The Price of His Perfection

After I slapped my husband's precious favorite, I was banished to a desolate wilderness retreat in the mountains to reflect on my mistakes for three whole months. The first thing Julian did when he picked me up was pin me roughly against the car window. Just as he was about to push inside me, the privacy partition between the front and back seats rolled down without warning. His executive assistant, Vivian, turned around. Her voice was as calm and clinical as if she were reading off an itinerary. "Mr. Hayes, should we use the ultra-thin tonight, or should Mrs. Hayes take the morning-after pill?" "You've been separated for three months. For safety reasons, I recommend a condom." My entire body froze, my forehead knocking hard against the freezing glass. Julian naturally took the foil wrapper she handed him. He even let out a soft chuckle of approval. "You really do think of everything." Vivian gave him a mildly reproachful pout. "Mr. Hayes, Mrs. Hayes is right here." I quietly gathered my disheveled clothes around myself, moving like an emotionless machine. In the five years we had been married, there had always been a third person in our relationship. The entire company treated me like a running joke. Behind closed doors, an office rumor made the rounds about the two of them: "Julian really has the best of both worlds—she handles his business by day, and handles him by night." I dug my nails deep into my palms. Inside my coat pocket, my fingers brushed against the divorce agreement I had already drawn up. It was just as well. I didn't want any of this anymore anyway. "Shall we continue?" Julian's hand slid under my clothes, carrying the chill of early winter. Goosebumps broke out across my flesh. I shoved him away with all my strength. "No. I'm not in the mood." Julian pulled his hand back, his brow knitting into a tight scowl. "It's been three months and you're still throwing a tantrum? I've explained it to you a thousand times. Vivian was my mother's dying wish. Everything she does is strictly by the protocol." A sharp pain seized my chest, and my fists clenched tight. Since the very first year of our marriage, we had had this exact fight over Vivian hundreds of times. She wasn't just a regular secretary. She was an "exclusive handler" handpicked and trained by my late mother-in-law to micromanage every single aspect of Julian's life for the rest of his days. From billion-dollar boardroom negotiations to the exact fabric and color of his underwear, she had the authority to dictate every tiny detail. And now, she was even deciding which condom he should wear. I looked up at his face—still striking, yet completely unrecognizable. A bitter, absurd question burst from my lips: "What's next? Is Vivian going to roll the condom onto you with her own hands?" Julian's expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening into a rigid line. "Samantha, do you always have to be this venomous? She is just carrying out my mother's instructions!" "Carrying them out all the way into our bed?" I sneered, turning my face toward the window. I felt like if I looked at him for one more second, my heart would shatter into pieces right there. Seeing that I had refused, Vivian quietly slipped the opened wrapper back into her designer purse. A dry laugh escaped my throat. "What? Pinching pennies over a single condom? Saving it for the two of you next time?" Vivian's eyes welled with tears on cue. She didn't look at me. Instead, she turned to Julian, her voice soft and full of wounded innocence. "Mr. Hayes, I only... wanted to avoid unnecessary waste. The life management protocol clearly states that we must eliminate all frivolous consumption." I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity, but tears rushed to my eyes first. "You call that waste? Great, why don't you two finish what he started? That way nothing goes to waste, right?" "Samantha!" Julian grabbed my arm and yanked me back against the leather seat, his eyes flashing with fury. He looked at me as if I were a raving lunatic. "You're getting completely out of hand!" The tears finally spilled over. During those endless, freezing nights in the mountain wilderness, curled up in an empty cabin just trying to survive, I had asked myself countless times: how did my life end up like this? At first, I wondered if I was just being overly jealous. Until Vivian showed up at our newlywed home with a thick binder labeled "Life Optimization Protocol," casually moved into the guest room, and began strictly scheduling our intimate moments. She even logged and analyzed the duration of each session to check if it met the "optimal standard." That was when I completely fell apart. The night I lost it, I smashed everything in the living room. All I got in return was an exhausted sigh from him: "Stop acting crazy. She's just optimizing my life according to the plan." And the result of that "optimization"? One freezing night while I was in Norway chasing the Northern Lights, my phone buzzed with a smart-home notification: [Third intimate check-in of the week completed.] While I was doing charity work in an impoverished remote village, a headline popped up on my feed: Julian Hayes had dropped twelve million dollars at an auction for a pigeon-blood ruby—simply because Vivian's "Annual Incentive Plan" listed a desire for a piece of high jewelry. Six months ago, we got into a horrific car crash on the way to the airport. The impact shattered the windshield, and warm blood blurred my vision. Through the blinding pain, I felt Julian holding me, trembling. His terror had felt so real. Then, Vivian's cool, clinical voice cut through the stench of blood. She checked her tablet and announced: "Mr. Hayes, according to today's schedule, we must reach the private terminal within twenty-two minutes to meet Mr. Vance. The rules cannot be broken. This is the top-priority directive set by your mother." I desperately tried to grab his sleeve, but my bloody fingers only grazed the cold metal of his cufflink. He looked at me, a violent storm of guilt and hesitation raging in his eyes. In the end, he gently peeled my fingers off him, one by one. "Be a good girl, Sam," he said, his voice raspy. "I'll handle the meeting and come right back. I promise." He walked away with Vivian. I lay alone on the glass-strewn asphalt until a kind stranger called 911. Under the harsh, blinding white lights of the trauma bay, as I stared up into that endless void, the last ember of warmth in my heart finally died.The car pulled into the driveway of the villa. Vivian smoothly punched in the security code, set out the couple's matching slippers, and helped Julian slip off his coat. "Mr. Hayes, I've drawn your bath. You can get in in ten minutes." I walked into the master bedroom without a word. The moment I sat down on the edge of the mattress, I heard her gentle voice drifting from the en-suite bathroom: "Mr. Hayes, I've tested the water temperature myself. It's at the ideal body temperature. I'm stepping out now." I rushed over to push the window open, suffocating. Then came her voice again: "Mr. Hayes... it's ten o'clock. You should soak for fifteen minutes. I recommend no physical intimacy tonight, or capping it at twenty minutes max to preserve your vitality." Sitting in the bedroom, my hands shook with rage, the blood rushing backward through my veins. Vivian's shadow hovered over every single time we were ever together. She would stand right outside the door, checking her watch and announcing: "Mr. Hayes, prolonged exertion will cause physical strain. That's enough." Every single time, no matter how worked up Julian was, he would pull out and get off me. Leaving me lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, sleepless through the night. She was like a programmed machine, exerting absolute control over every breath he took. A while later, Vivian walked into our bedroom wearing one of my silk nightgowns. Seeing me there, she put on a look of mild surprise. "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Hayes. You've been gone for so long, I got used to staying here." Without waiting for my response, she pulled back the duvet and climbed right into the bed. Hanging on the wall directly above the headboard was our wedding portrait. The blood roared in my ears. I lunged forward, grabbed her by the arm, and shoved her. "Get the hell out!" Vivian let out a piercing shriek. Julian rushed into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist and shoved me aside without a second thought. I stumbled backward, my spine slamming hard against the metal safe. A sharp agony radiated through my back. Every shred of hope turned to ash. I screamed at him, my voice cracking with grief: "Julian! Not a single promise you ever made to me meant anything!" "I've spoiled you rotten!" he barked back. "Vivian is just following the protocol to warm the bed for me! Can't you be a little gracious for once?" Gracious? My chest felt like it was being ripped wide open. "If I'm any more gracious, should the three of us just sleep together in the same damn bed?" The veins on his temples pulsed. He raised his hand. A sharp, deafening slap cracked across my face. Vivian began to sob softly, right on cue. "Mrs. Hayes, my job is to ensure the mattress is kept at the optimal 98 degrees... That's all this is. If you really can't accept it, I'll submit my resignation." Julian immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "My mother left you to manage my life. As long as I don't let you leave, nobody can force you out." The very last flicker of hope inside me went dark. I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my coat pocket and threw them violently at the floor. "A divorce! Julian, we're done. Sign it." He froze for a fraction of a second, then scooped up the papers and tore them to shreds. "Don't even dream about it! Did you forget how much hell we went through just to be together?"How could I ever forget? For the first half of his life, Julian had been suffocated under his mother's iron grip. The one and only time he ever rebelled was to marry me. He knelt outside his mother's study for three days and three nights. His back was whipped bloody with cane switches until eight of them snapped in half. He passed out five times from dehydration and starvation. He was willing to die just to be with me. Even right before he went into cardiac arrest on the gurney, his very last breath was spent begging his mother to let us marry. Yet, I couldn't forget three months ago, either. I had spent hours in the kitchen, scalding both of my hands to make his favorite homemade soup, and carried it to his corporate office. There was Vivian, sitting on his lap, winding his silk tie around her waist, tracing slow circles over his chest with her fingertips. I had dumped the entire thermos of boiling soup all over her. Julian had been so enraged that he ordered his security detail to drag me out into the untamed wilderness of the Pacific Northwest mountains to "teach me a lesson." For three whole months, I had scavenged for wild mushrooms and drank unfiltered creek water just to survive. Now, my finger shook violently as I pointed at Vivian in our bed. "Fine. One last chance. Her, or me?" Julian went completely silent. Those few seconds of hesitation felt like a thousand steel needles driving through my heart. Slowly, the last trace of warmth inside me died out. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. I picked up my purse and walked toward the bedroom door. "Don't worry about choosing. I'll have my lawyer file the petition tomorrow. We're done." Julian lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. I yanked it away, but he grabbed it again, over and over, stubborn and unrelenting. We wrestled from the bedroom out into the grand hallway. Vivian followed close behind, her eyes red, her voice ringing out like a metronome: "Mr. Hayes, according to your prescribed schedule, this is the designated window for your sleep cycle." That sentence was the final straw that broke my sanity. I spun around and slapped her across the face. "This is between my husband and me! Shut your damn mouth!" "Samantha!" Julian's eyes turned bloodshot in an instant. He stared at the red handprint on Vivian's pale cheek, his voice dropping to a terrifying chill. "Apologize to her." I looked at him. When I demanded a divorce, he hadn't blinked. But seeing a mark on another woman's face made him snap. A hollow laugh tore from my chest. It felt like a fish hook was caught in my throat. I couldn't swallow it down, and I couldn't cough it up. It just tore me open, warm blood filling my mouth. Seeing that I had no intention of apologizing, his rage boiled over. "Lock her in the basement," Julian barked at the security guards downstairs. "Keep her down there until she learns how to say she's sorry." Two guards grabbed me roughly and dragged me toward the basement stairs. No matter how hard I kicked and screamed, it was useless. Looking back up the staircase, all I saw was Julian leaning down, whispering something softly to Vivian. She didn't speak. She just looked down at me through the banisters, wearing the smug, quiet smile of a victor. I was thrown into the pitch-black basement, and the heavy reinforced door slammed shut. Not a single sliver of light penetrated the dark. It was suffocating, pitch-black. I pounded against the cold metal door, shrieking until my throat burned: "Julian Hayes, let me out! I'm scared!" "You know I have severe claustrophobia! Let me out of here! I'm going to die in here, I'm going to die!" No matter how hysterically I screamed, nobody answered. The crushing pressure of the enclosed space closed in around my lungs until I couldn't even draw a breath. He knew. He knew better than anyone. The year before we got married, I was studying art abroad in a historic gallery in Europe when an earthquake hit. The building collapsed, burying people under slabs of concrete. When I was trapped in the rubble, terrified out of my mind, it was Julian who dug through the debris brick by brick. He wore all ten of his fingernails down to raw, bleeding flesh just to pull me out. I had clung to him, weeping, "Julian, I'm so terrified of the dark." He had held me tight, kissing away my tears, promising over and over: "Sam, I almost lost you. I swear to God, I will never, ever leave you alone in the dark again." And now, he was the one who had ordered his men to throw me into the dark. I curled into the tightest ball I could in the corner, clutching my knees, trembling uncontrollably. The sheer terror shattered every last shred of my pride. For three days and three nights, they kept me locked in that room without a single drop of water or a single bite of food. The faint rustling of mice in the corners was enough to send me spiraling into panic attacks. Just as I was on the brink of losing consciousness completely... The door finally opened. He stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights, looking down at me. His voice was completely devoid of warmth. "Do you know what you did wrong?"The sheer horror of the dark had crushed every ounce of defiance left in me. I dragged myself forward across the cold concrete floor, grabbed his pant leg, and sobbed uncontrollably. "I know... I was wrong..." Julian finally seemed satisfied. He pulled me up and led me upstairs to the guest room where Vivian was resting. She had a mild fever. Julian stroked her cheek with deep concern, then turned to me, his tone turning ice-cold. "Because of you, Vivian has been sick in bed for three days. Apologize." I had lost all my fire. Shivering, I took a step forward and bowed my head mechanically. "It was my fault." Vivian turned her face away with a scoff. "I didn't hear that." I looked desperately at Julian. When I saw the irritation deepening on his brow, sheer terror gripped my chest. I was terrified he would order them to throw me back into the dark. I raised my voice, frantic. "It was my fault!" Vivian sat up against the pillows, speaking like a stern school principal lecturing a delinquent. "Mrs. Hayes, you've never had a real career, so you don't understand how things work. An apology requires a proper structure—who is apologizing to whom, and for what specific offense. Professionalism matters." Julian looked at her with open admiration. "You really are a professional." Then he turned to glare at me, frowning. "Even with someone walking you through it, you still can't do it right?" My heart squeezed. I used to be a lead software engineer at a top tech firm. But Vivian had claimed that according to the late Mrs. Hayes's rules, a good wife should stay home, support her husband, and keep out of the public eye. I was forced to abandon my career in cutting-edge tech design. And now, I had no children. And he was calling me a useless waste of space who didn't understand how the real world worked. The trauma had pushed me past my breaking point. I turned to Vivian, forcing out every single syllable: "I apologize to you. I shouldn't have put my hands on you. I am sorry." Julian wrapped an arm around Vivian and asked softly, "Are you satisfied now?" She buried her face in his chest, her voice sweet and delicate. "I'm not that petty, Julian." Only then did he treat the matter as settled. He waved a dismissive hand at me. "Get out. Don't disturb Vivian's rest." Like a prisoner granted a temporary pardon, I turned and stumbled away. Behind me, Julian's voice rang out again: "And don't ever bring up that divorce nonsense again. I don't want to hear it." I ran into the guest room, threw myself under the covers, and pulled them over my shaking body. The muffled sobs finally tore out of my throat. I couldn't understand. If he didn't love me anymore, why wouldn't he just let me go? This sprawling mansion was nothing more than a gilded cage. I wanted to escape, but every exit was rigged with invisible traps. I had followed him with so much conviction back then, only to end up like this. As the tears blurred my vision, darkness rushed in. In my delirium, the face of a younger Julian appeared before me. He had that boyish, reckless grin, a backpack slung over one shoulder, running toward me through the golden afternoon light to pull me into his arms. He had pulled me through winding back alleys, and in an abandoned train car, we shared our very first kiss. Back then, he had held me tight and laughed, saying: "Meeting you gives me the courage to defy the whole damn world." Now, I finally found my own courage. I smiled and whispered to that memory of the boy: "Julian Hayes, I don't want you anymore." Dead or alive, I don't want you. Moments later, the terrified screams of the housemaids shattered the silence downstairs. "Call 911! Mrs. Hayes jumped from the balcony!" "Somebody help! Hurry!"