Runaway Wife: The CEO Went Mad

Through the crack of the half-open bedroom door, Aria Grey watched her husband pleasure himself.

The curtains were drawn, the room dim—which only made the glowing phone screen in Larry York's hand more visible.

On it was another woman's photo.

His first love. The one who got away.

Aria's hand froze on the doorknob, her body rigid as a statue.

Today was her birthday.

She'd just received an offer from the Lumaria Institute of Music and had rushed home early to share the news with Larry.

Heart full of joy, practically skipping up the stairs.

Only to walk in on this.

It felt like ice water dumped over her head—a brutal wake-up call.

Five years of marriage and he'd never touched her. She'd always known he didn't love her.

What she hadn't expected was that even when seeking his own pleasure, he needed Sophie's picture.

"Mrs. York?" A maid's voice suddenly echoed from the stairwell.

"Oh!" Aria startled.

She tiptoed away from the bedroom door as quickly as she could.

"I just got upstairs. Did you need something?"

She raised her voice deliberately.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

Rustling sounds came from inside the bedroom, then the door opened.

Larry emerged.

His dress shirt and slacks were immaculate, every hair perfectly in place.

His handsome features wore their usual cool detachment. He always looked like this.

Everything appeared completely normal.

No trace of what had just happened.

Aria didn't call him out on it.

"I just got home," she volunteered, slightly breathless.

"You're back early. Tired?" he asked with practiced concern, his tone like someone soothing a child.

He'd spoken to her this way for five years.

Polite, attentive, never raising his voice. They maintained a cordial distance.

He gave her generous allowances, luxury goods delivered by the truckload, three floors converted into walk-in closets just for her.

An entire room filled with gold jewelry and precious gems.

She didn't need to work or do housework—pampered like a porcelain doll.

But he never truly looked at her. Never remembered anything she said.

He performed the surface duties of a husband to perfection. Everything except love.

"Yeah, I think I'll turn in early," Aria managed, trying to sound normal even as her heart pounded against her ribs.

"It's only five," Larry's brow arched slightly.

"Had drinks with friends. I'm exhausted." Aria headed for the stairs, desperate to escape his line of sight.

"I'll rest in the sunroom for a bit."

"Happy birthday," came his voice from behind.

His assistant sent daily schedule reminders, so he never forgot her birthday or any of their anniversaries.

A gift box appeared before her, bearing a familiar logo embossed in gold.

Inside was a Patek Philippe women's watch—their most expensive model.

"Thank you." She forced a smile. "It's very generous."

But she hated it.

The first year of their marriage, he'd given her countless gifts—watches, jewelry.

She'd made it clear early on that she didn't like anything worn on her hands.

Because of her damaged left hand.

Each time he'd apologized sincerely and gotten her something else. Then the next occasion would roll around and he'd do it again.

He simply didn't remember her preferences.

Eventually, she'd stopped mentioning it.

"Is your stomach bothering you?" Larry's concern seemed genuine. "I'll have the kitchen make you some honey water."

"No need." Aria shook her head firmly and turned to leave.

The moment her back was to him, tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

She bit her lip hard to keep from sobbing aloud.

If she'd known he could never forget Sophie, she never should have accepted Larry's proposal...

Throughout college, Larry and Sophie had been the golden couple—brilliant, beautiful, inseparable.

Aria was equally stunning, equally accomplished, yet somehow invisible to Larry.

She'd buried her crush deep, never daring to hope for the impossible.

Senior year, Sophie had suddenly announced she was going abroad.

Larry was blindsided by the breakup.

At the farewell dinner, he'd downed bottle after bottle, drinking until his hands shook as he reached for another whiskey—knocking it directly onto the portable gas burner.

Flames shot up. The canister exploded.

Aria, sitting beside Larry, hadn't hesitated. She'd shoved him clear and taken the blast herself.

He'd walked away without a scratch. Her left hand suffered third-degree burns, the muscles atrophied.

Dozens of skin grafts followed. Microsurgeries. Agonizing physical therapy...

Her slender fingers would never again span an octave.

Nerve damage left her fingertips with a permanent tremor—she could no longer strike the piano keys with precision.

Emerald University's rising piano prodigy had fallen. Her budding artistic career, destroyed in an instant.

Larry had been consumed with guilt.

He'd given her money, found her the best doctors, but he knew her ruined future couldn't be compensated. So he'd agreed to do anything.

She'd confessed her feelings. Without hesitation, he'd married her.

Now, Aria felt like a complete fool.

A pathetic clown who'd leveraged a debt into marriage, naively believing time would make Larry love her.

Five years later, reality had crushed that delusion.

Collapsing onto the sunroom sofa, Aria closed her eyes wearily.

Better to end this unwanted marriage with dignity than drag it out.

Let Larry have Sophie.

Her phone buzzed—a message from her best friend.

[Did Larry agree to let you go abroad?]

She didn't hesitate.

[Don't need his permission anymore.]

[I've decided. I'm divorcing him.]

Making the decision didn't bring the relief she'd expected.

Her brain seemed to activate some defense mechanism—all she felt now was numbness.

Scrolling aimlessly through her phone, she suddenly spotted a familiar name.

#Ballet sensation Sophie returns home! CEO husband picks her up at airport—looks like a movie star!#

Clicking on it, Aria felt a flicker of hope.

Sophie was married to someone else?

But when she saw the paparazzi photo, her heart turned to ice.

The so-called CEO husband was Larry.

She stared at the image, forcing herself to laugh even as tears streamed down her face.

In the photo, Larry held flowers, gazing down at Sophie with a tender, adoring smile.

If Aria didn't know for certain he was an only child, she'd swear the man in the picture was just someone who looked exactly like Larry.

His usual coldness had vanished completely. His eyes brimmed with warmth, his lips curved upward.

She'd never seen that expression on his face.

With her, he was always polite. Distant. Like she was a client at his firm. She'd assumed that was just who Larry was.

Turned out he could smile after all. Just not for her...