Amputating the Homewrecker

My wife, Celine, shoved me away, her silk nightgown slipping down her shoulder as she frantically threw on her coat in the middle of the night. Ezra sprained his ankle. He can barely take care of himself on a good day, let alone when he's all alone in his apartment right now. I have to go!

I kept my eyes locked on her. A twenty-five-year-old grown man sprains his ankle in the middle of the night, and instead of dialing 911, he calls his CEO? And she actually had the nerve to call him a "helpless kid."

The front door slammed shut.

The last trace of warmth in my chest died.

I turned around and pushed open the heavy double doors to the hospital director's office.

"Cassian, I've reviewed Ezra's X-rays. It's just a routine sprain. Not even a hairline fracture" Director Langdon wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

I curled my hand and rapped my knuckles sharply against his desk. The loud crack cut off his useless words. "Can't you see it?" I asked. "He's suffering from severe nerve compression and peripheral necrosis."

I held Langdon's panicked gaze, delivering the final verdict. "Since his foot injury carries such a severe risk of infection, we need to schedule an emergency amputation to save his life. Cut it off right from the upper thigh."

Chapter 1

I transmigrated into this world. In the original plot, the male lead and the female lead, Celine, were locked in a marriage of convenience between two wealthy families. But he loved her. They spent five years playing the perfect, affectionate couple, right up until her little assistant, Ezra, showed up.

Celine's attention shifted. She abandoned her husband time and time again for the kid. The original male lead was useless.

Despite being the heir to a massive fortune, he let Ezra walk right up to his front door and humiliate him, powerless to stop it. He eventually died coughing up blood, consumed by his own pathetic frustration.

When I took over this body, Ezra wasn't in the picture yet. We were supposed to be in our honeymoon phase. Over the past few years, our chemistry in the bedroom had been absolute perfection. I thought that level of deep, physical connection would be enough to keep her devoted to me.

Just when I thought the homewrecker plotline was dead, Ezra made an early entrance. True to the original script, the second he appeared, he hijacked Celine's radar.

She mentioned him a while backa new assistant at the company who couldn't get anything right. Clumsy. Helpless. Hilarious, she had called it.

My hand, mid-slice through a prime steak, froze. Clang. The sharp edge of the sterling silver steak knife scraped against the bone china plate, letting out an ear-piercing screech.

Celine didn't even notice. She just kept smiling, telling another quirky story about Ezra's day, even throwing her head back in a genuine laugh at the punchline.

That was the exact moment it hit me. The plot was locked. It didn't matter what I did; she was always going to gravitate toward Ezra.

The original guy did everything right. He catered to her every need, practically built as the flawless husband in the book. And look where it got him.

I had planned to play the game, secure her heart, and lock down my position. Then Ezra showed up at my doorstep to provoke me for the first time, and I realized just how fast their little affair was escalating.

Naturally, I taught him a lesson. I figured he would back off.

I thought I could just coast through the rest of this story, keeping my gorgeous wife and enjoying the absolute luxury of my trust fund life. But my mindset shifted.

If I couldn't keep her, I wouldn't bother trying. Letting them walk away with a happy ending, though? That really isn't my style.

Chapter 2

Ezra.

I am going to grind your bones to dust and make sure you die a miserable death in a foreign land.

I still remember the first time I met the kid. It was late afternoon. I had just gotten home from the office, extremely satisfied with the dinner spread our housekeeper, Annette, had prepared.

"Celine should be home by now," I muttered. I swirled the bourbon in my hand, the ice clinking sharply against the crystal glass. "Tastes good."

The front door clicked open. Celine was back.

"Why are you back so late? Annette made all your favorites, hurry up and"

The words died in my throat. A man trailed in right behind her. At the time, I didn't know he was Ezra. I only knew this guy existed in theory; I hadn't actually seen his face yet.

"And this is?"

"You must be Cassian, right? I'm Ezra, Celine's assistant." He didn't even wait for her to speak, instantly launching into his own introduction.

"My car broke down today. Celine was just going to drop me off at my place, but I mentioned how depressing it is to be all alone in my apartment, so she invited me over to crash your evening. Hope I'm not intruding."

He swapped his shoes for guest slippers, making himself at home. An innocent smile plastered his facethe kind that put people at ease. If I didn't already know exactly what kind of trash he was, I might have actually bought the nice-guy act.

"You are intruding, actually. And we didn't prep an extra plate." I kept my face deadpan, stripping away any hint of a joke.

Ezra froze mid-step, his foot hovering over the hardwood floor. "Oh" He shot Celine a painfully awkward, helpless look.

Celine stepped right past him and lightly swatted my arm. "Stop it! You're always making these terrible jokes."

"I'm not even hungry tonight, you two can have at it." She practically ushered him into the dining room, showering him with hospitality.

Ezra took his seat, flashing a highly apologetic smile. "Cassian, the vibe in your house is just so nice. I go home to an empty place every single day, and it's completely dead. I'm really not greedy."

"If I could just get a couple nights a week like this, I'd be more than happy. Honestly, being a kid out here on your own is pretty" He trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh. His expression dropped into a masterclass of dejection.

"Then you should just come over on the weekends from now on. We can keep you company," Celine offered, her eyes softening with sympathy. She grew up in a bubble of absolute wealth. She had no concept of the real worldthat an adult paying their own rent and feeding themselves was just standard baseline existence.

"Are you serious, Celine?" Ezra's eyes lit up on cue. He practically leaped out of his chair, then caught himself.

Honestly, if I hadn't been standing right there, he looked like he was about to throw his arms around her. He tilted his head and looked at me. "Cassian! Is that really okay?"

I gave a slow nod. Sure. Let's see how well you can take a beating.

Ezra was practically buzzing through dinner. He talked Celine's ear off, and she matched his energy word for word. They chatted like I wasn't even in the room.

"You guys keep eating. I'm going to check if the water is boiling." I wiped my mouth with a linen napkin and stood up.

I headed straight for the kitchen. Since I knew exactly how this script played out, I knew Ezra would use "helping out" as an excuse to follow me right in.

He'd pour a cup of boiling water, but because he was too much of a coward to actually burn himself, he'd mix in some cold water before splashing it onto his own arm. And then would come the inevitable, scripted slapthe one I was destined to take, no matter what.

Celine had slapped the original Cassian across the face, hauled Ezra straight to the ER, and spent two entire days nursing him in a hospital bedall over a patch of slightly red skin.

Chapter 3

Just as the script dictated, Ezra trailed right behind me into the kitchen. "Cassian! Let me help you," he announced, his voice practically booming so Celine could hear it in the dining room.

I could already picture her smiling at how "thoughtful" her little assistant was.

"I'm pouring a cup of water. What exactly are you helping with? Get out before I make you." I poured myself some tea, pitching my voice just low enough for him to catch every syllable.

"Excuse me?" He blinked, acting like he had misheard me.

"If you don't want to die, get out of my sight." I slowly lifted my eyes, looking at him like he was a cockroach on my floor.

"Fuck you." Seeing my reaction, he instantly dropped the innocent act. He grabbed a mug, filled it two-thirds of the way with hot water, and reached for the cold tap.

"I really underestimated you. Celine said you were soft. I came here today to put you in your place, but this works tooAhhh!"

Before he could finish his pathetic monologue, I kicked his legs out from under him.

He hit the floor hard.

I grabbed the massive pitcher of freshly boiled water and poured it directly over his head.

"Ahhh! Help! He's killing me!" Ezra writhed on the marble floor, screaming.

Hearing the commotion, Celine rushed into the kitchen. She froze, staring at the scene in shock before screaming, "Cassian!"

"What are you doing?! Stop it!"

She didn't dare step closer. I was still tracking Ezra's thrashing body, methodically pouring the water. The scalding water streamed down his delicate face to his torso, and he shrieked like an out-of-control lunatic. I stared coldly at his body twisting in agony, precisely avoiding his vital organs just to make him experience maximum nerve-shredding pain.

I had specifically fired up that top-tier commercial espresso machine, extracting the highest-temperature boiling water. That volume was more than enough to give him a lifelong memory. As the last drop hit his skin, I gave the pitcher a slight shake, then looked at Celine with deadpan seriousness.

"What are you standing there for? Get him to the ER! The infection risk is severe. You get him to the car, I'll grab some things and meet you there."

Celine's brain seemed to short-circuit. She gave a numb, mechanical nod. "Right right. I'll take him to the hospital."

She reached down to pull Ezra up, but the second her fingers brushed his blistered skin, he wailed as if she were driving needles into his flesh.

I watched them stumble out to the driveway and get into the car. A cold smile crept onto my face. The show is just starting. Don't worry, I won't let you die that easily.

The script dictated that I was supposed to take a slap to the face tonight. Well, my cheek was perfectly fine. In the original plot, Ezra faked a minor red patch, and Celine stayed by his hospital bed for two days. Now that his skin was practically melting off, she'd be stuck there for at least a month.

I'd get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, I'd hit up my law firm to start carving up the marital assets.

I slept straight through till dawn. I stretched, grabbed my phone, and swiped open the screen. Dozens of missed calls. Endless texts.

I didn't even bother reading a single one. I pocketed the phone, got out of bed, and ate breakfast.

I was just about to head out the door when two police officers blocked my exit.

Chapter 4

"We're with the LAPD. We got a call reporting an intentional assault."

"That is a massive misunderstanding, Officer. It was an accident. My hand slipped. He's a friend of mine, why would I do something like that?"

I gave the cops a straight-faced, sanitized version of last night's events.

The cop crossed his arms. "So you're telling me you accidentally knocked over the boiling water from a commercial-grade espresso machine? That volume is enough to brew dozens of Americanos."

"It's a very heavy machine. The weight threw off my balance," I explained, maintaining absolute eye contact.

"Save the bullshit." The cop scoffed. "We saw the victim before we came here. He has severe scalding covering his entire upper body."

"You couldn't get coverage that even if you were watering a lawn. You expect me to believe you just 'lost your balance'? The injuries are extensive but miraculously non-lethal. You've got great aim."

"I appreciate the compliment, but it really was just a freak accident."

"I wasn't complimenting you. Turn around and put your hands behind your back. You're coming with us."

In the back of the cruiser, I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to Celine. The message was simple: If I get booked for this, the press will have a field day.

'CEO brings her boy toy home in the middle of the night, husband snaps and scalds him.' Think about what that PR nightmare will do to your company's stock price. Plus, a felony record on my end isn't exactly great for the family's legacy.

Ten minutes after I arrived at the precinct, Celine walked in with a signed affidavit of non-prosecution from Ezra.

Thanks to the signed waiver, my incredibly cooperative attitude, and my lawyer promising to cover the medical bills, I was out in time for a civilized lunch.

I sliced into my steak, chewing methodically. Celine stared at me from across the table. She had been holding it in all morning, but the dam finally broke. "Why did you do that to Ezra?"

"He provoked me. He was about to pour hot water on himself to frame me. He wants my spot."

Celine stared at me like I was insane. "Do you honestly expect me to believe something that ridiculous?"

"If you don't believe me, don't ask. I'm just stating facts." I dropped my fork onto the plate. "And I don't share."

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out the paperwork. "We're getting a divorce." I slid the folder across the table.

She didn't touch it. Her eyes widened. "Cassian, what is this?"

"It means you can go play house with your little assistant out in the open. I'm doing you a favor."

There was a very specific reason I melted his skin off. Even if I was walking away, I wasn't going to let them have a fairytale ending. Celine might feel guilty right now. She might even stay by his hospital bed and play the dutiful caretaker.

But staring at a face and body covered in grotesque, permanent burn scars every single day? Nobody stays deeply in love with that. I am absolutely not in the business of making people's dreams come true.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Celine's voice spiked, echoing in the restaurant. "He is just a kid! He's out here struggling on his own, and he's clumsy, so I look out for him."

"There is nothing going on between us!" Her sudden volume was a pathetic attempt to validate her own bullshit.

Chapter 5

I scoffed. "Do you even believe the bullshit coming out of your mouth? You call him a kid, but he's only two years younger than us."

"When I was his age, I was flying across the globe closing international deals. You never seemed worried about me surviving on my own."

I leaned forward, dropping my voice into a low, deadpan register. "You say he's clumsy, that he can't function without you holding his hand. But how do you treat any other incompetent employee at your company?"

"You fire them without a second thought. You are a ruthless, brilliant CEO. Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me you don't see exactly what he's trying to do?"

The absolute certainty in her posture collapsed. She couldn't hold my gaze. Her eyes darted away, and her manicured nails began nervously picking at the linen tablecloth.

In all our years of marriage, I had never seen her look this rattled. After a suffocating silence, she finally spoke, her voice thin. "Cassian it's not what you think. I stepped in to help him out a little more than I should have, but I swear there is nothing going on between us."

I pushed my chair back and stood up. "Then you have a lot to think about." I walked out of the restaurant without looking back.

I watched his broad shoulders push through the glass doors and disappear. Hot tears spilled over my lashes, tracking down my cheeks. He felt like a completely different person.

When we first met, Cassian checked every box, but he was rigid. All business, zero passion. Then, a few years ago, a switch flipped. He became dangerously charismatic, intoxicating, and physically he left me breathless every single time.

I fell desperately in love with him. But then Ezra showed up, and something about the boy just effortlessly hijacked my attention.

His resume was incredibly average, yet I couldn't bring myself to push him away. Sitting there, listening to Cassian ruthlessly tear my excuses apart, my throat closed up. I had no defense.

Why is this happening? A cold knot of panic twisted in my gut. I snatched the divorce agreement off the table and ripped it into jagged shreds.

The sound of tearing paper was deafening in my ears. The ground felt like it was crumbling beneath my feet.

No. I need to send Ezra away immediately. I cannot do this to my husband. I grabbed my car keys and sped straight to the hospital.

By the time I reached the trauma ward, the nurses were rolling Ezra out of the emergency care unit. I froze. He was wrapped head-to-toe in thick medical gauze, looking like a corpse. Every harsh, boundary-setting word I had rehearsed in the car instantly died in my throat.

Ezra's swollen, bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. Tears immediately pooled and soaked into his bandages.

"Celine" His voice was a broken rasp. "It hurts so much."

"Your husband destroyed me. You aren't going to abandon me now, are you?"

My fingers gripped the cold metal rail of his gurney. "Don't worry, Ezra," I whispered. "I'm staying right here."

That promise trapped me in that hospital room for five weeks. Ezra had suffered extreme third-degree burns. By some miracle, the wounds didn't get infected, allowing him to finally be cleared for discharge.

I had ordered the hospital to use the most expensive imported synthetic skin treatments, but the thick, raised burn scars covering his face and torso were still grotesque.

Even in the sweltering heat of the Los Angeles summer, he had to wrap himself tightly in a long trench coat and a medical mask. Just as we stepped out of the clinic doors, a group of teenage girls waiting for an Uber mistook him for a celebrity. They squealed and rushed over for autographs.

But the second they got close enough to see the horrifying, twisted scars peeking out from under his mask, they shrieked as if they had seen a monster and scattered in terror.

Tears spilled over Ezra's ruined eyelids. He began to shake, shattered by the reality of his new, monstrous existence.

Chapter 6

He would have loved to see me rot in a cell. But that night at the hospital, as Ezra lay there screaming for a doctor, Celine refused to let the medics prep him for treatment until he signed that non-prosecution waiver. She promised him the worldtop-tier synthetic skin grafts, and a financial payout he couldn't spend in a single lifetime.

Seeing her frantic determination, he had no choice but to cave. Besides, with my family's retained legal sharks, we could have easily spun the whole thing as a home invasion anyway.

Celine's car pulled directly into our driveway. When they walked through the front door and saw me sitting in the living room, they both froze.

"Cassian, please don't overthink this. He just got discharged and can barely move on his own. I brought him here so we could keep an eye on him for a few days."

"We have plenty of staff to help," Celine said. She walked toward me, flashing a placating smile. She hadn't set foot in this house for weeks, and the guilt bled heavily into her voice.

I stepped back, dodging her outstretched hand. My gaze cut straight to Ezra. "You're planning to stay here?"

He shrank back, visibly trembling at the ice in my tone. "I I just got out of the hospital. It's still really hard for me to get around"

I didn't say another word. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the kitchen.

"Cassian, where are you going?" Celine called out.

"Just checking to see if the water is boiling."

"Actually" Ezra stammered, his eyes widening in sheer panic. "I just remembered I left the faucet running at my apartment. I I really need to go."

He was out the front door before he even finished the sentence. I strolled out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. "I thought he could barely move. He runs pretty damn fast for a cripple."

Celine took a half-step toward the door to chase him, but glanced at me and stopped dead in her tracks. "Cassian."

"I've told you a thousand times, there is absolutely nothing going on between us. Why can't you just try to understand me?" She rubbed her temples, looking drained.

I felt zero pity. She had exhausted herself playing nurse for another man.

"My wife abandons our home to spoon-feed another guy, and she wants my understanding?" I let out a dry laugh. "Sorry. I'm fresh out of understanding."

I turned and walked straight into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

I collapsed onto the sofa and buried my face in my hands. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I hadn't done anything wrong. Why was everything spiraling out of control?

Cassian had changed. He was more vibrant now, more commanding, but also dangerously domineering. And the twisted part was, I was more drawn to this ruthless version of him than ever.

After that day, Celine's routine flipped. She started coming home early. She even badgered Annette into teaching her how to cook. Every night, she would parade around the guest room in an endless rotation of sheer, expensive lingerie.

By the third night, my willpower cracked. They say even the greatest men fall for a beautiful woman. And honestly, I'm no saint.

For the next couple of weeks, things felt almost like the old days. She came home early, practically sprinting to the kitchen to cook dinner herself. It didn't taste anywhere near as good as Annette's cooking, but it was edible.

After dinner, she would drag me straight to the shower. She whispered against my neck that she wanted to have my baby.

But the illusion didn't last. The honeymoon phase held up for exactly half a month before the late-night shifts at the office started creeping back in. She started eating dinner out and coming home exhausted.

Even on the rare nights she got back early, her phone would inevitably buzz. She would take one look at the screen, claim there was an "emergency at the company," and walk right back out the door.

Chapter 7

Knowing exactly how this tired script played out, I pulled out my phone and tapped open Instagram. Sure enough, Ezra had just updated his story. It was a shot of Celine from behind, wearing an apron and standing over the stove.

[ The caption read: Just casually complained about gross takeout, and my female boss actually cooked for me herself. Having her around makes me feel so spoiled. ]

I stared at the glowing screen, my thumb hovering over the display. When the hell did I even follow Ezra? I had zero memory of hitting that button. It had to be the plot's invisible hand forcing the connection.

Staring at the pathetic humble-brag, my heart rate didn't even spike. If this was supposed to trigger another fatal blood-coughing fit, the system was out of luck.

When Celine finally walked through the door, I didn't even look up from my laptop. "Where were you?"

"The office"

"You smell like garlic butter shrimp." I cut off her lie before it even left her lips.

A sharp micro-expression of panic flashed across her flawless face. "A coworker ordered seafood and gave me a few bites. God, your nose is too good, Cassian!"

I gave her a slow, meaningless smile and told her to hit the shower. My trust in her was practically in the negatives. The next few days followed the exact same nauseating pattern. Even when she managed to make it home, she would inevitably be yanked right back out the door by a single text notification.

With my omniscient view of the plot, I knew exactly whose bed she was running to. Her little games were as transparent as glass. Then she suddenly decided to play the dutiful wife again. She started coming home early, parading around our bedroom in sheer, ridiculously expensive lingerie, her eyes practically begging for validation.

Since my lawyers were still finalizing the complex asset division, I decided to play along. After all, her face and body were an absolute top-tier, zero-plastic-surgery luxury package.

Tonight, the atmosphere was perfectly calibrated. She had just stepped out of the steam shower, damp hair clinging to her collarbones, cheeks flushed with heat. The crimson silk slip she wore clung to every single curve of her body. I tossed my phone onto the mattress and reached for her.

Suddenly, her damn phone started buzzing on the nightstand. The screen lit up the dark room like a searchlight. I glanced over. Ezra.

Celine's body went instantly rigid. But a second later, muscle memory took over, and she reached across me to grab the device. Her chest was still heaving, her breathing heavy, but her eyes were already dead-locked on his name.

"Hello? Ezra? What's wrong?" Her voice still held the husky, breathless edge of our foreplay, but a sharp undertone of panic completely ruined it.

Whatever pathetic excuse he whined through the speaker, Celine's face instantly drained of color. "What? You sprained your ankle? Is it that bad?"

"Don't move! Do not move! I'm on my way!"

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. Any heat left in my blood turned to ice.

Celine shoved me away. She rolled off the edge of the mattress, snatching her discarded clothes off the hardwood floor and frantically throwing them on.

"Cassian, I am so sorry! Ezra sprained his ankle. It's incredibly severe, he can't even stand up!"

"He's all alone in his apartment right now, I have to go check on him! I'll be right back!"

The sheer, unhinged panic in her voice made it sound like her three-year-old toddler had just fallen down a well, not a twenty-five-year-old grown man tweaking his foot. I sat up slowly, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. I watched her fingers frantically fumble with the buttons of her blouse