Lahat ng Kabanata ng Serving My Husband His Own Medicine : Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Alex's POV.I steered the sedan onto a quiet overlook, the city seemed distant, cold dream in the rearview mirror. I killed the engine. Silence rushed in, heavy and thick, until it was broken by the first jagged sound from the passenger seat.Hannah didn't just cry. She came apart.She was curled into herself, her forehead pressed against the window. It wasn't the soft, pretty sobbing you see in movies. It was raw. It was the sound of a woman who had been hit with a physical blow she didn't see coming."Hannah," I murmured.I reached out, hooking my arm around her shoulder and pulling her toward me. She didn't resist. She collapsed against my chest, her face burying into my shirt, her fingers clutching at my arms so hard I could feel her nails through the fabric."He took it from me," she choked out, her voice muffled and broken. "He took the one thing I actually wanted, Alexander. He has a son. Now he’s having another. And I’m just... I’m the woman who spent three years being poisone

Hannah's POV. The first thing I felt was the smell. It wasn't the charcoal or the cedarwood I had fallen asleep to. It was bleach. Sharp, stinging chemicals that made my throat itch. Then came the weight. My left leg felt like it had been encased in lead, a throbbing, white-hot pulse beating inside the bone every time my heart took a step.I opened my eyes, but the light from the ceiling was too bright. It felt like needles pressing into my pupils."She’s waking up," a voice said. It was calm. Too calm.I tried to sit up, but a scream caught in my throat. My ribs felt like they had been shattered and glued back together wrong. Every movement was a fresh wave of agony."Stay still, Hannah," a man in a white coat said, leaning over me. He had a clipboard and a face that looked like it hadn't slept in days. "You’ve been out for forty-eight hours. You’re in the hospital. You had a very serious accident."Forty-eight hours.The words hit me like a physical blow. Suddenly, the fog in my br

The morning light felt like an insult. It was too bright, too cheerful, filtering through the hospital blinds and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air over my bed. The sun didn't care that my world had ended at a highway intersection. My left leg was throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache that felt like a hammer striking an anvil deep inside my bone. Every time my heart beat, the pain flared, hot and angry. My face still felt tight and scorched from where Eleanor Mercer had struck me the night before. The ghost of her hand was a brand on my skin, a reminder that to the powerful, I was nothing more than a bug to be crushed.Every time I closed my eyes, the nightmare replayed. I saw the wall of dirty white chrome. I heard the scream of the tires. But mostly, I saw Alexander’s face...gray, still, and covered in his own blood because he had chosen to save me. I could still hear the hiss of the ventilator from the ICU, a mechanical breath that was the only thing keeping the man I l

Hannah's POV.By the third day of my imprisonment in the house that used to be mine, the hunger had transformed from a sharp growl into a dull, constant ache. it sat in my stomach like a heavy stone, cold and unyielding. I was still parked in the living room, my entire existence reduced to the four feet of space around the velvet sofa. The very air in the house had turned sour. It no longer smelled like the home I had spent years building with sweat and care. Now, it smelled like Samuel’s dirty diapers, the sharp tang of cheap floor cleaner, and the heavy, greasy scent of the bacon Grace fried every morning.I watched from my wheelchair, my mouth watering so painfully it felt like my throat was closing up. Grace moved across the kitchen with a slow, deliberate poise. She was plating a stack of fluffy pancakes, making sure I saw every thick drop of syrup she poured over the top. She took a bite, closing her eyes in mock ecstasy, making sure the silver fork clinked loudly against the ch

Alex's POVWhite. Everything was too white.The light burned behind my eyelids like a physical weight. I tried to move my hand, but it felt like it was made of lead. My throat was a desert, dry and raw, and every breath felt like I was swallowing broken glass. There was a rhythmic, annoying beep... beep... beep somewhere to my left.I forced my eyes open. The world was a blur of sterile walls and silver machines."Alexander?"The voice was shaky, thick with tears. I turned my head slowly. My neck felt stiff, like the muscles had forgotten how to work. I saw a woman sitting by the bed. Her hair was perfect, her suit expensive, but her face was tired."Mother?" I croaked. My voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger—deep, raspy, and weak."Oh, thank God," she sobbed, grabbing my hand. She pressed it to her cheek, her tears hot against my skin. "Arthur! He’s awake! Call the doctor!"My father appeared in the doorway, his face pale. He looked older. A lot older. Since when did he have