My Husband Destroyed My Hands To Please His Mistress

One month before the factory selection, I was kidnapped and had my hands broken, leaving me unable to ever operate machinery again. When my husband, Kairo Hamilton, saw me, he cried out in anguish, but despite his calls to the police, the culprit was never found. My despair drove me to attempt to end my life on several occasions, prompting Kairo to bring his sister Jacqueline to live with us and care for me.

Late at night, the pain grew unbearable, and I awoke from a nightmare to hear Jacqueline whispering outside my bedroom door.

"Brother, Clementine is such a good person. Why did you have to personally destroy her hands and delay her rescue?"

Kairo replied calmly, "I had no choice. Journey wants that position at the large national factory, but there's only one slot. Clementine’s skills are too good, leaving no chance for Journey. I had to crush her hopes this way."

"But Clementine once saved you. How could you repay her kindness by helping Journey?"

"Clementine adores you so much. If she knew the truth, it would break her heart."

Kairo was silent for a moment before continuing, "Clementine only has me left as family. Even if she finds out, if I plead enough, won't she forgive me? Besides, Journey is sensitive and cries easily, unlike Clementine, who’s tougher. Isn’t it natural for me to favor Journey a bit more?"

Lying in bed, my face went pale. It turned out my misfortunes were orchestrated by him because my capable hands blocked Journey Stone's path. If his supposed love was so corrupt, then I want none of it.

"Now that you're married to Clementine, can't you just settle down and be with her?" Jacqueline's voice was quiet, tinged with frustration.

Kairo dismissively replied, "Sis, relax. This is the last thing, and I'll treat Clementine well from now on."

"Besides, she's fine now, isn't she? It's just a missing finger, not an arm or a leg," he added casually.

I glanced at my severed pinky and gave a bitter smile. Fine? How lightly he spoke. The attacker had hammered my hands over and over, the pain relentless. I begged for mercy, but he cut off my pinky at the peak of my agony, the sharp pain nearly making me faint. My screams echoed for over two hours before he finally left, satisfied.

I once thought that was my worst nightmare, never dreaming that the person so brutally harming me was my husband of five years.

When Kairo entered, I was sitting on the bed, tears silently falling. He feigned concern, asking, "What's wrong, Clementine? Does your wound hurt again?" He reached for an ointment from the nightstand, ready to apply it to my hand—a routine he performed daily.

What once moved me about his gentle care now only filled me with icy dread. How could he be so heartless, then pretend such sorrow afterward?

"Blowing on it will make it better," he said softly, blowing on my wound. "Seeing