The Husband I Became Chapter 2

I lowered my gaze, marveling at the effortless rhythm inside my chest. It had been years since I last took a breath that didn't feel like breathing through broken glass.

Beneath me, Damian remained curled on the rug, trapped inside my damaged frame. The physical agony was completely foreign to him; he had lived thirty-two years in an athletic, privileged body that had never failed him. Now, his lips were turning blue, and his voice came out in a shredded rasp.

"Nora... what did you do to me?"

I raised an eyebrow, letting his signature condescending smirk settle onto my new face. "Still talking back? It seems your acting skills have improved."

I turned toward the doorway, keeping my arm around Sadie. "Security. Drag this nuisance to the basement closet. No food, no water, until I say so."

Two private security guards entered immediately, hauling Damian up by the armpits.

He fought with everything he had, his fingernails digging deep grooves into the Persian rug, his wide, panicked eyes locked onto Sadie.

"Sadie! Look at me! Look at my eyes! I'm Damian!"

Sadie pinched her nose in disgust, waving a manicured hand. "Completely lost her mind. Get her out of here."

When they dragged him to the threshold, Damian grabbed the doorframe with both hands, the veins in his neck bulging with hysterical despair. He opened his mouth to scream the truth, but my ruined cardiovascular system couldn't handle the surge of adrenaline. Blood welled up from his throat, spilling past his lips. His entire body seized in a violent spasm, reducing his screams to wet, broken whimpers.

I looked coldly at the silver band locked around his left ankle.

Damian had personally fastened that electronic bracelet onto me two years ago. He told the press it was a luxury medical monitor to ensure his frail wife's safety, but in reality, it was a digital leash—a telemetry tracker that pinged his phone whenever my vitals spiked or dropped, keeping me under his absolute surveillance.

Right now, its red LED was flashing in frantic, staccato pulses, the emergency tone beeping like a death knell.

I gave a slight nod.

The guard kicked Damian's fingers off the trim, dragging his limp form down the dark stairs. The heavy metal door slammed shut, cutting off his muffled cries, though the frantic beep-beep-beep of the monitor still echoed faintly through the floorboards.

I stretched my long limbs, savoring the absolute power humming through this body, and walked over to the mahogany desk.

Resting on the leather blotter was the restructuring agreement Damian had forced me to sign—an predatory contract designed to swallow Lind Enterprises whole and erase my father’s life's work.

I picked up Damian's custom signet stamp, pressed it firmly into the rescission clause to void the transfer, and fed the original contract into the heavy-duty crosscut shredder.

That was only the beginning.

I unlocked his workstation using his biometric fingerprint and retinal scan. His clearance was total. Within minutes, I was inside Cole Group’s primary treasury system.

I pulled the audit logs for every suspicious wire transfer and offshore entity Damian had created over the last three years. Then, utilizing his executive authority, I initiated a series of rapid, multi-million-dollar capital transfers, draining Cole Group’s liquid reserves and routing the funds directly into Lind Enterprises’ secured operational accounts.

I backed up the original vouchers, system logs, and encrypted digital signatures onto an external drive.

One copy went directly to Lind Enterprises' corporate counsel.

Another was queued in an automated dispatch system, scheduled to hit the state prosecutor's financial crimes division.

When the transfers were complete, I walked down to the basement utility closet.

The room was damp, windowless, and freezing. I knew the limitations of my old body better than anyone; exposure to cold caused rapid vasoconstriction, bringing on waves of angina that felt like drowning in ice water.

Damian was slumped against the bare concrete wall, shivering violently, both hands pressed against his sternum.

I crouched down, leaning in until my lips brushed his ear.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Damian," I whispered softly. "Every ounce of pain you ever inflicted on me... I'm going to hand it back to you, piece by piece."

He lifted his head, his lips trembling, trying to form words. I didn't wait to hear whether it was a plea or a curse. It didn't matter anymore.

Sadie stepped into the doorway, her nose wrinkled in distaste, and casually kicked the power cord of the lone exhaust fan out of the wall socket.

"You always loved gasping for air, didn't you, Nora?" Sadie mocked. "Let's see how well you breathe without ventilation."

In the sealed, stagnant room, the oxygen began to thin out immediately. Damian’s complexion shifted from pale to an ashen, cyanotic gray, his pupils dilating in sheer panic.

He looked at me, frantically mouthing a single word.

Pills.

Ten minutes ago, he had held Sadie close, laughing as he ground those very pills into powder, telling me that fakers didn't deserve medicine.

I looked at him with empty eyes.

"Sadie, don't let her die just yet," I said smoothly. "We have guests arriving tonight."

I turned and walked away, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind me.