My Husband used me for Money, so I returned the Favor

"What?" Aiden laughed, a sharp, incredulous sound that bounced off the sterile walls. "You are asking me for a divorce? Are you insane?" He stepped away from the door and walked back to the bedside, looming over me. "Ysabel, look at you," he said, gesturing to my bandaged hands, to the IV drip, to the broken woman in the bed. "You’re in shock. You’re traumatized. You’re not thinking clearly. What are you going to do after? Hmm? You lost your hands. You lost your career. Without me, without the Smith and Miller name... you’re going to be nothing." The words were meant to crush me. They were meant to remind me of my place—the orphan girl who got lucky, the prodigy who flew too high and crashed. But instead of breaking me, they calcified the resolve hardening in my chest. "I’d rather be nothing than be married to a coward," I said quietly. Aiden’s jaw tightened. "I am not a coward. I am being realistic. You can’t survive on your own right now. You need care. You need money for rehabilitation. Do you really think you can navigate a divorce while learning how to hold a spoon again?" He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "Process it, Ysabel. Really think about it. Or divorce me. Go ahead. See how far you get without my support." He didn't mean money. He meant power. I stared at him, silence stretching between us like a loaded weapon. He expected me to fold. He expected the tears, the begging, the submission. When I didn't speak, he sighed, straightening up and adjusting his cufflinks. "Let’s not talk about this anymore," he said dismissively. "You’re emotional. It’s the medication. How about you rest and think about this after some time? Please? For me?" Before I could answer, the door pushed open. Amber walked in. She was wearing a pastel cardigan and holding a bouquet of lilies—my least favorite flower. "Ysabel," she breathed. She looked at my hands and let out a choked sob. "Oh my god. I am so, so sorry." I turned my head away, staring at the wall. "I know you hate me right now," Amber continued, her voice trembling. "I know you hate Antonio. And you have every right to. He... he’s sick, Ysabel. He didn’t mean to ruin your life. I’ll pay for everything. The surgeries, the therapy. I’ll sell my car. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... please don’t destroy him." "Get out," I whispered. "Ysabel!" Aiden barked, his voice sharp. "She is trying to apologize. Show some grace." "Grace?" I looked back at them, my eyes burning. "Her brother stabbed me, Aiden. And you want me to show grace?" "She is my best friend," Aiden said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "And she is here, humbling herself. You will listen to her." He moved to stand behind Amber, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. The image was striking—the two of them, united against the invalid wife. "Fine," I said, the word tasting like bile. "I’m listening." "I just want you to know," Amber sniffled, wiping a tear. "That we can fix this. We can move past this. If you just... if you just agree not to press charges, we can handle Antonio privately. We can get him into a facility. He doesn't belong in prison, Ysabel. He’s family." Aiden looked at me, his eyes pleading, silently reminding me of the threat he had just made. You’re going to be nothing. I needed time. I needed to get out of this hospital. I needed to be smart. "Okay," I lied. "I won't file the case." The relief in the room was palpable. Aiden’s shoulders sagged. Amber let out a breathy laugh, reaching out to squeeze my forearm. "Thank you," she gushed. "Oh, thank you, Ysabel. You’re a saint. Truly." "We should go," Aiden said, checking his watch. "She needs to rest. We’ll come back tomorrow to check on your discharge papers." "Rest well, Ysabel," Amber said. They walked out together. I watched them through the crack in the door. As they walked down the hallway, I saw Aiden’s hand slide down to the small of her back. I saw her lean into him. I waited until their footsteps faded. Then, I struggled to sit up. I used my elbows to maneuver the phone on the bedside table. It was clumsy. It was humiliating. But I managed to hit the voice dial. "Call Nathan Blackwood," I commanded. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Nathan Blackwood. The only lawyer in the city who had ever beaten Aiden in court. They hated each other with a professional rivalry that bordered on blood sport. "This is Blackwood," a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Mr. Blackwood," I said, my voice steady despite the pain. "This is Dr. Ysabel Smith." There was a pause. "Dr. Smith? Aiden’s wife? To what do I owe the pleasure? Is your husband looking to settle the grand merger?" "No," I said. "I want to hire you. Attempted murder. Assault with a deadly weapon. Grievous bodily harm. Antonio Miller," I said. "Why me?" Nathan asked finally. "Your husband is the best litigator in the state. Why are you calling his rival?" "Because he won't take the case," I said, staring at my bandaged hands. "He’s protecting them. So I need someone who won't." "I see," Nathan said. His tone had changed. It was sharp, predatory. "Well, Dr. Smith. I have to say... I’ve been waiting for a chance to wipe that smug look off Aiden’s face for a decade. I’ll be at the hospital in the morning." Two days later, I was discharged. The nurse wheeled me out to the curb where the town car was waiting. Aiden wasn't there. He had texted, saying he was "tied up in a meeting"—probably comforting Amber again. I didn't care. I had the papers Nathan had drafted hidden in my bag. As the driver opened the door, my phone buzzed. I fumbled to answer it with my bandaged fingers. "Ysabel!" It was Ben, Lucas’s manager. He was screaming. "It’s over. Lucas is over." "What?" I froze. "Ben, slow down." "A video leaked," he choked out, the panic vibrating through the speaker. "Him hitting a woman. Shooting heroin. It’s a deepfake, Ysabel, but no one cares! The studio dropped him. Dior dropped him. The internet is calling him a monster." My blood ran cold. My brother was the Golden Boy of Hollywood. He wouldn't hurt a fly. "That’s impossible." "He couldn't take it," Ben sobbed. "I found him in the dressing room. An empty bottle of sleeping pills." The world stopped. "He tried to kill himself, Ysabel. He’s in the ICU."

"He’s stable, Ysabel," Dr. Aris repeated gently. "The stomach pump was successful. Now, we just wait for him to wake up. But..." "But the world outside isn't waiting," I finished for him. I could see it through the blinds. The news vans. The paparazzi swarming the hospital entrance like vultures. My phone was vibrating incessantly with notifications. Lucas Smith: Monster? Drug Addict? Abuser? The deepfake was perfect. Terrifyingly perfect. It had destroyed a decade of hard work in an hour. I touched Lucas’s cold hand with my bandaged fingers. "I’ll fix this," I whispered. "I promise." I didn't know how. I was a surgeon who couldn't hold a scalpel. But I knew one man who could fix anything. So, I went home. I walked through the marble foyer, the silence of the house pressing against my ears. I headed straight for his study. The heavy oak doors were slightly ajar. I raised my hand to push them open, desperate to beg him to use his connections, to sue the media outlets, to do something. Then, I heard his voice. "It’s done, Amber. Stop crying." I froze. My hand hovered inches from the wood. "Yes, the video is everywhere," Aiden said, his tone bored, clinical. "No, it won't be traced back to me. I used the offshore server. Lucas is finished. His career is dead." The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "I had to do it," Aiden continued, a dark edge entering his voice. "Ysabel hired Nathan Blackwood. She thought she could go behind my back? She thought she could file a criminal case against your brother after I told her to stop? This is her punishment. She needs to learn that actions have consequences." I couldn't breathe. I kicked the door open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening bang. Aiden spun around in his leather chair, the phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and then, terrifyingly, they went calm. He didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed. "I have to go," he said into the phone, and hung up. "You," I choked out, the word tearing from my throat. "You did this? You ruined Lucas?" Aiden stood up, smoothing his suit jacket. "I did what was necessary." "He’s innocent!" I screamed, marching toward him. "He’s my brother! He tried to kill himself, Aiden! He’s in a coma because of you! For what? For Antonio? For a drunk who stabbed your wife?" "For order!" Aiden slammed his hand on the desk. "You defied me, Ysabel. I told you to drop it. I told you to let it go. But you had to call Blackwood. You had to escalate it. You forced my hand." "I forced you to frame a movie star for heroin use?" I laughed, a manic, broken sound. "You’re a monster. You’re sick." "I am protecting my family!" "I am your family!" I shrieked. "I am your wife!" "Amber is family!" he roared back. "I have known her my entire life. Her pain is my pain. And you... you are just being vindictive. Filing that case would have ruined Amber’s reputation by association. It would have ruined my reputation. I saved you from making a public spectacle of yourself." "By ruining my brother’s image?" I spat at him. "By driving him to suicide?" I lunged at him. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to scratch that smug look off his face with my useless, bandaged claws. Smack. The sound was a crack of thunder. My head snapped to the side. The sting on my cheek was instantaneous, hot and sharp. I stumbled back, clutching the edge of the desk for support. Silence filled the room. Heavy. Suffocating. I touched my cheek. He had slapped me. Aiden, the man who had vowed to cherish me, had struck me. "That," Aiden said, his voice terrifyingly low, "is what happens when you defy me." He walked around the desk, towering over me. He didn't look sorry. He looked powerful. "I told you to stop. Now, are you going to stop? Or do I need to find something else you love to destroy?" I looked up at him through a blur of tears. I saw the truth then. There was no love here. There never had been. I was a possession. And now, I was a broken possession. But Lucas. Lucas was still lying in that hospital bed. If the scandal continued, he would wake up to nothing. "Fix it," I whispered. "Excuse me?" Aiden cupped his ear mockingly. "Fix it," I said, my voice trembling. "Clear his name. Release the proof that it’s a deepfake. Please. I’ll do anything." Aiden smiled. It was a cruel, satisfied curving of his lips. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. "Then beg me." I stared at him. "What?" "You heard me," he said softly. "Beg me. Show me that you understand who is in control here. Show me that you’re done fighting." My pride screamed. Every fiber of my being wanted to spit in his face. But the image of Lucas’s pale face flashed in my mind. Slowly, painfully, I lowered my head. "Please," I croaked. "Please, Aiden. Save my brother. I’m begging you." Aiden watched me for a long moment, drinking in my humiliation like fine wine. Then, his face softened. The monster receded, replaced by the mask of the doting husband. "Good girl," he murmured. He reached out and stroked the cheek he had just slapped. I flinched, but I didn't pull away. "I’m sorry it had to come to this," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I really am. I’ll make the call. The video will be debunked by morning. Lucas will be the victim of a cyber-attack. He’ll be a hero." I nodded, staring at his shoes. "Now," Aiden said, clapping his hands together. "Let’s put this behind us. How about a date? Just the two of us. To make sure everything is going to be okay. To reset. Okay?" He looked at me expectantly. "Okay," I whispered. "Go get changed," he said, kissing my forehead. "Wear something red. I love you in red." I walked out of the study. I walked up the stairs. I walked into our bedroom. I didn't cry. I was done crying. I went into the walk-in closet and pulled out the red dress. But before I put it on, I sat on the floor and pulled out my burner phone. I dialed Nathan. "Delay the criminal case," I said, my voice void of emotion. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The red mark on my cheek was already bruising. "Process something else for me instead. Immediately." "What is it?" "My divorce papers," I said. "Draft them. Irreconcilable differences. Adultery. Abuse." "Music to my ears," Nathan said. "And Nathan?" "Yes?" I took a deep breath. "If you’re really up for revenge," I said, my voice cold as steel. "If you really want to destroy Aiden Smith… How about you marry me?"

"Ysabel?" I jerked awake in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Lucas was looking at me, his blue eyes groggy but focused. "Lucas!" I gasped, scrambling to his side. I wanted to grab his hand, but my bandages reminded me of my own fragility. Instead, I leaned down and pressed my forehead against his arm. "You're awake. Thank God." He tried to sit up, wincing. "What happened? I remember... the video. The pills." "It's gone," I said quickly, my voice fierce. "It's all gone, Lucas. It was a cyber-attack. A deepfake. The studio released a statement this morning. The police confirmed it. You're a victim, not a criminal. The public loves you again. They're already starting hashtags for you." Lucas let out a long, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes, a tear tracking through the stubble on his cheek. "I thought it was over, Ysabel. I can't... I can't afford to lose this. The fame, the work... it's all I have." "I know," I whispered, stroking his hair. "I promise you, Lucas. I swear on my life. It will never happen again. No one will ever touch you again, brother." The next morning, I went home. The house was quiet. Aiden was at the firm. I walked into the library and locked the door. I pulled out an old flip phone from the back of a safe—a relic from before smartphones, untraceable. I dialed a number I hadn't used in years. "Alfred," I said when the line clicked open. "Miss Ysabel," the warm, gravelly voice of my family's old butler answered. He had served my parents, then me, until Aiden "suggested" we let him go for a younger staff. But Alfred had never really left my service. "It has been too long." "I need you, Alfred," I said, cutting to the chase. "I need you to dig. I need everything on the Miller family. Antonio, Amber, their parents. Debts, secrets, illegal dealings. And I need everything on Aiden’s connection to them. Financial transfers, property deeds, emails. Everything." "Consider it done, Miss Ysabel. Is everything alright?" "No," I said, looking at the bruise fading on my cheek. "But it will be." For the next week, I played the part. I was the perfect, doting wife. I wore the dresses Aiden liked. I poured his scotch when he came home. I smiled when he touched me, even though my skin crawled with revulsion. I asked about his day. I pretended the slap never happened. "See?" Aiden said one evening, kissing my neck as I arranged flowers in the vase—using my forearms more than my hands. "Isn't this better? No fighting. Just us." "Yes, Aiden," I lied smoothly. "Much better." "Good," he said. "Because I have a surprise. Dinner tonight. At Le Jardin. Just a small celebration." "Celebration?" "For us," he smiled. "For moving forward." I wore the black silk dress he bought me. I put on the diamond earrings he gave me for our anniversary. I looked like a trophy. When we arrived at the private room in the restaurant, my blood froze. We weren't alone. Sitting at the round table, swirling a glass of red wine, was Antonio. His arm was in a sling, a prop for sympathy. He looked healthy. Arrogant. He grinned when he saw me, his eyes raking over my body in a way that made me want to shower. "Ysabel," he drawled. "Long time no see." I stiffened. I looked at Aiden. "You invited him?" "We're burying the hatchet," Aiden said, guiding me to a chair. "Amber is joining us shortly. We're going to be a family again, Ysabel. Civilized." I sat down. I had no choice. Dinner was a torture session. Antonio made crude jokes. Aiden laughed. They talked about "old times" while I stared at my plate, cutting my steak with clumsy, agonizing movements. "Excuse me," I said halfway through the main course. "I need to use the restroom." I escaped to the hallway, my heart pounding. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to stop the trembling. I dried my face and turned to leave. Antonio was standing in the doorway. He had locked it. "You think you're so special, don't you?" he slurred, stepping closer. He smelled of wine and expensive cologne. "Walking around like you didn't try to ruin my life by trying to send me to jail when I didn't mean to hurt you. You provoke me, and it was for my sister!" "Get out of my way, Antonio," I said, my voice low. "Or what?" He laughed. "You gonna scratch me with those paws?" He lunged. He pinned me against the marble sink, his heavy body crushing mine. His good hand groped at my dress, tearing the silk. "No!" I screamed. "Get off me!" I couldn't use my hands. I couldn't push him. I used my knee, driving it up into his groin. He grunted but didn't let go. He was too heavy. His wet mouth mashed against my neck. "You need to learn your place, bitch." "Aiden!" I screamed. "Help!" The door rattled. Then it burst open. It wasn't Aiden. It was Amber. "Antonio!" she shrieked. She ran at us, grabbing his arm. "Stop it! What are you doing?!" Antonio, in his drunken rage, shoved her back. Hard. Amber flew backward. Her hip connected with the sharp edge of the marble counter with a sickening crack. She crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain. Aiden appeared in the doorway a second later. He took in the scene—me, disheveled and panting against the sink; Antonio, dazed; Amber, writhing on the floor. He didn't look at me. He ran straight to Amber. "Amber!" He fell to his knees. "Are you okay?" "She pushed me!" Amber sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Ysabel pushed me! She’s crazy!" "What?" I gasped. "No! Antonio tried to rape me! She tried to stop him and he pushed her!" Aiden looked up at me. His eyes were black holes of rage. He didn't believe me. He didn't even care to ask. "You..." he hissed. "You are poison." "Aiden, listen to me—" "Get out of my sight!" he roared. He scooped Amber up in his arms, panic etched all over his face. "Call the car! We’re going to the hospital! Now!" They left me there in the restaurant bathroom. My hands were throbbing. In the struggle, I had banged them against the marble. Fresh blood was seeping through the bandages. I took a taxi to the same hospital they had taken Amber to. I walked into the ER, keeping my head down. A nurse re-dressed my wounds, tutting at the damage. As soon as she was done, I slipped away toward the VIP wing. I saw Aiden standing outside Room 304. He was talking to a doctor. I pressed myself into a small alcove near the vending machines, just out of sight. "Is she okay?" Aiden asked. His voice was trembling. I had never heard him sound so scared. "She had a minor concussion from the fall," the doctor said. "But the ultrasound looks good. The heartbeat is strong. The fetus is perfectly fine, Mr. Smith." "Thank God," Aiden breathed, leaning his head against the wall. "And the gender? Can you still tell?" "Yes," the doctor smiled. "It’s a boy." "A boy," Aiden whispered, a sound of pure reverence. "My son. My heir." The doctor walked away. Aiden pulled out his phone. "It’s me," he said, his voice low but carrying clearly in the silent hallway. "The situation has become untenable. Ysabel is out of control. She almost killed my son tonight." He paused, listening. "No, I can't just divorce her. She knows too much. And with her brother’s influence... no. We need a permanent solution." My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I’ll convince her to go on the trip, and then kill her. Make it look like an accident on the way to the airport. Brake failure. And do the same for Lucas. I don't want him asking questions when his sister dies. Clean slate."

I walked back into the house and looked at my burner phone. Two messages were waiting. The first was from Alfred. “The dossier is complete, Miss Ysabel. Bank transfers, medical records, the emails between Mr. Smith and the mechanic. I have everything. It is enough to bury them.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The weapon was loaded. The second message was from Nathan. “Divorce papers are filed now. The loophole is secured. And regarding your other proposition… I’m in. Judge waiting at 10 AM. Don’t be late.” The next morning, the sun shone brightly, mocking the darkness of my reality. I went down to the kitchen. Aiden was there, sipping his espresso, reading the financial news on his tablet. He looked up when I entered, and his face transformed. The cold indifference was replaced by a mask of deep, pained concern. "Ysabel," he said, standing up to pull out my chair. "How did you sleep?" "I didn't," I said honestly. He sighed, sitting down across from me and reaching for my bandaged hands. I let him take them. I let the man who planned to sever my brake lines hold my fingers. "I’m so sorry, Ysabel," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "About last night. About the restaurant. I was… I was in shock. I lost my temper. I said things I didn't mean." "You said I was poison," I whispered, looking down. "I was angry," he pressed, squeezing my hands. "But I’ve been thinking all night. We can’t go on like this. The stress, the media, the fighting… it’s destroying us. I want to fix this. I want to be the husband you deserve." I looked up at him. "How?" "I’ve arranged a trip," he said, his eyes gleaming with the lie. "A retreat in the Swiss Alps. Very private, very exclusive. Just for you. You can rest, heal, get away from the noise. And I’ve arranged for Lucas to go with you. He needs to get away from the scandal too. It will be good for both of you. A fresh start, and I'll go there after days for our anniversary." A fresh start in a coffin, I thought. "Switzerland?" I asked, feigning hesitation. "The jet is fueled," he said. "The car will pick you up at noon. Please, Ysabel. Do this for us. Do this for your brother." He was so eager. He needed us on that plane—or rather, he needed us in the car on the way to the plane. That was where the accident would happen. I forced a small, tremulous smile onto my face. "Okay, Aiden. You’re right. We need this. I’ll go." Relief washed over his face. It was the relief of a man who had just successfully ordered a hit. "Thank you, darling. You won't regret it." At 11:45 AM, the black town car pulled into the driveway. I watched from the window as the driver loaded my luggage. I knew that driver. I knew he was on Aiden’s payroll. I knew the brake lines on that car had been tampered with. "Goodbye, Aiden," I said, standing in the foyer. He kissed my cheek. "Safe travels, my love. Call me when you get to the airport." "I will," I said. I walked out the door. I got into the car. As we pulled out of the gates, I waited exactly two minutes. Then, I leaned forward. "Stop the car," I ordered. The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Smith, we have a schedule to keep—" "I said stop the car," I said, my voice turning to steel. "Or I will open this door and jump out right now, and you can explain to my husband why his wife is splattered on the pavement before the 'accident' was supposed to happen." The driver paled. He slammed on the brakes. "Get out. Leave the keys. Walk away. My butler will pay you better than Aiden was paying you, so leave before I’m playing nice. I’m driving myself." He panicked, but eventually left. I scrambled into the driver's seat. I didn't drive toward the airport. I didn't drive toward the cliffs. I drove to the City Clerk’s office. Nathan was waiting on the steps. He looked sharp in a navy suit, his expression unreadable. We walked inside. It wasn't romantic. There were no flowers, no music, no guests. Just a bored judge and a witness Nathan had paid. "Do you, Nathan Blackwood, take Ysabel Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do." "Do you, Ysabel Jones, take Nathan Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?" "I do," I said. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." As Nathan signed the certificate, solidifying the union, I pulled out my phone. It was 1:00 PM. "It's time," I said to Nathan. He nodded. "Do it." I opened the group chat I had created. It included the editors of TMZ, The New York Times, The LA Times, and every major gossip blog in the country. I attached the files Alfred had sent me. The ultrasound of Amber’s baby dated three months ago. The emails between Aiden and the deepfake studio. The security footage of Antonio stabbing my hands. The bank transfers from Aiden to the hitman. Subject: The Truth About Aiden Smith. I hit send. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Aiden. I answered, putting it on speaker so Nathan could hear. "Ysabel?" Aiden’s voice was tight, anxious. "Where are you? The pilot says you haven't arrived yet. You should have been there twenty minutes ago." He was checking to see if I was dead. He was waiting for the police report about a car going off a cliff. "Oh, I'm sorry, darling," I said, my voice light and breezy. "I got a little sidetracked." "Sidetracked?" His voice pitched up. "Ysabel, are you in the car? Are you on the way to the airport? Why is your driver not answering the phone? Where is your brother?" "Yes," I lied, looking at the wedding ring on my finger—a simple gold band Nathan had just given me. "I'm on my way. But I had to make a stop first." "A stop? Why?" "To leave you something," I said. "For our anniversary. I know it’s a few days early, but I couldn't wait." "What are you talking about?" Panic was bleeding into his voice now. "Ysabel, just get to the airport now. I'll follow there as soon as possib—" "I left it with the press, Aiden," I said, my voice dropping the act, turning cold and deadly. "And I sent a copy to the Bar Association. And the District Attorney." "What?" he whispered, confused. “You’ll love it, so just wait for it. Happy anniversary, Aiden.” I hung up and threw my phone.