Chapter 3

**Stella’s POV**

The event tonight was the annual LA Charity Gala.

Usually, Ethan never brought me to these things. He said the crowds were too messy, the air too dirty, and it would stress me out.

But today, he had a designer gown sent to my room, insisting I go.

I knew why.

That afternoon, paparazzi had leaked photos of him and Chloe in the desert. Even though the faces were blurry, it had caused a massive stir in high society.

He needed me there to save his "devoted husband" brand.

I was his best PR tool.

When the limo pulled up to the red carpet, flashbulbs blinded us.

Ethan got out first, walked to my side, and carefully lifted me into my custom, handcrafted wheelchair.

He knelt in front of the cameras, adjusted my dress, and gently kissed my forehead.

"Don’t worry, I’m right here," he whispered, his voice dripping with sweetness.

The crowd gasped in admiration.

"Ethan Vance is so devoted to his wife."

"The rumors about him cheating are ridiculous. Everyone knows his wife took a bullet for him."

Listening to the whispers, Ethan stood taller, pushing me like a proud king showing off his most prized trophy.

Halfway through the gala, Ethan was pulled away by some tech billionaires to talk business.

He looked back at me three times, lecturing the bodyguards a dozen times before finally leaving.

I told the guards I needed to use the restroom and had them wait outside.

The moment I rolled into the private restroom, I heard a voice on the phone from one of the stalls.

"Oh, please, don’t worry about her. He only brought that cripple to show off for the media. Did you see how he kept squeezing my hand under the table?"

It was Chloe.

She was here as "staff," wearing a plain black suit, but her arrogance couldn't be hidden.

"What does that woman have besides a guilt trip? She’s like a piece of dry wood—touch her and she breaks. Ethan is sick of her. He told me that only when he’s with me does he feel alive."

"Next month we’re going to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. He’s already booked the private jet. As for that cripple? Let her rot in that big mansion."

Chloe laughed triumphantly.

I stood by the sink, turned on the faucet, and let the cold water run over my fingers.

So, in his eyes, I was just a lifeless piece of dry wood.

I grabbed a paper towel, dried my hands, and ignored the stall completely as I rolled back out.

As I turned the corner of the hallway, a waiter carrying a tray of red wine slipped.

He fell right toward me.

I tried to dodge, but my right leg wouldn't move. The entire glass of red wine splashed onto my white designer gown.

"I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, ma'am! It was an accident!" The waiter turned pale, dropping to his knees, desperately trying to wipe my dress with his sleeve.

Before I could speak, a dark shadow rushed over.

*BOOM!*

Ethan kicked the waiter square in the chest. The man flew back, crashing into the wall with a painful cry, blood instantly leaking from his mouth.

"Do you want to die?!" Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a rabid beast, grabbing the waiter’s collar and raising his fist to beat him to death.

"Ethan! Stop!" I barked.

Ethan’s fist froze in the air. He turned to me, his chest heaving, his face twisted with pure violence.

"He ruined your dress! He almost hurt you!" Ethan spat, as if the waiter had committed a mortal sin.

"I’m fine. It’s just wine," I said coldly. "Let him go."

Ethan glared at the waiter for a few seconds before throwing him to the floor.

He took off his suit jacket, wrapped it tightly around me, and lifted me in his arms.

"We’re going home." His voice was still shaking, his grip painfully tight.

Under the shocked and terrified stares of the guests, Ethan carried me out of the hall.

In the back of the limo, Ethan held me like a frightened child, kissing my cheek repeatedly.

"Stella, no one gets to hurt you. Anyone who touches you dies."

His obsessive whispers made my skin crawl.

Looking at the city lights rushing past, I felt a deep sense of irony.

He could beat a man to death in public over a wine stain on my dress, but in private, he let another woman mock me as a useless cripple.

His protectiveness was just a shield to cover his guilt.

Back at the estate, Ethan personally drew a bath, carefully washing my body as if I were fragile porcelain.

Once I was tucked into bed with my eyes closed, he crept out to his study.

I opened my eyes, pulled the burner phone from under my pillow, and checked the time.

Twelve hours until my team arrived.

***