Hate Is an Illusion, Love Is Absurd

For a full decade, my billionaire husband and my best friend were locked in a vicious feud. Jordan Skinner had deliberately run Giselle Parson over with his car, shattering her leg. In retaliation, Giselle had smashed a baseball bat into his head, leaving him deaf in one ear. I rushed around to care for them and bitterly pleaded with them to stop fighting. Ironuton's high society laughed about it behind our backs—the all-powerful CEO and the proud heiress tearing the city apart, with pathetic little me trapped helplessly in the middle. After yet another heated argument, they abandoned me on a remote mountain during a camping trip. A passing drifter found me and brutally assaulted me. When they finally located me, Jordan flew into a rage and broke the man's legs, while Giselle crushed his groin. They held me tightly and wept, swearing a truce on the spot. From then on, they joined forces to spoil me, turning me into the happiest woman in Ironuton. On our third anniversary, I prepared chicken soup and carried it to Jordan's office. Through the narrow crack, I saw Giselle straddling him, moving with raw desire. "These past few years... I only ever feel anything when it's with you, Jordan," she said, her voice dripping with lust. "That night, when Jane was being tortured by that drifter on the mountain, we were down in the valley cabin using this same position, weren't we?" Jordan smacked her backside, warning, "Shut up, Giselle. We owe her. If you let her find out the truth, I'll show you no mercy." The thermos slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Jordan froze mid-motion and looked up to see me standing there. Chapter 1 In a split second, Jordan Skinner suppressed his panic. He smoothly stepped forward, draping his jacket over Giselle Parson's bare shoulders. "You leave first," he told her, his voice tight but controlled. "I'll explain everything to her." Giselle slowly pulled the jacket around herself, entirely unbothered. As she brushed past me, a wave of familiar perfume hit my senses. It was a rare, limited-edition fragrance. Just two days ago, I had stood under a blistering sun for hours just to buy it, leaving my face painfully sunburned. Giselle had dabbed soothing ointment onto my skin, scolding me for being an idiot, though a smile had played on her lips. "Still, you brought this at the perfect time. I'm meeting someone important in two days. This will come in handy." I had grinned like a fool, thrilled that I could make her happy. Only now did the sickening reality sink in: the "important person" she couldn't wait to impress was my husband, who had supposedly rushed back from a business trip to celebrate our anniversary. My agonizing effort had been transformed into their foreplay. Tears stung my eyes. I instinctively reached out, my fingers trembling as I snagged the hem of her jacket. Giselle didn't look guilty in the slightest. Instead, she smiled and gently wiped my tears away. "Honey, this is your private time with Jordan now. It's not appropriate for me to stay." One by one, she pried my fingers from her clothes and walked out of the office. By the time I looked back, Jordan was already fully dressed. He pulled me gently toward the sofa, guiding me to sit before crouching in front of me. He lifted my foot, resting it on his knee, and began using a handkerchief to wipe away the chicken soup that had splashed onto my pants leg. "Next time you decide to make soup, just have the housekeeper deliver it to the office," he murmured, his voice as gentle as ever. "Don't tire yourself out over things like this, alright?" His demeanor was so flawless that for a fraction of a second, I wondered if the horrific scene I had just witnessed was just a delusion. I pulled my foot back from his knee, my throat burning. "Why? Why would you do this with Giselle? You know she is the only true friend I have in this world." Jordan stood up and sat beside me, a trace of helplessness softening his sharp features. "I'm a man. I have physical needs," he reasoned. "On our wedding day, I swore to you that I would never force you into anything. You are terrified of pain, and you are still traumatized by what happened on that mountain. "In three years of marriage, we've barely been intimate. But I've never pressured you, have I?" The sheer logic of his words made my heart ache with a suffocating weight. "So, because of that, you pressured her? Weren't you two supposed to hate each other? Besides, she..." My eyes drifted involuntarily to the hearing aid nestled inside his right ear. Years ago, Giselle had smashed a bat into the side of his head, shattering his eardrum. He would need the device for the rest of his life. Jordan offered a dismissive smile and reached out to pinch my cheek. "You're too innocent to understand. Giselle and I are simply using each other to scratch an itch. It's transactional. The only person who actually occupies my heart is you." He took my hand and pressed it against his chest, letting me feel his heartbeat. But my fingers brushed over the fresh scratch marks left by Giselle's new manicure. I yanked my hand back, my nose stinging with unshed tears. "Jordan, let's get a divorce." I had always been a little slow. Back when people dropped bones into my bowl, I would happily thank them. It was Giselle who eventually lost her temper. She marched over to kick their trays into the dirt and screamed at them before turning back to call me a hopeless idiot. And it was Jordan who had emptied a pot of scalding soup over the ringleader's head, fiercely showing me how to strike back. I had stared at them blankly, not really understanding what an "idiot" was and never quite learning how to fight back. But even with my slow mind, I knew one universal truth: people only slept with someone they loved. They had protected me for ten years. It was my turn to return the favor and get out of their way. Chapter 2 Jordan paused, his tone dropping into an unfamiliar chill. "Divorce? Do you honestly think your family will take back a daughter with intellectual deficiencies? If you leave me, where could you even go?" I stared at his angry expression. In the past, if anyone so much as whispered that I was slow or disabled, Jordan would fly into a rage and beat them senseless. He used to bark at them. "Mark my words! As long as I'm around, no one is allowed to say those words to Jane!" Yet here we were. The same venom was now dripping from his own mouth. Realizing he had spoken too harshly, Jordan softened his tone. "Alright, stop throwing a tantrum. I'll keep my distance from Giselle from now on, alright?" I tried to explain that I wasn't throwing a tantrum, but the sharp ring of his phone cut me off. Giselle's lazy voice drifted through the speaker. "Hey, did you finish playing nursemaid yet? Your dad just called. He wants us back at the estate for dinner tonight." Jordan's brow furrowed. He refused without hesitation. "No. I'm staying with Jane tonight." "No?" Giselle sneered. "Fine by me. Your dad is setting me up on a blind date anyway. I think I'll just sleep with the guy and see if he handles himself better than you do." A tense silence stretched across the room before Jordan finally muttered, "Fine. Don't do anything stupid. I'll come." He hung up and turned back to me, his features instantly smoothing into that familiar, gentle expression. "This is the last time," he promised, pressing an apologetic kiss to my cheek. "I'll make everything clear to Giselle tonight. Once tomorrow comes, I'll make it up to you properly, okay?" I lowered my eyes and gave a small nod. But there was no tomorrow for us. As his figure disappeared down the corridor, I pulled out my phone and bought a one-way train ticket to the north. Jordan never knew that I wasn't homeless. My mother, Hannah Kendrick, had left me the keys to a secluded villa before she passed away. It was my final, hidden sanctuary. ... I hurried back to our house to pack my things. On the dining table sat the untouched anniversary cake. Next to it was a brand-new hearing aid for Jordan and a small jar of ointment for Giselle. A bitter, suffocating ache swelled in my chest. Last year, Giselle had complained to me, "It's unfair. Jordan and I met you on the same day, yet you spend every anniversary with Jordan. I want an anniversary, too." I had taken her words to heart. This year, I had planned to invite her to celebrate with us. Knowing that her knee still flared up with excruciating pain from the day Jordan's car crushed her leg, I had spent weeks making that special ointment. I never could have imagined that when the anniversary finally arrived, I would be the one left out. Even the cake was covered in fruits that the two of them loved. What a fool I had been! I should have just bought a chocolate cake I liked. My phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification on social media. It was a snapshot of Jordan serving food to Giselle at the Skinner family dinner. The caption read: [The pseudo-siblings can fight as violently as they want on the outside, but at the end of the day, they always go home for family dinner together.] The top-voted comment underneath read: [This is the real power couple! Brilliant, beautiful Giselle is always meant to be the true heroine of Jordan's story.] Chapter 3 A suffocating weight settled on my chest. Years ago, Giselle loathed Jordan's dad for forcing her mom into a miserable marriage, while Jordan hated Giselle's mother for driving his own mom to suicide. For a decade, they despised each other. But after they met me, their toxic rivalry strangely shifted into a competition over who could treat me better. Eventually, real feelings developed between Jordan and me, and our families capitalized on it to finalize our marriage. Ten years had passed in the blink of an eye. Being fiercely protected by both of them for so long had made me forget a fundamental truth: I was only ever a transactional tool for a family alliance. I gave a bitter smile and quietly liked the comment. Meeting them had likely consumed all the good luck I was allotted in this lifetime. I couldn't be greedy enough to expect a happy ending, too. By the time I finished packing, it was well past midnight. I tucked the signed divorce agreement into my handbag and reached for my suitcase when my phone started to vibrate. Jordan's urgent voice cut through the receiver. "Jane, make some chicken soup right now and bring it to the hospital. Hurry!" The line went dead before I could say anything. When I tried calling back, no one was answering. Confused and too conditioned to obey, I quickly brewed the soup and rushed over to the medical wing. Inside the private ward, Giselle was reclining against the pillows. She patted the mattress beside her, offering a lazy, enchanting smile. "You're here. Take a seat." I hesitated, setting the thermos on the nightstand. "Are you sick? Where's Jordan?" She took my hand and pressed it against her slightly rounded belly. "I'm not sick, Jane. I'm pregnant with Jordan's baby. He went to get the ultrasound report." The news hit me like a physical blow. I flinched, ripping my hand back. "P-Pregnant?" "Yep," Giselle replied, unbothered. "He said the condoms felt too tight and uncomfortable. It could have happened two months ago when he claimed he was working late, or maybe last month when he sent you out to buy cakes so we could use your bed. She shrugged. "Honestly, we've done it so many times I've lost count." My throat tightened. "But... we're supposed to be best friends." She raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. Best friends share everything. Letting me enjoy your man is only fair, right? He says you're like a dead fish in bed anyway. "I'm doing you a favor. Once I keep him satisfied, he won't go fooling around with strangers. Besides, aren't you terrified of labor pain? "When the baby is born, they'll call you godmother. I'll even make sure they take care of you in your old age. Pretty generous, huh?" Her words twisted like a knife. They reminded me of the night we turned 18 under a meteor shower, when she held my hand and swore that she would make me her child's godmother. The promise had come true, but it was dripping in poison. When I remained silent, she sighed. "You really are a hopeless dummy. Even now, you don't know how to fight back." She unscrewed the thermos, casually ladled a bowl of the steaming soup, and brought it to her lips. I jolted and smacked the bowl out of her hand, sending it shattering on the floor. I grabbed her jaw, desperately trying to force her mouth open. "Spit it out! Don't swallow it!" A powerful grip suddenly yanked me backward by my collar. I lost my footing and crashed heavily onto the floor, my palm slamming into the jagged shards of broken ceramic. I struggled to my feet and saw Jordan frantically rubbing Giselle's back. He roared at me. "Jane, have you lost your mind? I asked you to bring her soup to help with her pregnancy. She's carrying my child! How could you maliciously attack her?" "No, listen to me." I panicked, desperately trying to explain. "It's because..." But I was too anxious, my words stumbling over each other as tears finally spilled over. Flustered, Jordan rushed over to wipe my tears, but his hand froze when he caught sight of my right palm. It was shredded and dripping crimson onto the linoleum. His breath hitched. "How did you get hurt this badly? Come here, let me get that bandaged." "Ouch! My belly!" Giselle suddenly shrieked from the bed, clutching her abdomen in agony. "It hurts so much! The baby!" Jordan instantly dropped my bleeding hand, lunging for the emergency call button. In his frantic rush, his shoe kicked the overturned thermos, spilling the rest of the soup and the mushrooms across the floor. A look of profound fury flashed in his eyes. He snapped, "You know Giselle is allergic to mushrooms! Why didn't you say anything?" Chapter 4 "I was trying to make her throw up," I stammered. "You interrupted me..." Emergency nurses burst in and cut me off. They hurriedly set up equipment to check on Giselle, shoving me aside during the process. One of them pushed me firmly toward the door, her expression serious. "We're treating the patient. Unauthorized people need to leave." The door slammed shut in my face. I looked down at my right hand. The impact had ripped my fresh wound wide open, dripping blood onto the floor. Strangely, while a minor scratch used to make me cry, my eyes now remained completely dry. A passing nurse gasped, immediately pulling me into the triage station to clean and bandage the gash. As she finished wrapping the gauze, she handed me a medical report. "Mrs. Skinner, your physical exam results came back," she said with a smile. "Congratulations! You're pregnant." But my mind went blank. I numbly took the paper, thanked her, and walked out, only to bump straight into Jordan. Pure fury etched his face as he grabbed my arm with bruising force. "Giselle had a severe allergic reaction because of you. Her uterus contracted, and she's bleeding heavily. You have the same blood type. Move! You're donating right now." The triage nurse tried to intervene. "Wait! She just lost blood from an injury, and she's..." "It's fine," I interrupted, keeping my voice flat. "Giselle needs it. Let's get it over with." Jordan's grip loosened, but he didn't stop me. As the needle slid into my arm, I quickly looked away. In the past, I would lose sleep the night before any blood test. Now I didn't even flinch as they drew 400 milliliters of my blood. Jordan watched with an unreadable expression. "I'll make this up to you." "I don't need any compensation. I just want you to let..." I said. Before I could finish, Jordan turned on his heels and raced back to the emergency room. I looked down at my shoes, feeling a little regretful. I had wanted to say a proper goodbye, but it looked like I wouldn't get the chance. I tried to stand, but the world suddenly tilted. When I woke up in a hospital bed, the attending nurse looked at me with pity. "I am so sorry," she muttered. "Because you donated blood while injured, we couldn't save your baby." Looking at the blood stains, I felt a strange wave of relief. It was better this way. The child wouldn't have to grow up with a fractured family or risk inheriting my slow, broken brain. I thanked the nurse and asked for clean pants. Several unread messages waited on my phone—all from Giselle. [The bleeding wasn't even that bad. I just wanted to test Jordan. If my life were on the line, would he, who claims to love you so much, hurt you for my sake?] [I won, Jane. I will always matter more to him than you do.] [I saw your physical report. The nurse said you miscarried. Don't blame me. Who knows if your baby would have turned out slow like you?] [You wouldn't want them to live as pitifully as you, right? I was doing you a favor.] Each message stabbed like a needle, but I powered off the screen, refusing to let her words anchor in my mind. Passing Giselle's room, I saw through the glass Jordan crouching in front of her, gently helping her put on her shoes. His touch was tender—the same way he used to care for me. Giselle caught my reflection in the glass. Her lips curled into a triumphant smirk as she mouthed silently, "His love can belong to you... or it can belong to me." I gave a bitter smile and walked away. Right then, an alert popped up on my phone: [Your flight is boarding soon. Please proceed to the airport.] I powered off my phone and took one last long look at them. If this were how it had to be, so be it. ... After settling Giselle, Jordan felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest. He made an excuse to step outside for air, expecting to see that petite figure on the bench, but it was empty. Convinced I was throwing another tantrum, he dialed my number, but it went straight to voicemail. The unease in his heart grew heavier. When he tried a second time, the triage nurse approached him with an envelope. "Your wife told me to hand this to you." Jordan took it and ripped it open. The first page was a divorce agreement, signed cleanly in my handwriting. His heart hammering, he frantically flipped to the second page and saw the miscarriage report.