After My Wronged Wife Became a Prisoner

Pain greeted me before consciousness fully returned. A dull, throbbing agony that radiated from my abdomen and spread through my entire body. I tried to move, but my limbs felt weighted down by invisible chains.

My eyes fluttered open to harsh fluorescent lights that stabbed into my skull. White walls. Metal bars. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant mixed with something metallic—blood. My blood.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through my lower body, forcing a gasp from my cracked lips. My hands instinctively moved to my stomach, searching for the gentle swell that had been there just... how long ago?

"Where..." My voice emerged as a raspy whisper. "Where's my baby?"

A guard appeared at the bars of my cell. His face was impassive, eyes cold as winter frost. He wore the uniform of Rohan's elite military police.

"Prisoner Martin," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're awake."

"What happened to me?" I demanded, my fingers still searching my flat stomach. The bandages wrapped around my torso told a story I couldn't bear to comprehend. "Where's my child?"

The guard's expression didn't change. "You've been charged with treason, espionage, and conspiracy against the state."

The words hit me like physical blows. "That's impossible. I'm General Stone's wife. I'm—"

"You're a traitor," he cut me off. "The evidence is quite clear."

"Evidence?" I struggled to my knees, ignoring the stabbing pain. "I need to see Rohan. Now!"

The guard stepped back, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. "General Stone doesn't take requests from prisoners."

"Tell him Alaia needs him!" My voice rose, desperation clawing at my throat. "Please! I don't understand what's happening!"

No response came. Just the echo of my own voice bouncing off cold walls.

"ROHAN!" I screamed, my voice breaking. "ROHAN!"

Silence answered me.

---

Three days passed in a haze of pain and confusion. Three days of begging for answers, three days of being treated like a common criminal.

Then he came.

Rohan's military boots clicked against the concrete floor, the sound echoing through the corridor long before he appeared. His uniform was immaculate as always, not a wrinkle or speck of dust marring its perfection. But it was his face that stopped my heart—cold, carved from ice, with eyes that looked through me rather than at me.

"Rohan," I whispered, stumbling to my feet despite the pain. "What's happening? Why am I here?"

He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. With mechanical precision, he slid it through the bars.

"Divorce papers," he said, his voice clipped and formal. "You'll sign them."

"Divorce?" The word felt foreign on my tongue. "Rohan, we're having a baby—"

"We were," he corrected, his gaze flickering briefly to my bandaged abdomen before returning to my face. "Before you betrayed not just me, but our entire nation."

"I would never—"

"The evidence is quite clear, Alaia." He pulled out photographs and documents, laying them on the small