Analgesia Chapter 1

I have congenital analgesia, a condition that means I feel no physical pain. My family saw me as a pawn for an advantageous marriage, offering me to Sterling Cumming, a ruthless figure in the business world. Everyone placed bets, knowing I couldn't feel pain and he felt no pity. What kind of bleak end awaited this marriage?

Then, his secretary deliberately spilled hot tea on me, eager to watch me suffer. I merely said, “It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt.”

He immediately blacklisted the secretary from the entire industry. That night, he physically taught me, over and over again: “Darling, not feeling pain doesn’t mean you aren’t injured. Just like now. Even if you don’t utter a sound, you’ll still struggle to walk tomorrow, understood?”

* * *

I was diagnosed with congenital analgesia when I was a child. My father’s reaction wasn’t worry, but regret. “What a pity, such a good tool for an alliance, but it has a flaw.”

My stepmother, however, came up with a brilliant plan. She packaged my analgesia as a supreme virtue: “emotionally stable, always composed.” In family meetings, she’ vehemently pitched to everyone: “Think about it, what socialite’s wife can endure beatings and scolding without crying or making a scene, always maintaining the family’s dignity? This isn't a defect; this is a perfect wife tailor-made for a prominent family!”

And so, the Campbell family finally ascended to the esteemed Cumming family, a height they had always aspired to reach. Surprisingly, Sterling Cumming himself agreed.

On our wedding night, Sterling stood alone by the vast floor-to-ceiling window. He didn't turn to glance at me, leaving only a frigid remark. “From now on, we’ll each get what we need and not interfere with one another.” Having said that, he walked straight to his study. The door clicked shut, separating two worlds. I sat alone on the cold marital bed. There was no sense of loss, no feeling of injustice. I had long grown accustomed to being alone.

And so, Sterling and I began our lives as roommates, each in our separate rooms. He left early and returned late; I kept to myself. In the vast mansion, our encounters were rare. Our conversations were shorter than a weather report. Only occasionally, when we happened to cross paths, if he saw me walking barefoot on the floor, he would instinctively frown and ask the housekeeper to bring me slippers. He would watch me, ensuring I put them on before he left.

This fragile peace was utterly shattered the first time we returned to the Cumming family estate for a family dinner. Sterling’s relatives sat around, looking at me as if I were a rare animal in a zoo, their whispers sharp and cutting. “Look, that’s the one from the Campbell family. I hear she can’t feel pain.” “What does Sterling see in her? That she won’t cry even if she’s hurt?” “I heard she doesn’t even know when she’s bleeding from an injury. How unlucky to live with someone like that.”

These words, like a tide, washed over me, all falling into my ears. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to get up and go for a walk, an uninvited guest appeared. “Juliet, why are you sitting here all alone? Are you not used to it?”