Walking Away From My Billionaire Husband

Everyone in New York's elite circle knew that the wife of the billionaire CEO of Carter Enterprises was wheelchair-bound, missing both her legs. But anyone who dared to gossip behind my back was instantly crushed and ruined by Ethan Carter. Five years ago, to save Ethan from a speeding truck, I lost both my legs in a horrific car crash. Instead of leaving me, Ethan proposed to me at my bedside, promising he would cherish and take care of me for the rest of his life. And he did. For years, he applied my medicine and massaged my numb limbs every single day, keeping my spirits up with endless patience. He canceled all business dinners, making sure to be home before eight every night just to be with me. He would FaceTime me twelve times a day just to give me peace of mind. Countless beautiful young girls tried to throw themselves at him, but he rejected and banished every single one. Everyone said Ethan loved his disabled wife to the point of absolute madness. But everything changed when his new personal assistant arrived. Suddenly, his phone was constantly turned off. He started staying out all night. Even Maria, our housekeeper, started whispering that Ethan had a secret love nest outside and that I had lost my crown. I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe Ethan would betray me like this. Until the new assistant sent me a photo of them in bed together. Only then did I realize I had given my life to the wrong man. Staring at my phone—with Ethan’s line still busy—I sent him a single text: "It’s over. Let’s go our separate ways. Come back and sign the divorce papers." And that was when Ethan finally panicked. *** This was the fifty-eighth call. All I got was the same cold, automated voice: "The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable." I hung up, my face completely blank. My finger hovered over the screen for three seconds before I opened Snapchat and typed out a short message. "It’s over. Let’s go our separate ways. Come back and sign the divorce papers." I tapped send. I tossed the phone onto the sofa, spun my wheelchair around, and began packing. This penthouse was too big, too empty. Even after five years, I still couldn't call it home. Without legs, I moved very slowly. I opened the walk-in closet. Half of it was mine, and half was Ethan’s. I only took what belonged to me. A cream-colored trench coat—the one I was wearing the day I first met him. A moonstone necklace—the one he placed around my neck with trembling hands when he proposed. I packed them into my suitcase one by one. Out of nowhere, tears began to fall, splashing onto the fabric and leaving dark, damp circles. I thought I had run out of tears days ago. Every single object in this house was branded with memories of Ethan. But I didn't want to take any of them with me. I didn't want to leave them here, either. I opened the storage room and began packing the things he had forbidden the maids to touch. The custom mahogany wheelchair tray he had sanded down with his own hands. The edges were still slightly rough; he had said it would keep my books from slipping. I had sat in my chair and read a hundred books on that tray. The Scottish cashmere throw blanket—my absolute favorite during the cold winters. He said my body ran cold, so he had imported it specially for me. He had said, "Chloe, wrapping yourself in this is like having my arms around you." And then there was the giant, six-foot wedding portrait hanging on the bedroom wall. In the photo, he was holding me in his arms, laughing like a happy fool. He had said, "Chloe, you are my actual life." I stared at the man in the photo. His eyes were so tender they could melt glaciers. Yet, this was the exact same man who could turn around and wrap those same arms around another woman. I packed, boxed, and sealed everything. On each box, I slapped a label. It read: *TRASH. TO BE DESTROYED.* Since I was leaving, I wanted a clean slate. No memories allowed. By the time I taped up the last box, I was drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted. I picked up my phone and called a moving company. "Hi, I need to schedule a move." "I have a lot of heavy boxes. I'll need a large truck." "The address is..." The voice on the other end sounded hesitant. "Ma'am, are you sure you want to do this now? It's past midnight." I looked out the window at the heavy, pitch-black night and smiled faintly. "Yes. Right now." I didn't want to spend another second in this house. Ethan hadn’t come home in seven days. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. I opened my phone and looked at the photo sent from an anonymous number once again. Ethan was lying in bed, shirtless, fast asleep. His handsome features looked incredibly soft in the dim light. His arm was wrapped tightly around a young, naked girl sleeping next to him. I knew that girl. She was his new assistant, Hailey Miller. She had only been with the company for three months. She was even flashing a mocking peace sign at the camera. Looking at the photo, my tears spilled over again. Five years ago, when that truck came hurtling toward us, I had used every ounce of my strength to push Ethan out of the way. When I woke up, the air was thick with the smell of hospital bleach. My legs were gone. Ethan held my hand, crying like a broken child. "Chloe, don't be scared. I'll marry you." "Chloe, I'll be your legs for the rest of your life." Later, everyone in New York said Ethan Carter had gone crazy. He rejected the high-society heiress his family had chosen for him, insisting on marrying a disabled girl. He learned to cook for me, massaged my swollen muscles, and researched the latest bionic technology. He kept all other women at a distance, giving me his entire heart. Everyone thought Ethan’s love for me was an unbreakable, beautiful madness. But in reality, I was the crazy one. I actually believed a man's vow. I believed it for five long years. My phone vibrated, lighting up the dark room. It was a text from Ethan. "Chloe, what is this supposed to mean?" "Stop throwing tantrums." ****Tantrums?* I looked at those words and suddenly burst into a quiet, hollow laugh. Even now, he thought I was just acting out for attention. I didn't reply. I held down the power button and let the screen go completely dark. Just then, the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived. I had already sent Maria home. Now, this massive penthouse belonged only to me and the silence. "Ma'am, are these the boxes?" the young lead mover, Leo, asked politely. I nodded. He quickly instructed his men to carry out the boxes labeled *TRASH*. They worked fast and efficiently. I rolled my wheelchair to the door, taking one final look at the place I had called home for five years. Then, I took the signed divorce papers out of my purse. I placed them right on the console table by the entryway. It was the first thing he would see when he walked through the door. "Let’s go," I told Leo. I didn't look back. The moment the truck door slammed shut, I shut out Ethan and the last five years of my life. As the truck merged onto the highway, I handed Leo a credit card. "There's enough money on this to cover your long-distance trip, plus enough for you to buy a brand-new truck." He gasped, staring at the card. "Ma'am... what is this for?" "I have two favors to ask," I said, my voice incredibly calm. "First, take all those boxes labeled 'Trash' to the local incinerator. Burn them until there's nothing left but ash." "Second, drive me to Savannah." It was a warm, quiet coastal town in Georgia, nearly a thousand miles away. A place I had never visited. I couldn't take a train, and I couldn't board a plane. With Ethan’s power, tracking my travel history would take him less than five minutes. If I was going to disappear, I had to do it completely. Leo fell silent for a moment. But looking at my expression, he silently started the engine. "Understood." The truck rumbled to life. Our first stop was the waste incineration plant. Leo and his partner tossed the boxes into the roaring furnace one by one. Waves of intense heat hit my face. One of the boxes burst open in the flames, revealing its contents. It was the custom mahogany wheelchair tray. Then came the Scottish cashmere blanket. And finally, our massive wedding portrait. The glass shattered with a loud crack under the extreme heat, melting into the fire. "Ma'am!" Leo's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "There were... so many expensive things in there. How could you just burn them all?" I watched the bright orange flames reflect in my eyes. "I didn't just burn things," I whispered. "I burned my heart." A heart I had handed to him for five years, only for him to crush it under his heel. Why keep any of it? The truck hit the road again. The night grew darker. Thunder rumbled in the distance. In the past, during storms like this, Ethan would cancel every single meeting and rush home. He would kneel before my wheelchair, using his warm, large hands to massage my useless legs. He would ask, "Chloe, does the rain make your legs hurt more?" He would say, "Don't be scared, Chloe. I'm right here." But right now, those hands were probably wrapped around a young, vibrant body. All his warmth, his care, now belonged to someone else. ***The storm finally broke. Heavy rain slammed against the windshield, sounding like it wanted to crack the glass. The heater in the truck was blasting warm air. Leo glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his voice filled with gentle concern. "Ma'am, do you want to close your eyes and get some sleep?" I shook my head. "No, thank you." How could I possibly sleep? This highway, this road... every mile was paved with memories. A two-day drive. This was the highway to Savannah, but it was also the exact route Ethan and I had taken during our road trips when we were madly in love. I couldn't escape the ghosts of our past. The truck sped forward, and a green highway sign flashed past. [Blue Ridge Mountains Scenic Area — Next Exit] My heart clenched violently. Five years ago, when I still had my legs, I could run and jump. Ethan had carried me on his back, step by step, all the way to the peak of the mountain. He had whispered in my ear, "Just a little further, Chloe. We’re almost at the top." The wind at the peak was freezing, making me shiver. He had immediately taken off his heavy coat, wrapping me tightly against his warm chest. "Chloe, look. The sunrise." Golden light broke through the ocean of clouds, painting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and gold. I had leaned against his racing heartbeat, believing that moment would last forever. He had told me, "As long as I'm here, you'll never have to face the cold wind alone." But now, the man who promised to shelter me from the storm had become another woman’s harbor. "Leo," I said, my throat incredibly tight. "Can we go faster?" Leo blinked, then nodded heavily, stepping hard on the gas. The dark silhouette of the mountains was quickly swallowed by the night behind us. On the first night, we stopped briefly at a highway rest stop. I had no appetite, but Leo kindly bought me a hot cup of instant noodles from the convenience store. As the steam rose, I stared out into the pitch-black night, suddenly remembering another meal. Three years ago, we had taken a road trip to a historic town. Our car had broken down in the middle of nowhere, miles away from any town. We had walked for what felt like miles before finding a tiny, glowing 24-hour roadside diner. The sweet elderly waitress had served us fresh pancakes with butter and hot maple syrup. It was simple, but it tasted like heaven. Ethan had pushed the plate toward me, cutting the pancakes into neat little bites and blowing on them gently. "Careful, honey. It's hot." I had teased him, "Mr. Carter, the billionaire, eating at a greasy diner?" He had pinched my nose playfully, his eyes overflowing with love. "I'm not the CEO right now. I'm just your husband." "Chloe, the life I want is incredibly simple. Just a cozy house, three meals a season, and you. That's more than enough." ... "Ma'am? Ma'am?" Leo’s voice pulled me back from the edge of my memories. I blinked, realizing the cup of noodles in my hand had gone completely cold. "Sorry. I got distracted." I set the fork down. I couldn't swallow another bite. It turned out those sweet vows were just like this cup of noodles. When they were hot, they warmed your soul. But once they went cold, they only made you sick to your stomach. By the second day, the rain had stopped. The truck drove onto a massive suspension bridge over a shimmering river. "Look, ma'am! That's the Hudson River Bridge. The city lights look amazing from here!" Leo said, trying to cheer me up. I stared out the window, silent. How could I ever forget this bridge? Five years ago, on this very bridge, I had accepted his proposal. After the car accident, I had locked myself in my hospital room for weeks, refusing to see the light of day. But Ethan had "smuggled" me out of the hospital, pushing my wheelchair right to the middle of this bridge. The wind whipped my hair across my face as I stared down at my empty pant legs, feeling utterly hopeless. "Ethan, just go," I had sobbed. "I don't want to be a burden to you." Instead of leaving, he had suddenly dropped to one knee right in front of my mangled, bandaged limbs. His eyes were brighter than the stars reflecting on the river below. He held up a diamond ring, his voice steady and solemn: "Chloe, marry me." "You are the only woman I will ever want in this life." "Your legs are my legs. Wherever you want to go, I will carry you there." My tears finally broke free, hot and heavy, splashing onto the back of my hands. I thought I had cried all my tears. But it turned out that when your heart breaks completely, you lose all control over your grief. I bit my lip hard, refusing to let a single sob escape my throat. Seeing this in the rearview mirror, Leo silently pushed a box of tissues toward the backseat. "Ma'am..." He wanted to comfort me, but he didn't know what to say. I shook my head, grabbed a tissue, and roughly wiped my face. Right then, the phone buried deep in my purse—which I thought I had turned off—suddenly buzzed. The screen lit up with a text message. It was from the name carved deep into my heart, the same name I was currently trying to rip out. The message was brief: "Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum. Where are you? Come home right now!" I stared at the words and laughed out loud. You see? This was the man I had loved for five years. He didn't ask why I had left. He didn't ask if I was okay. He simply thought I was throwing a tantrum. Slowly, deliberately, I typed out a two-word reply: "Fuck off." Then, I blocked his number and shut down the phone. I lifted my head and looked out the front windshield. In the distance, the warm, golden light of the Southern dawn was finally breaking. ***