From Beloved To Battered: Her Reckoning

My husband, Chase, was having an affair. But when I confronted him, he didn't just admit it-he told me he was tired of my ambition and that his new lover, a diner waitress, was everything I wasn't: simple and undemanding.

Then he pushed me down the stairs.

The fall cost me our unborn child. As I lay broken in the hospital, his mistress, Joy, visited. Under the guise of care, she forced a foul soup down my throat, whispering it was the "blood and flesh" of my dead baby. When I fought back, Chase walked in, saw Joy on the floor, and ordered his bodyguards to beat me for hurting her.

One hundred slaps. Each one chipping away at the nine years of love I had for him. He had promised to be my anchor, but he had become the storm that wrecked me.

Why did the man who once cherished my brilliance now despise it? Why did he protect the monster who tormented me while destroying me and our child?

Lying on the cold hospital floor, bruised and bleeding, I finally understood. The love was dead. And with it, the woman who had ever loved him. I picked up my phone and made a call. It was time to burn it all down.

Chapter 1

Elisabeth Ward POV:

The news hit me harder than any physical blow ever could-Chase, my Chase, the man who promised me forever, was having an affair. But it wasn't with a younger model or a corporate rival, it was with Joy Mccall, an older, divorced diner waitress. My world, built on what I thought was unshakable love, crumbled in an instant.

I stood there, phone clutched in my hand, the words on the screen blurring through unshed tears. My body went rigid, cold seeping into my bones. This couldn't be real. Not Chase. Not us.

The image on the screen burned into my mind: Chase, his arm draped possessively around her waist, gazing at her with an intensity I hadn't seen directed at me in months. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating in business, were soft, adoring. It was a look of genuine affection, a look that tore a hole right through my chest.

He walked in late that night, just as always, the scent of his cologne a familiar comfort that now felt like a betrayal. He moved with the same confident stride, his perfectly tailored suit still immaculate. He kissed my forehead, a routine gesture, and I flinched internally. He didn't notice.

I waited in the dim light of the living room, every nerve ending screaming. The picture, printed and stark, was on the coffee table. When he walked in, I shoved it at him.

"Explain this," my voice was a shaky whisper, barely audible in the sudden silence.

He picked it up, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of our nine years, he calmly placed it back down.

"It's exactly what it looks like, Elisabeth." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

The air left my lungs. My mind went blank. The world spun.

"How could you?" I choked out, a raw, primal sound tearing from my throat. "What about all your promises? 'Always your anchor,' you said. 'Forever us.' Were those all lies?"

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I meant them then, Elisabeth. But things change. People change." His gaze met mine, cold and distant. "I'm tired. Tired of always being your anchor. Tired of always keeping up with your ambition, your independence."

He started listing things, each word a fresh cut. "Nine years, Elisabeth. Nine years of pushing you, supporting you, celebrating your every success. Do you know how much work that is? To be constantly chasing your brilliance? To always be the supporting role in your grand design?" He scoffed, a bitter sound. "I gave you everything. My time, my energy, my pride."

"Pride?" I whispered, my voice laced with disbelief. "You talk about pride? What about mine when you're parading around with... her?"

He ignored me. "With Joy, it's different. Simple. She just... cares. She sees me, truly sees me, not some project to be admired or an obstacle to be overcome. After this health scare, I realized what I needed was peace, not another challenge."

"A health scare?" I scoffed. "You had a common cold, Chase! Is that enough to throw away nine years? Years of building this life, this empire, together?"

He looked at me with a weary exasperation. "Joy offers a peace I never knew I was missing. A quiet, nurturing care that doesn't demand anything from me. She' s everything you're not, Elisabeth. Simple. Loving. Undemanding."

My head snapped back. He continued, crushing my spirit with every word. "I won't divorce you. Not now. The optics would be a disaster for my company. But understand this: I'm done. Don't interfere with my life, and I won't interfere with yours. Consider this an arrangement."

He turned and walked away, leaving me to collapse onto the cold marble floor. The man I loved, the man who had torn down my walls, had just built new ones, higher and colder than ever before.

Chase. My Chase. The one who had pursued me relentlessly in college, charmed by my brilliance, my ambition. My parents' messy divorce had left me guarded, wary of love, but he had been persistent. He'd shown me a devotion so fierce, so unwavering, that I had finally, tentatively, opened my heart.

I remembered the day my parents died, a horrible accident that sent my world spiraling. Chase, without a word, had flown back from his business trip, held me while I wept, and promised to be my rock, my anchor.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, Elisabeth," he'd whispered, stroking my hair. "Let me be strong for you. You can be vulnerable with me. You can even be 'demanding.' I promise I'll always 'spoil' you, always make you feel loved."

He had encouraged me to express every emotion, to lean on him, to even "make a fuss" when I felt like it. And I had. I had learned to be soft, to be open, to trust completely. Now, that trust had been weaponized.

The tears finally came, hot and stinging, burning trails down my cheeks. He didn't love me anymore. The realization was a physical ache. I wanted to believe he was just lost, confused. I clung to the hope that I could still fight for him, for us.

I found Joy at the diner the next day. She was older, softer, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent. I offered her money, enough to disappear, to start fresh. She looked at the check, then at me, her lower lip trembling.

"I... I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "He needs me."

A hollow feeling spread in my chest. No relief, just a suffocating dread.

Later that week, my phone rang. It was the police. Joy had been in a car accident. And then, the next piece of information, a hammer blow to my already shattered soul: she was pregnant.