Given to a Beggar: A Marriage's Darkest Secret

After eight years of marriage, my husband, who had intimacy issues, still wouldn't touch me during the day.

Only when I pushed him too far at night, he'd cover my eyes and let loose, fierce and wild.

I loved how cold and controlled he was in public, but wild and unrestrained behind closed doors.

Until the day I found out I was pregnant. I snuck into his office to surprise him, but overheard him talking to a friend.

"Dylan, if Claudia ever found out you've been saving yourself for Nora all these years, that you never touched her and had some beggar stand-in, she'd lose her mind."

Dylan Larson replied calmly, "Nora only has three months left. I promised her. I can't break that. Once these three months are over, Claudia and I will be together for real. I'll make it up to her. As for the truth..."

He smiled confidently and said, "Claudia's so crazy about me, even if she knew, she'd never leave. Getting the real me? She'd probably beg for it."

My hand, ready to push the door open, froze. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest.

How dare Dylan think I'd keep loving him after he played me for a fool?

I decisively made a phone call.

"Dad, I want to divorce Dylan and make sure he pays dearly!"

...

My dad's bodyguards acted swiftly.

Within half an hour, I was escorted into Dylan's office.

The door swung open.

Dylan's face darkened when he saw the bodyguards behind me.

I walked straight up to him and threw the prepared divorce papers in his face.

Without even glancing at them, Dylan spoke with his usual arrogance, "What's this tantrum about this time? Because I didn't answer your call?"

It had always been like this for eight years.

He was always in control, always dismissing my feelings as me being difficult.

Eight years ago, after that car crash where I saved him, my right leg was shattered. My career as the nation's premier ballerina ended overnight.

He married me, saying it was out of gratitude.

He also talked me out of an experimental treatment abroad with a high success rate.

He'd said, "Claudia, I don't want you to suffer anymore. Stay with me. I'll take care of you forever."

I believed him.

I gave up my only chance to ever dance again, content to be his caged songbird.

After the injury, I became sensitive and insecure.

Countless nights, I broke down because he stayed out late.

I grew hysterical over his physical distance from me.

Every fight ended with me crying and apologizing.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. Please don't get sick of me. You're all I have..."

He would only look at me coldly, finally embracing me out of pity, saying, "Sleep now."

But this time was different.

After hearing his words, the love that had burned for eight years turned to cold, dead ashes in my chest.

When I stayed silent for too long, Dylan lost patience. He reached for my hand.

I jerked back, avoiding his touch.

Then I raised my hand and smashed the so-called promise bracelet he gave me on the floor.

The green jade shattered into pieces, just like our pathetic marriage.

"Dylan, I heard everything."

His face finally changed, but he didn't apologize.

He just stared at me in shock, even with the anger of being betrayed.

"You're going to discard our eight years over this trivial matter? What have I sacrificed for you? I gave up the chance to be with Nora openly! I've been stuck with you, a cripple, for eight years. Isn't that enough?"

The name Nora Barton was like a poisoned needle straight to my heart.

I remember that after the car accident, I was lying in the hospital bed, and he vigilantly stayed by my side.

I was deeply moved then.

But now I realized, all those times he made excuses to leave my room late at night.

Back then, I thought he was busy with work.

Now I understand he was going to another patient's room. The one he actually cared.

And those nights when he'd blindfold me, when some stranger with sweat and cigarette breath would take me roughly.

Each time, it was like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I thought it was a psychological issue from my injury. I saw doctor after doctor.

Dylan would only coldly blame me. "Claudia, can't you just cooperate a little?"

Now I understand.

It wasn't an illness.

It was eight years of rape, silently approved by my own husband.

I laughed so hard my shoulders shook, tears streaming down my face.

Dylan was unnerved by my laughter, frowning as he shouted, "Are you crazy?"

I looked up, my eyes filled with hatred.

Dylan was completely angered by my gaze, and he suddenly raised his hand.

I instinctively shielded my stomach with my both hands.

Dylan stared at me, his anger shifting into sudden understanding.

"You're pregnant?"

Then, his eyes lit up with a hopeful gleam.

It had nothing to do with becoming a father.

His next words sent me plunging into an icy hell.

"Claudia, Nora needs a stem cell transplant from umbilical cord blood. As long as you have the baby and donate the cord blood to her, I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

"Donate the cord blood."

Those words sliced through me, sharp as a blade, piercing straight into my heart.

Was my unborn child really meant to be nothing more than medicine for his beloved woman?

Blood rushed to my head, and my whole body trembled.

Dylan tried to touch my shoulder, but I turned away in disgust.

His face darkened, his tone turning to ice. "Claudia, don't be ungrateful. If you agree, I won't divorce you. Once the child is born, I'll give him the best life. This is the greatest favor I can offer you. After all, we have been married for eight years."

Favor?

I laughed bitterly.

I grabbed a nearby porcelain figurine and hurled it at his forehead with all my strength.

"Bang!"

Blood flowed down from his temple.

I stared at him fiercely and demanded, "What makes you think you can sacrifice my own child for you and that woman? Why would you use my child as a stepping stone for your love?"

Dylan wiped the blood from his forehead, his eyes dark and terrifying.

"Why?"

He smiled, his expression full of contempt. "Because you're a cripple now!"

His cold words, like a blunt knife, cut repeatedly into my already scarred wound.

"Claudia, take a good look at yourself. Without me, what could you do? A dancer with a broken leg? Without me, you and this child of unknown origin couldn't even survive."

He leaned close to my ear, his tone mocking. "Don't forget, the one in your belly is the child of a beggar. Do you think the Wallace family would accept a grandchild fathered by a beggar? So, giving the umbilical cord blood to Nora is your only chance to show your value."

I looked at the face I had loved for eight years, and my stomach turned.

Dylan was still justifying his shameless actions.

"This isn't about sacrifice. It's about saving a life. "Claudia, Nora is innocent. If you refuse to donate out of pure selfishness, it will be no different from killing her with your own hands. This sin will follow you for the rest of your life. You and your child will live in guilt forever."

I stared back coldly.

What a noble love.

This so-called redemption was built on the sacrifice of my child.

This deep affection trampled on my broken bones and ruined my life.

I had imagined countless times, once my legs were healed, I would have a lovely child with Dylan.

I would teach him to dance and tell him that his mother was once the brightest star on the stage.

But that simple dream was first stripped away by Dylan's lies.

Now, he was trying to twist it into a tool to save another woman.

My heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, so painful that I could hardly breathe.

I mustered all my strength to push him away.

"Dylan."

I wiped my tears, looking at his pitiful appearance, my voice cold. "I will get a divorce. The child is mine, and no one else will touch him. As for you... This eight years of deception and humiliation, I will make you pay dearly."

After saying that, I didn't look back at his shocked face, and walked away.

The bodyguards immediately followed, shielding me from anyone who tried to stop me.

Behind me was Dylan's furious roar and a scene of chaos.

But I didn't look back.

There were no tears.

No hysterics.

Just a dead, chilling calm inside me, with a single flame of revenge flickering to life.

In the car, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

On the other end was Elora Wade, my father's most capable lead investigative journalist.

A woman known in certain circles for being able to "dig up secrets from the dead".

"Elora. It's me, Claudia," I said, my voice unnervingly steady. I want everything on Dylan's stand-in. His background, his family, every single transaction record between him and Dylan. The more detailed, the better."

Elora paused for a few seconds. "Miss, what do you mean by look-alike stand-in?"

I forced a smirk, my tone flat. "Dylan is a narcissistic control freak. He would never tolerate a sloppy imitation. To make sure that beggar could play his part perfectly, Dylan wrote a manual himself. Dozens of pages long.

It detailed everything. Even the private, intimate details of how he thought I should be handled.

The digital copy is in my cloud drive."

Elora's voice took on a new gravity. "Understood, Miss. You'll have everything you need within three days."

I interrupted her. "No, I need you to do one more thing. Inform my father that it's time to act. Start with the smaller stuff. The tax evasion at his company. The intern exploitation scandals. I want him to watch, helpless, as the empire he's so proud of is slowly eaten away from the inside, like termites gnawing at the foundations."

By the time I finished, the car had arrived at the villa, where I'd shared with Dylan.

I didn't return to the bedroom filled with humiliating memories.

Instead, I walked straight to the very back of the house, to a room that had been sealed shut for eight full years.

It was my dance studio.

Eight years had passed since I last set foot in here.

Inside, all the mirrors were covered with thick white cloths.

I walked over and gestured for the cloths to be pulled away, one by one.

The mirrors reflected a stranger.

Her face was pale, her figure frail.

I leaned against the cold bar, slowly lifting my right leg.

At the ankle, there was a grotesque scar, ugly and painful.

I had once felt inferior because of this scar, a constant reminder that I was a cripple.

A cripple that could never stand on stage again.

But now, looking at the wounded version of myself in the mirror, I felt an unprecedented sense of calm.

Dylan destroyed my dance career and my dreams.

But he probably never imagined that he also built for me a larger stage with his own hands.

A stage centered around revenge, with the entire Larson family as its backdrop.

And now, the show was about to begin.