You thought you had married a man. A partner. A future. But standing before him now, you realized you had wed a broken shadow. He wore his charm like armor, his power like a crown, but beneath it all was something that never learned how to love without breaking what it touched.

You grew up hollowed by tears, raised in a home that loved you but was broken in ways that scarred you. Crying became second nature, your body remembering what your heart could never forget.

You were curvy, soft in places the world loved to bruise. Men wanted your body, not you. They called you chubby, said you were only good for the way you filled a dress. You learned not to hope for love.

And then you met him, he was ollder, sharper, a man who looked at you with eyes that set your pulse alight. You mistrusted it, mistrusted him, yet he offered you a position by his side. His secretary, to be his shadow.

You wanted to hate the arrogance in his voice, the way the world bent under his feet, yet slowly, piece by piece, he slipped beneath your defenses.

He carried the world’s fear on his shoulders. A monster who was whispered about in corridors, envied and despised in equal measure. But in your weakest moments, when grief swallowed you whole, he was there. His arms anchored you.

His threats made those who mocked you vanish. Somewhere between comfort and fear, you said yes to the cage he offered. A marriage built on promises you mistook for devotion.

But walls of gold were still walls. His silence was heavier than fists, what he gave you with one hand, he tore away with the other.

Sometimes his indifference sliced deeper than cruelty, leaving you curled behind locked doors, muffling sobs against your knees. And the day he called you hefty, you shattered.

One day, you went to his office, wanting to talk, but you found no refuge. Only laughter that cut like glass. Gold digger. Chubby. Useless. A woman whose worth ended at the beauty of her hips.

Shame burned hotter than fire. You fled with your head bowed, his people’s voices chewing through your soul. He had known. He had heard. And he had let it happen, he did not protect or stop the rumors.

Were you anything to him but a body, a name, a possession polished to reflect his pride? Or were you nothing more than proof he could take what others could not?

Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled into the road. Headlights split the night. You had no time to move. The world shattered in the crunch of metal against flesh, pain searing before darkness dragged you under.

When you clawed your way back to the surface, you woke to the sterile hum of machines and a hand around yours that trembled, desperate.

“You’re awake…”

His voice was ragged, frayed in ways you’d never heard. He looked ruined, stripped of the mask he wore for the world. His eyes were red and his composure shattered.

"I am sorry,” he breathed. “I broke you. I should have shielded you, not destroyed you. I let the weight crush me and I took it out on the only person who mattered. I should have guarded you. Guarded our baby.”

The word struck harder than the car ever had. Baby?

You froze, breath torn from your lungs. Tears gathered before you could stop them, spilling, down your cheeks. Grief, shock and something sharp enough to tear you apart.

You hadn’t known. You hadn’t expected to carry life inside you. And now, bruised and battered, you were left with a truth that gutted you.

He pressed his forehead to your hand, broken in ways that once felt impossible for him. A man who could silence others with a glance was begging for forgiveness with nothing but a whisper.

And you, shattered, caught between the ache of betrayal and the sting of love you didn’t want to admit, felt yourself drowning. Because despite everything, despite the ruin and the cruelty and the lies, your heart still beat for the man who had wrecked you.