Rejection's Fury: A Wife's Return

I stood in front of City Hall, clutching a marriage license application, waiting for the man I' d loved for five years. He was late. Again.

This was the 99th time Damien Crawford had chosen someone else over me. But this time, a picture on my phone showed him smiling with his high school sweetheart, Hadley Stuart, the woman he' d never gotten over.

When I returned to his mansion, Hadley was curled up next to him, his mother beaming. His mother, Cecil, gave Hadley a family heirloom bracelet, dismissing me as a servant. Damien, instead of apologizing, grabbed my arm, accusing me of a tantrum. He still thought he was in control.

I showed him the torn marriage license, telling him I wanted nothing from him anymore. He responded by dragging me to my room, pushing me against the wall, and trying to kiss me. I told him he was dirty.

Then, my father collapsed. Damien, seeing the jacket a male security guard had given me, refused to let me take my dying father to the hospital, claiming Hadley was having a panic attack. His mother, Cecil, slashed the car tires and threw the keys into a fountain, laughing as my father stopped breathing.

My father died. At the hospital, Damien jabbed an acupuncture needle into my hand, telling me it was what happened when I disobeyed him. He still didn't know the scar on my back was from the skin graft I gave him.

Why did I sacrifice everything for a man who saw me as property, who let my father die? Why did I stay for five years, only to be treated like dirt?

I called Anderson, my adoptive brother, the CEO of the Morrison Group. It was time to go home. It was time for Damien Crawford to pay.

Chapter 1

"I'm going home, Anderson."

Aliana Rodriguez's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but the decision felt like a bomb going off inside her.

She stood in front of the City Hall, the grand stone building a cold witness to her humiliation. She was wearing a simple white dress, something she' d saved for, something she thought was special. It looked cheap and out of place against the backdrop of imposing columns and the hum of city life. She clutched the marriage license application in her hand, the paper already crinkling from the sweat on her palms.

He was late. Again.

This was the 99th time. For five years, she had been waiting. Ninety-nine times she had stood here, or at a restaurant, or at some event he promised he' d attend with her, and ninety-nine times, Damien Crawford had chosen someone else over her.

"He' s not coming, is he?" Anderson' s voice crackled through the phone, low and dangerous.

Aliana didn' t answer. She just stared at the entrance, a flicker of hope dying a slow, painful death.

She had been standing for hours, and the cheap heels she wore were digging into her skin. A sharp pain shot up her leg, a familiar ache from an old injury. She shifted her weight, leaning against a cold stone wall for support, the rough surface scratching her bare arm.

"Aliana, that bastard isn't worth it," Anderson said, his voice tight with fury. "He' s been using you for five years. Come home. The Morrison family can give you anything. You don' t need to be some rich kid' s servant."

The word 'servant' stung, but it was true. She was the daughter of the Crawford family' s head of security, but for five years, she had been Damien' s personal caregiver, his nurse, his everything.

And his doormat.

With a sudden, final movement, Aliana looked down at the marriage license in her hand. Her own name, Aliana Rodriguez, was written neatly on one line. The other was blank. She ripped the paper in half, then again, and again, until the pieces were too small to tear. She let them fall from her hand, a shower of white confetti that danced in the wind before settling on the dirty pavement.

"I' ll come back," she said, her voice finally steady. "But you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"My father... he' s worked for the Crawfords his whole life. I need to bring him with me. He needs to retire and be taken care of properly."

"Of course," Anderson said without hesitation. "I' ll arrange for the best doctors for him. I' ll send a car right now."

As she ended the call, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from a friend, a picture. She opened it.

There was Damien, smiling. He was at a fancy restaurant, and sitting across from him was Hadley Stuart, his high school sweetheart, the woman he' d never gotten over. He was feeding her a piece of cake, his eyes full of the affection Aliana had craved for five years.

Aliana stared at the picture, but she felt nothing. No tears, no anger. Just a vast, cold emptiness. It was over.

It had all started five years ago.

Damien Crawford, the golden boy, the star athlete from a real estate empire, crashed his sports car. The accident was horrific. He was pulled from the wreckage, his body mangled, his legs paralyzed.

Aliana was there. She was just a student then, on her way home, but she didn't hesitate. She ran towards the flames, ignoring the danger.

She pulled him out of the car just moments before it exploded. The force of the blast threw her against the pavement, shredding the skin on her back.

But that was only the beginning of her sacrifice. In the hospital, Damien' s body was failing. He needed a bone marrow transplant, a risky procedure, and no one in his family was a match.

Aliana got tested. She was a perfect match.

The procedure was excruciating. They took marrow from her hip bone, a secret, painful donation she never told him about. She endured it, believing it would save the man she loved.

When Damien woke up, the first name he called was not hers. It was Hadley' s. He screamed for Hadley, who had left for Europe the moment she heard he was paralyzed.

His recovery was a nightmare. The paralysis shattered his pride, turning him bitter and cruel. He was a monster, trapped in a broken body.

He threw things. He screamed curses. He tried to tear the IVs from his arms. He wanted to die.

Aliana, still weak from her own procedure, tried to stop him. She would hold his hand, her own body aching, and try to calm his rages.

"Get away from me!" he would snarl, pushing her away. "You're just a servant's daughter! What do you know about my pain?"

His words hurt, but she stayed. She stayed because she remembered the boy he used to be, the one who would smile at her when she was just a kid hanging around the estate. The one who once gave her a piece of candy and told her she had a nice smile.

She had loved him since she was a little girl. A secret, hopeless crush on the rich boy her father worked for.

One day, during his darkest moment, when he held a shard of glass to his own throat, she confessed.

"Damien, I love you," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't do this. I'll stay with you. No matter what. I will never leave you."

She spent every waking moment with him. She fed him, bathed him, read to him. She became his hands and his feet. She was his shadow.

She even became a messenger for his one-sided love. She would write letters to Hadley for him, pouring his heartbreak onto the page, and then dutifully mail them, knowing each one was a piece of her own heart being sent away.

His mother, Cecil Porter, watched her with suspicion. "What are you after, girl?" she'd ask, her eyes cold. "You think because you're taking care of him, you'll get a piece of the Crawford fortune?"

"I don't want anything," Aliana would reply quietly. "I just love him."

Eventually, Damien started to rely on her. He grew accustomed to her presence. One day, he proposed.

"Marry me, Aliana," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Hadley won't come back to a cripple. But if she sees I'm married, maybe she'll feel jealous. Maybe she'll come back."

Her heart broke, but she said yes.

For him, she gave up everything. An acceptance letter arrived from MIT, a full scholarship for a Ph.D. in computer science. It was her dream. She looked at the letter, then at Damien in his wheelchair, and she hid it in a drawer, never to be seen again.

Her real family, the Morrisons, the tech billionaires who had lost her as a child and found her again just before the accident, begged her to come home.

"He's not worth it, Aliana," Anderson had pleaded. "Come home. You're our princess."

But she refused. She chose Damien.

She dedicated herself to his physical therapy. She learned specialized massage techniques, studying for hours every night. She pushed and pulled his unresponsive limbs, her own body straining, her hands becoming rough and calloused. She endured his foul moods, his insults, his rages.

Then, a miracle. After five years, feeling was returning to his legs. It was slow, but it was happening. The day he took his first unassisted step was the same day a letter arrived from Hadley. She was coming home.

Aliana had baked his favorite cake that day, a small celebration of his progress. She went to his room, her heart full of hope, only to find Hadley already there, wrapped in his arms.

"It was you, Hadley," Damien was saying, his voice thick with emotion. "Thinking of you coming back... that's what made me walk again."

Aliana stood in the doorway, holding the cake, feeling like a clown in a cheap dress at someone else's party. He hadn't even noticed her. He hadn't acknowledged the five years of her life she had poured into his recovery. It was all for Hadley.

The marriage license appointments started after that. He had promised to marry her, and he would keep his word, he said. But every time, Hadley would have a "crisis." A headache. A broken nail. A bad dream. And every time, Damien would rush to her side, leaving Aliana waiting.

Ninety-eight times.

She told herself it would be different. She told herself that once they were married, he would see her. He would finally see her.

But today, standing outside City Hall for the 99th time, looking at a picture of him with another woman, a single, clear thought cut through the fog of her love.

The heels she was wearing were a gift from him. He had tossed the box at her last week. "Wear these to the next appointment," he'd said. "Try to look decent."

They were a size too small. They pinched her feet, a constant, nagging pain.

And now she understood. In his eyes, she was never meant to fit. She was just something to be used and discarded.

She wouldn't wait for the 100th time.

There would be no 100th time.

The decision was made. She was leaving. She was going home.