My Husband Imprisoned Me for His Dead Lover

dn't commit. When I was finally released, my husband, Courtlan

t as a prisoner. I was to serve as a living penance f

and the staff watched with contempt. I was a ghost in m

had supposedly killed wa

y was

r, and Courtland rushed to he

htening her,

es glittering with triumphant hatred. It was the sa

al plan. They would break me c

everything. In my first life, their cruel games le

dure their torture. I would play their game. And when they least ex

pte

abilitation center ground open.

e y

g against the unfamiliar brightness of the af

ved from indifference, handed her a

ained n

gestured toward a black sedan parked by the curb. The car

the plain gray dress they had given her, c

. Each step was deliberat

r opened fro

k at her. He stared straight ahead, his hands resting on his knees. He

uccess. A man the city respecte

e car. The leather was

ing herself against the door. The space bet

ay from the curb

voice quiet but carrying the weight o

use. You will not leave the g

ontact anyone f

do as you

the silence

emory deserv

r. Her stepsister. The woman Courtland had loved. The w

ld outside was a blur of green and gray. She felt nothing. T

Her own voice sounded fore

color of a winter sky, met hers. There was

," he said softly.

Grand, imposing, and cold. It had been her

mixture of curiosity and contempt. They looked at her like she

d at the top of the grand staircase. Her

nor announced, her voice dripping with d

gaze fixed on the floor. She could feel Ele

window overlooking a walled garden. On the bed, a simpl

our attire from now on," the maid

dded. She di

ndow. The garden below was beautiful, me

ed one cage

shment. It was a performance. A long, slow,

was the sacr

miliations. The psychological torment.

knew how

ittle brot

thought was a dead thin

ast five years. The only reason she was stand

d to s

she had t

only thing