The Rejected Wife's Secret Empire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

The darkness finally swallowed him whole.But even in the pitch-black void of his unconsciousness, Aryan couldn't escape the relentless agony. It clung to his bones, a freezing, heavy anchor dragging him deeper into a terrifying abyss. He welcomed it. He wanted the absolute quiet.Then, a sharp, agonizing pinch in his left arm violently pierced the veil of death.A steady, rhythmic beeping sound slowly replaced the terrifying silence of the void. Beep. Beep. Beep.Aryan forced his heavy eyelids open. They felt as though they were glued shut with dried, crusty sand. The harsh, blinding white light of a fluorescent ceiling lamp immediately stabbed his sensitive retinas. He let out a pathetic, dry groan and instinctively tried to lift his hands to shield his face.He couldn't move his arms.Panic, pure and primal, surged through his sluggish, feverish veins. He violently jerked his head down. Both of his forearms were heavily strapped to the thick metal rails of a sterile hospital bed. H

Kiara was absolutely right. Hell wasn't a fiery pit underground. Hell was this sterile hospital bed, and she securely held the only key.The next forty-eight hours bled together into one long nightmare of sheer, blinding agony. True to her word, the medical staff did not dare offer a single drop of morphine. Every four hours, a terrified young nurse injected a pathetic dose of generic paracetamol into his IV line. It was like throwing a cup of water onto a forest fire. The deep, infected lacerations on his palms throbbed with a toxic heat that perfectly matched his erratic heartbeat. Without heavy painkillers, he felt every microscopic shift of his torn flesh, every burning pulse of his healing nerves.The hunger was equally degrading. Twice a day, a nurse would bring a small plastic bowl of public-ward nutritional broth. It was a watery, tasteless yellow liquid smelling faintly of boiled cardboard. Because his arms were heavily strapped to the rails, he couldn't feed himself. The leg

His personal hell wasn't just continuing; she was actively expanding it.Aryan blindly fumbled with the door release, his bandaged fingers slipping off the plastic handle twice before the heavy door finally swung open. He practically fell out of the Bentley, his cheap dress shoes sinking instantly into the dry, dusty red earth of the construction site. The unforgiving afternoon sun beat down violently on his shoulders, intensifying his raging fever. The world tilted dangerously, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over him."The hard hats, driver," Kiara’s voice sliced through the cacophony of roaring cranes and drilling machines. She was standing a few feet away, holding an elegant black parasol to shield her flawless skin from the sun.Aryan swallowed a dry, painful knot in his throat. He stumbled to the rear of the vehicle and popped the heavy trunk. Two yellow safety helmets sat inside. Picking them up required curling his shredded, bleeding palms around the hard plastic brims. He

There was no end. The well of her hatred was entirely bottomless, and he was drowning in it without a single lifeline.Aryan pushed himself off the rear bumper of the Bentley, his violently shaking legs threatening to buckle under his weight. He dragged his ruined boots back across the dusty construction site. The deafening noise of the machinery sounded like a distorted, underwater hum in his fever-addled brain.He climbed the metal stairs of the baking executive trailer. The interior was stripped bare, except for a single object sitting perfectly in the center of the dusty wooden desk.A heavy, silver-plated photo frame.Aryan shuffled toward it, his breathing a harsh, rattling wheeze. He looked down at the photograph enclosed behind the pristine glass.It was a picture of the official groundbreaking ceremony. Aryan stood in the center, holding a ceremonial silver shovel, flashing his arrogant billionaire smile beside Rhea, who dripped in diamonds.The image physically sickened him.

"Six AM, Aryan. Wash the Bentley," she commanded. "And if you ever pass out and force me to drive myself again, I will personally pull your mother's life support plug."The heavy, steel-toe threat echoed in the damp annex long after the sharp click of her designer heels faded into the night. Aryan lay completely frozen on the icy concrete floor, his violently trembling hands hovering just inches from the single pill she had thrown like a bone to a stray dog.He dragged his battered body forward, his breath hitching painfully. He didn't have the luxury of pride. He didn't have the luxury of anger. He picked up the cheap, foil-backed pill with his awkward, bandaged fingers. There was no water. He shoved the bitter tablet into his mouth, forcing himself to dry-swallow it. It scraped painfully down his raw, swollen throat, sitting like a lead weight in his hollow, starving stomach.The rest of the night was a hallucinatory blur of feverish chills and blinding nerve pain. He crawled onto t