Betrayed by My Husband, Became His Greatest Nightmare

Juniper:

After four years of marriage, I found out that my husband wasn't allergic to touch as he claimed. He was just allergic to...me. For years, the elusive owner of Tristan Corps was revered by all, me inclusive. I always went through the blogs searching for the latest news about him. Then I saved his life by a stroke of fate with my unmatchable medical knowledge. He married me after that, giving me rules and more rules.

"We can only be a married couple by the name, Juniper. You're free to live your life as you wish. And in all you do, never touch me." He'd said. I was happy at the time. I was his wife, and that made all the difference. I could get him to fall in love with me. My father frowned upon the marriage; I should've listened to him. I should've known that no matter what I did, no matter how much I helped Tristan clinch international contracts and many awards, and hide my real identity, he'd never love me.

I looked at my hand as I laid on my hospital bed, a drip stand beside me, the fluid flowing through my veins. He let me fall. He watched me as I tumbled on the stairs when he had the chance to catch me.

"Tristan! Help!" I called out his name again. It was not a scream, but a command.

He didn't even flinch. "You know the rules, Juniper," he said, his voice fearfully calm. "I don't touch you. Don't use a fall to trick me into breaking those rules."

Then I let go of the railing. But yet, I didn't plead to him. As I tumbled, my last thought wasn't about the pain, but of the realization that I had spent four years saving a man who wouldn't even raise a finger to save me.

"You know I'm allergic to touch." He added, and watched as I fell. He didn't even help me up as the servants hurried over to take me to the hospital.

His phone rang, and his face softened as he picked up the call. He gave me a curt nod, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "I'll meet you at the hospital. There's somewhere I need to be."

"Tristan!" I called out in a last-minute effort, struggling to maintain consciousness. The fall was bad, and blood was seeping through a wound on my head. He didn't even flinch at the sight. "Tomorrow is my birthday," I said.

He nodded.

"Marble cake and roses will be delivered before six am as usual." He left in a hurry, as if the mere sight of me irritated him. Marble cake and roses. I didn't even like marble cake, and I had an allergy to roses. Yet, year after year, since we got married, he made sure it was dutifully delivered on my birthday.

I was rushed to the hospital, and the grim face on the doctor's face made my heart beat fast.