She Shattered My Legs For Him Chapter 2

The shock of the freezing water hitting my skin was violently abrupt.

It felt like a thousand needles driving into my flesh all at once. The initial piercing cold gave way to a deep, burning agony. I couldn't even scream; I could only grind my teeth together, letting the sensory overload tear my fading sanity into shreds.

Victoria stood on the edge of the patio, her gaze detached as she watched my lips turn a bruised, sickly purple. Tristan pressed himself against her side, his face glowing with sheer, sadistic pleasure.

Victoria gestured to the staff. "Bring another bucket."

"Victoria, I think he's actually dying," Tristan murmured, coating his voice in a thick layer of mock concern. "Should we call a doctor?"

"No," Victoria replied flatly. "He won't die that easily. He's a cockroach. He probably likes the attention."

I turned my head, my whole body convulsing with shivers, and forced out a gravelly whisper.

"Victoria... what did I ever do to deserve this? From the day I married you... haven't I given you enough?"

She brushed off the question like a nuisance. "Do you honestly think playing the devoted husband cancels out the years of hell Tristan endured because of you, Nigel?"

I managed to lift my head, desperately wanting to scream that I had nothing to do with Tristan's exile. But the absolute void of empathy in her eyes killed the words in my throat.

Suddenly, Tristan’s eyes lit up. "Oh, in the show, the general was forced to drink urine, too. I want to see that."

Anger burned through my shivering frame. "No!"

But Victoria merely offered a cynical smirk and waved a hand at the bodyguards.

My pupils dilated in pure horror as the men stepped forward, unzipping their pants. The warm, metallic, putrid stench rained down over me. One of the men pried my jaw open, forcing the foul liquid down my throat. I thrashed wildly, but the catastrophic pain in my legs kept me paralyzed on the concrete.

I collapsed onto my stomach, dry-heaving violently. My stomach, already hollow and burning from starvation, cramped so hard it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I retched again, and suddenly, a dark spray of blood spewed from my mouth onto the patio stones.

Victoria’s eyes locked onto the blood. Her pupils contracted, and her foot twitched forward, an involuntary instinct to help.

But Tristan casually leaned against her shoulder. "You know, when Nigel’s thugs beat me, I threw up blood for days. No one called a doctor for me, either."

He's lying! I had never hired anyone to touch him. But Victoria swallowed the lie whole. The brief flash of humanity vanished, replaced by a freezing glare.

"He made a mess again," she said. "Keep the ice water coming."

I genuinely wanted to ask her: what had our three years together actually meant? I had sacrificed everything for her, stripped myself of my own identity to be her anchor, and this was my reward.

The ice water hit me again, flooding my nose and throat. The cold shocked my nervous system, but it was nothing compared to the absolute devastation in my chest.

I glared at her through bloodshot eyes, my gaze burning with a hatred so profound it felt holy.

"Victoria... I want a divorce."

The sheer force of my rage sent my heart into overdrive, and my vision immediately tunneled into black. I passed out.

When I finally regained consciousness, someone was splashing lukewarm water on my face.

I was lying in the dark, suffocating dampness of the estate's basement storage room. My clothes were still soaked, and a fresh pool of blood had formed beneath me. I couldn't feel my legs at all anymore. I forced myself to look down; the flesh around my knees was turning a terrifying shade of necrotic black. The faint, sweet smell of decay lingered in the stagnant air.

Tristan was standing over me, looking down like a king surveying a slaughtered peasant.

I hadn't eaten in four days. My body was so depleted I couldn't even lift my hand. My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass, and every breath was a localized earthquake in my ribs.

"Look at you. So pathetic," he sneered, using the toe of his Prada loafer to tilt my chin up. "If you get on your knees and beg me, maybe I'll let you live."

I let out a weak, rattling cough. My skin was radiating an unnatural heat—the infection had set in. But I locked my jaw. My entire body was vibrating with fever, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of my submission.

I looked him dead in the eye, my lips pulling back into a blood-stained grin. "You really are the man Victoria deserves. You're both absolutely vile."

His face contorted in rage. He grabbed a fistful of my wet hair, yanking my head back.

"You think you're so tough. You think she's going to suddenly feel sorry for you? She won't!" he hissed. "You're just a toy. Whatever I want to do to you, she’ll let me. You brought this on yourself for getting in my way."

"What way?"

The sudden female voice from the doorway made Tristan freeze.

Victoria was standing at the entrance to the storage room, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Tristan panicked for a split second before seamlessly slipping back into his victim persona. His eyes welled with tears. "I just came down to check on Nigel, but he started calling me a cheap whore..."

Victoria’s confusion melted into fierce protectiveness. She pulled Tristan into her arms, then stepped forward, driving her heel directly into my ribs.

"Don't listen to him," she cooed to Tristan. "You are my entire world. If he's going to be this stubborn, clearly the punishment wasn't enough."

The kick forced another mouthful of blood up my throat. My stomach spasmed violently.

But they weren't done with me.