighting.

Now, all I wanted was to be clean. I just wanted to be Daphne again.

Chapter 6

I couldn't hide it from Wesley. Not if I wanted the divorce and the will handled before the clock ran out.

I unlocked my phone, pulled up the photo of the pathology report, and handed it to him.

"Glioblastoma. Stage IV." My voice was flat. "That's why I need the divorce. That's why I need the will. Fast."

Wesley took the phone. He stared at the screen.

Then, his hand spasmed.

Clatter.

The phone hit the linoleum floor.

He didn't move to pick it up. He just sat there, the blood draining from his face until he was sheet-white.

Then, I saw it. A tear tracked silently down his cheek.

It actually scared me. Wesley was a shark in the courtroom. I hadn't seen him cry since we were four years old and he scraped his knee on the playground.

"You're twenty-six," he whispered, his lips trembling. "This... this isn't possible."

I grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and shoved it into his hand. I forced a laugh, but it sounded wet.

"Wes, stop. I'm the one dying, and I'm not even crying. Pull it together."

He choked back a sob. Seeing him break made the dam inside me threaten to burst.

I sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I'm okay, really. I just... I feel guilty about my mom."

I looked at the ceiling. "She raised me alone. She fought so hard. I always thought Id have time to pay her back. To give her a grandkid to spoil."

That was a pipe dream. Julian would never have given me a child.

We spent the entire morning drafting documents. Wesleys eyes were red-rimmed, but he worked with a frantic intensity.

When he finally packed his briefcase to leave, I grabbed his wrist.

"Wes. The most important thing."

I locked eyes with him. "I need proof. Julian and Ivy. I need photos, texts, anything concrete."

"The more intimate, the better," I added, my voice hard. "I need ammunition for Grandfather Franklin and Uncle Philip."

Wesleys jaw tightened. He looked dark, dangerous. "Consider it done."

He poured me a glass of warm water and set up the takeout lunch hed ordered. He lingered for a moment, looking like he was about to shatter again, then turned and walked out before he could lose his composure.

I forced myself to eat. I managed three bites of rice and some vegetables while the nurse watched.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, I dropped the fork.

My stomach revolted.

A wave of nausea rolled over me, violent and sudden. The food felt like acid in my gut.

I scrambled over the side of the bed, retching into the basin. I heaved until there was nothing left, until tears streamed down my face and my throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.

I collapsed back onto the mattress, gasping for air, completely drained.

I just wanted to sleep.

BANG.

The door exploded inward.

The nurse in the corner shrieked, jumping to her feet.

Julian stormed in.

He was a walking storm front, radiating heat and fury. His eyes were wild, fixated on me.

He didn't stop at the foot of the bed. He marched right up to me, reached out, and yanked me up by the arm.

His grip was bruising. He pulled me so close I could feel the rage vibrating off him.

"Daphne!" he roared, his voice shaking the room. "Are you trying to push me over the edge?!"

Chapter 7

I was yanked upward.

The sudden motion sent my equilibrium into a tailspin. My vision grayed out at the edges, and my stomach lurched violently.

I clamped my jaw shut, swallowing back the surge of acid. I refused to vomit on him.

Julian was beyond furious. He had already kicked the nurse out, and now his fingers dug into my arm, bruising the skin.

"You sent your mother to the estate to cause a scene?" He snarled, shaking me slightly. "Is that your move? You're so threatened by Ivy returning that you send your mother to fight your battles?"

"I don't love you, Daphne. You know that. Ivy has been gone for seven years. Am I not allowed to even see her without you unleashing chaos?"

My heart plummeted like a stone.

Mom.

She must have realized something was wrong. She went to defend me.

Panic spiked in my chest. I tried to wrench my arm free. "Let me go. I need to find my mother."

Julian didn't budge. He tightened his grip, his eyes burning with a hatred that felt like it could peel the skin off my bones.

"Ivy has been in exile for seven years because of you," he spat. "Are you really that vicious? You can't stand the thought of us even breathing the same air?"

Throb.

A sharp, blinding pain pierced my skull. It felt like someone was driving a railroad spike through my temple.

My hands started to tremble. My voice shook uncontrollably. "Julian... let go. I need... my mom."

He laughed. A cold, cruel sound.

"What? You don't think she caused enough drama? You want to go add fuel to the fire?"

He leaned in close, his breath hot against my face.

"Stop acting like a victim. You didn't marry me for love. You and your mother got exactly what you wantedthe status, the money. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

I froze. The pain in my head throbbed in time with my confusion.

Didn't marry him for love?

If I hadn't loved him, I would have walked away the second he hesitated. I would never have signed those papers.

Seeing the confusion on my face, Julians expression twisted into disgust.

With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of photos.

Smack.

He slammed them against my chest. They scattered across the white sheets like confetti.

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

He pointed a shaking finger at the glossy prints.

"We weren't even married six months before you were meeting with Wesley. Plotting the divorce. Scheming on how to carve up the Fu family assets