Rejecting My Tyrant Husband

Outside Serenity Treatment Center, a black Bentley sped away.

The back seat should have been spacious, but right now it felt cramped and suffocating.

Scarlett White's upper body was bare, her knee-length skirt pushed up above her waist, exposing her rounded buttocks.

Her slender wrists were pinned down hard against the leather seat by a large hand with prominent knuckles, while another palm groped freely at her full breasts, the nipples standing erect and trembling slightly from the violation.

"Mmm!" A sudden violent thrust from behind made tears fall from Scarlett's eyes, a scream nearly escaping her lips.

But that large hand clamped down on her jaw, a fierce kiss falling to block all her cries and pleas back down her throat.

"Don't move." Brandon Robinson's breath sprayed against her ear, warm yet making Scarlett's whole body turn cold.

His movements became more violent, accompanied by uncontrollable panting, his usually cold face now tinged with intoxicated desire.

His large hand gripped Scarlett's slender waist hard, as if trying to break her in half.

Scarlett shook her head desperately, the surging pleasure inside her body and the tingling numbness below nearly drowning her.

As tears fell uncontrollably, her consciousness gradually became hazy.

An hour ago, she had just come out of the treatment center. Because of her "recent emotional stability," the facility had specially granted her two hours of outside visitation.

Today was the first anniversary of her mother's death. She had to go to the cemetery to pay her respects.

"Brandon, please." Taking advantage of a moment when his grip loosened slightly, Scarlett finally squeezed out a weak plea, "I need to go to the cemetery. My mom, she—"

"I said, don't move!" He cut her off, his tone showing a hint of impatience, but his movements didn't stop at all, becoming even more violent.

Outside the car window, the city's night scenery rapidly retreated. Scarlett closed her eyes, her nails digging deep into her palms.

She couldn't resist, much less anger him. The treatment center's evaluation report was still in his hands. With just one word, he could make her stay for another year, or even longer.

After that "accident" a year ago, she was diagnosed with "post-traumatic stress disorder with intermittent mental confusion" and forcibly sent to the treatment center. The examination report bore Brandon's personal signature.

The seat beneath her was bone-chillingly cold. Scarlett's body trembled uncontrollably as she stared at her blurred reflection in the car window.

Disheveled hair, pale face, vacant eyes—like a real mental patient.

She laughed bitterly. She really had gone crazy. Otherwise, how could she have fallen in love with Brandon and married him without a second thought?

A sharp pain suddenly came from below. Scarlett couldn't help but tremble.

"It hurts!"

Brandon's movements paused slightly as he looked down at her.

Under the dim overhead light, his features were unrealistically perfect, except his expression was as indifferent as if looking at an object.

"Bear it," he said in a low voice, then continued his actions.

Scarlett bit her lower lip, tasting thick blood in her mouth. Her vision was blurred, only the deep red numbers jumping on the nearby dashboard were exceptionally clear:

22:47. Visiting hours only lasted until midnight.

After what felt like either a few minutes or several centuries, Brandon finally released her.

He calmly straightened his suit, fastened his shirt cuffs, elegant and noble as always.

Then he pulled out a card from his wallet and casually tossed it beside her leg.

"Buy yourself some new clothes." His tone was flat. "What you're wearing is dirty."

Scarlett propped up her weak, aching body and tremblingly reached for her coat scattered by her feet, her sweater, and a silver chain that had fallen off due to his rough actions.

The chain was very thin, its material unclear, with a pendant of an incomplete piece of amber containing half of a tiny maple leaf.

This was her mother's eighteenth birthday gift to her. According to her mother, the leaf in the amber was a token of love her father had given her mother back then.

"What's that?" Brandon's gaze fell on the chain as he suddenly asked.

Scarlett clutched the chain tightly and stuffed it into her pocket, her voice hoarse: "Nothing."

Brandon stared at her for two seconds, didn't press further, and instead said: "By the way, there's something I need your cooperation with."

Scarlett raised her red, swollen eyes, waiting for his words.

"Elizabeth's kidney has some problems and needs a transplant." Brandon's tone was light, matter-of-fact. "Your tissue type matches. The hospital is ready. We're going now for the pre-surgery evaluation."

Raindrops tapped against the window, dense like drumbeats.

Scarlett thought she'd heard wrong: "Now? But I need to go to the cemetery to pay respects to my mother."

"The kidney donor can't wait." He interrupted her. "As for your mother, I'll send someone over."

"Brandon!" She could no longer hold back, screaming out of control, "That's my mom! I wasn't there when she died, and today is the first anniversary of her death! You want me to donate a kidney to someone else?"

Brandon frowned slightly, seemingly displeased with her attitude, warning coldly: "Watch your emotions. Is this how you talk to me?"

"Go to hell!" Scarlett grabbed the card and threw it at him, her eyes bloodshot. "I won't donate! I'm going to the cemetery! Now! Right now!"

Brandon's eyes turned completely cold. He leaned forward, his palm pressing against the car window beside her ear, trapping her firmly.

"Scarlett, I'm not discussing this with you." His voice was very low, each word like an ice pick, stabbing hard into her heart.

"Either you obediently go to the hospital and donate a kidney to Elizabeth, and after the surgery I guarantee you won't need to return to the treatment center, or—"

He paused, his fingertips brushing over the bruises on her neck that hadn't yet faded: "I'll have the treatment center increase your medication. Guess what you'll become after a few months of high-dose sedatives?"

All the blood in Scarlett's body seemed to freeze. She had seen those patients at the treatment center who'd been on medication long-term.

Empty eyes, drooling, they couldn't even remember their own names.

"You can't!" Her voice trembled. "That's illegal!"

Brandon laughed, the smile not reaching his eyes: "Who do you think would believe a mental patient?"

Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating his cruel profile, like a demon crawling up from hell.

Scarlett collapsed onto the seat, her last bit of strength drained.

She regretted it so much—why had she fallen in love with this man and trapped herself in such an irredeemable situation?

The car made a U-turn at the next intersection, heading in the completely opposite direction from the cemetery.

The hospital's white building grew closer and closer in the rainy night, like a huge tombstone.

"We're here." Brandon opened the car door. Raindrops immediately drifted in. "Don't make my people do it. Get out yourself."

Scarlett mechanically moved her body. The stickiness between her legs was uncomfortable, and every step felt like walking on knife points.

The moment she stepped out of the car, she looked back.

Brandon was looking down at his phone, the screen's glow reflecting off his distant features.

Who was he messaging? Elizabeth? Telling her they'd found a kidney donor?

Her heart ached with piercing pain again, as if something had completely shattered.

Scarlett suddenly remembered something her mother used to say: In this lifetime, you have to live for yourself at least once before your heart completely dies.

"Brandon." She slowly spoke, her tone terrifyingly calm. "I agree to the transplant."

Brandon looked up at her, his brow relaxing slightly. Just as he was about to say something, Scarlett didn't give him the chance.

Word by word, as if she'd made up her mind about something, "But before that, I need to see a lawyer."

"What?" Brandon frowned, thinking he'd heard wrong.

She looked at him, her eyes like she was looking at a stranger. "We're getting divorced. After the transplant surgery, I don't want anything more to do with you."