I married Jacob Thorne, a man who recoiled from human touch. For three years, he never once touched me. Then I saw him in a live stream, holding Celeste Monroe, the acclaimed pianist who was his first love. He was stroking her hair. So it was not an illness. He was simply allergic to me. When the earthquake hit, he shielded Celeste and rushed for the door, leaving me behind. My right hand was fractured. He said coldly, “Her hands are for playing piano. Yours? Just tie it to a piece of wood.” I wiped my tears and pulled out the art box I hadn’t opened in years. This time, I was done with him. Later, I, a left handed artist, took the art world by storm. A loving new partner stood by my side. And the man who once said my touch made him sick knelt in the rainy night, covered in blood, trembling as he asked, “Anya, now am I worthy of touching you?” Anya POV Jacob and I had been married for three years, but I’d never once touched him. Everyone in New York knew of Jacob’s condition: a severe psychological aversion to touch. The slightest physical contact could send him into a state of violent revulsion. For three years, we slept in separate rooms, ate at separate tables, and even passed documents through a cloth. At two in the morning, I stared at the replay on my phone, a cold dread settling in my bones. There, on screen, was my husband, Jacob, holding a woman in a white gown in a tight embrace. She was weeping, her face buried against him, while his hand moved in slow, gentle circles over her back, stroking her long hair. That woman was Celeste. Jacob’s childhood sweetheart. The pianist who had just claimed an international prize. Jacob’s grandma Emma had chosen me as his wife, simply because at a Thorne family banquet, I was the only woman he had stared at for more than five seconds. The Thorne family had covered all expenses for my seriously ill mother until her passing. On our wedding day, Emma had held my hand, tears in her eyes. “Anya, I know what I’m asking of you is difficult. Jacob’s condition…no doctor has been able to reach him. As his wife, you must have patience. Stay with him, and I believe he can heal.” I believed her. Because I, too, had fallen for Jacob the moment I saw him. I accepted the marriage. And in my quiet hope to “cure” him, I put away every sharp, artistic part of myself. Before marriage, I was a well-known painter. But Jacob couldn’t stand the smell of paint, I sealed away my brushes. I studied psychological counseling, learned non-contact companionship, but Jacob remained as distant as ever for three years. Yet now, in the video, Jacob looked completely at ease in that embrace, his eyes even filled with deep affection. So, there was no condition. No psychological aversion. He just didn’t want to touch me. My fingers shook as I scrolled to the comments. “Oh my god, isn’t Mr. Thorne unable to touch people?” “That’s Celeste. His first love. She’s always been the exception!” “This is the famous ‘I’m allergic to the whole world, except you’!” I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down my face. My three years of careful devotion had been a complete and utter joke. Two hours ago, I’d asked him when he’d be home, and he’d only replied with a cold “overtime.” His “overtime” was spent accompanying Celeste to her award ceremony. Since he wasn’t sick, and since his white moonlight was back, it was my turn to exit the stage. I wiped my tears and pulled out the art box I hadn’t touched in three years from under the bed. I was going to get a divorce. The next afternoon, I went to the downtown art center to pick up a stored painting. “Mr. Thorne, this is the exhibition hall reserved for you.” The curator’s eager voice reached me. I turned, holding the canvas, and saw Jacob and Celeste walking in. Celeste intimately linked arms with Jacob. Our eyes met. Jacob’s gentle expression instantly froze, and he instinctively pulled his arm away, looking at me. “What are you doing here?” Celeste seemed to just notice me, covering her mouth in feigned surprise. Then she flashed an innocent smile and re-linked arms with Jacob. “Jacob, this must be your wife, right? What a coincidence.” She glanced at the painting in my hands. “This painting… did your wife paint it? It looks pretty mediocre, actually.” Jacob didn’t even look at the painting, only stared coldly at me. “This isn’t where you belong.” I took a deep breath, just about to speak- Boom! The floor violently shook! “Earthquake! Run!” The exhibition hall instantly descended into chaos. The art center’s glass dome and heavy chandeliers swayed precariously in the tremor. I was jostled by the crowd, the sharp edge of the painting frame in my arms slammed hard against my ribs. “Jacob!” Celeste shrieked. I looked up to see Jacob sweep Celeste into his arms without a moment’s hesitation, shielding her with his body as he bolted for the emergency exit. Above me, the great crystal chandelier began its deadly plunge. “Jacob.” I instinctively called out. Jacob’s stride hitched for less than a second. Then he tightened his hold on Celeste and vanished through the exit, never looking back. Crash. The massive impact and flying glass shards instantly engulfed me. Excruciating pain shot through me as I fell into a pool of blood, my right wrist pinned beneath a heavy piece of metal. The scene was pure chaos. Not far away, Celeste lay on a stretcher, with only slightly disheveled hair. “Ambulance! Treat Celeste first!” Jacob blocked the paramedics rushing towards me. “Celeste’s hands are for playing the piano; there can’t be any mistakes with them!” A nurse, unable to bear it, pointed at me and said, “Sir, that lady is bleeding a lot, and her right hand might be broken…” “Treat Celeste first!” Jacob pushed the nurse away, glancing at me in the corner. “As for her hand…” “Just splint it with a piece of wood. It can wait until she gets to the hospital.” The crash of the chandelier didn’t hurt half as much as his words did. So, in Jacob’s world, Celeste’s hands were priceless. And mine were disposable. The piercing pain made me extremely clear-headed. With my left hand, I pulled out my phone and slowly typed a line. “Jacob, let’s get a divorce.” I hit sent.
Anya POV The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was sharp and cold. I struggled to open my eyes, only to find my right hand useless. My entire right arm was encased in a thick cast. “Awake?” Jacob closed the document he was reading and stood up, walking closer. “The doctor said your right hand has a comminuted fracture and torn tendons.” His tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “The surgery was successful, but you… probably won’t be able to hold a paintbrush steadily again.” My heart gave a violent lurch. Jacob took an exquisite rectangular brocade box from the table behind him and casually placed it on my bedside table. “Open it and see.” I didn’t move, just watched him silently. Jacob seemed a little impatient, so he reached out and opened the box himself. Inside was a scroll, which, when unrolled, revealed an oil painting. “This is an authentic work by that deceased master you’ve always admired.” “This painting is for you, as compensation for this accident.” I stared at the priceless painting, unable to speak. “Don’t you like it?” Jacob’s tone deepened. “Anya, don’t be too greedy. We treated Celeste first because she has a crucial competition in Vienna next week. She’s a pianist. Her hands absolutely cannot be compromised. As for you…” “You just paint at home for leisure; it doesn’t affect your life. The Thorne family has more than enough to support you. You should know what’s more important.” What’s more important. I closed my eyes. “Jacob,” “Did you see my message?” “Don’t ever mention divorce again.” He frowned. “Celeste was startled and is emotionally unstable, so I’ll be very busy these next few days. Just focus on recovering quietly; the nurse will take care of you.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I stared intently at him. “I’m serious. I’ve had enough of this life. I’m not being Mrs. Thorne anymore; we’re gettin’-” A frantic knock interrupted me. Liam Davies, his assistant, rushed in, looking flustered. “Mr. Thorne! Miss Monroe is causing a scene in her room! She says her hand is numb and she can’t play the piano, she’s throwing things and won’t let the doctors near her… She’ll only see you!” Jacob’s expression changed instantly, and he turned to leave. “Jacob!” He paused, but didn’t turn back. “Celeste is in critical condition; try to be reasonable!” His figure disappeared through the door. The hospital room was dead silent. After a long while, a nurse pushed a cart in, giving me a sympathetic glance, and whispered to her colleague. “Some people just have it so easy compared to others.” “What happened?” “Just to appease Miss Monroe, Mr. Thorne just covered all the expenses for her next thirty global tours! We’re talking hundreds of millions!” “Oh my god, he spoils her that much?” “He sure does. Just a minor scratch, a few tears, and she walked away with hundreds of millions.” Their voices faded as the cart moved away. I turned my head and looked at the brocade box. That oil painting was worth about two million. Two million, compared to hundreds of millions. That was my worth in Jacob’s heart. That was his “compensation.” For Celeste, it was a priceless treasure, worth a fortune. For me, just a casual dismissal. I painstakingly lifted my left hand, grabbed the brocade box, and flicked my wrist. With a muffled thud, the painting was thrown heavily into the trash can in the corner. This time, I truly wanted nothing. Neither the painting, nor the man.
Anya POV I contacted a lawyer, leaned against the headboard, and laboriously signed the documents with my left hand. Mr. Jenkins, the lawyer, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Are you certain you wish to proceed with the divorce? You do not wish to discuss the prenuptial settlement with Mr. Thorne first?” “No, I don’t.” I put down the pen. “I just want to divorce Jacob, as soon as possible.” “Understood.” Mr. Jenkins collected the documents. “Since you’re waiving asset division, as long as Mr. Thorne doesn’t object, the process will be very quick. An electronic summons will soon be sent to Mr. Thorne’s phone. If he doesn’t respond within the specified time, the court will consider him absent, and we will proceed directly to litigation.” I took a deep breath and nodded. A week later, I insisted on being discharged. I took a taxi back to the villa where I had lived for three years. I was only back to retrieve my IDs and the few personal belongings my mother had left me. However, the villa entrance was a mess. Renovation trucks were parked haphazardly in front, and the drilling noise was deafening. I rushed into the living room. Dust flew everywhere; the minimalist decor was utterly unrecognizable, having been torn apart. In the center of the living room, my things were piled into a small mountain. Limited-edition decor shattered, art books torn and covered in footprints, privately collected oil paintings slashed through the canvas, piled like trash. “Who’s this?” Celeste’s voice drifted down from the second floor. She was wearing a silk robe, holding a glass of red wine, looking down from above. I looked at her. “Who gave you permission to touch my things!” Celeste slowly walked down the stairs, nudging a slashed oil painting with her toe. “Jacob said this decor was too depressing, and I don’t like it. Besides-” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “He said all your things reeked of cheapness and paint. That he’s been wanting to clear them out forever. I just got back to the country and had nowhere to stay, so he told me to come take out the trash.” “Clear out trash?” I stared at my mother’s painting, Autumn Day, trampled on the floor, and felt something inside me begin to fracture. “That’s right.” Celeste chuckled. “These paintings are just an eyesore. Jacob said since your hand is ruined, they’re pointless now anyway. Better to make room for my piano. After all-” “-a crippled hand is just a decoration.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Celeste, you make me sick!” I raised my left hand and slapped her with all my might! The sharp sound of the slap echoed. Celeste stumbled backward, red wine spilling all over her, leaving a vivid red handprint on her face. “You dare hit me?” “If you like picking up other people’s trash, then I’ll grant your wish!” “Anya Reed! What are you doing!” Jacob’s furious shout came from the doorway. He roughly pushed me aside, shielding the trembling Celeste behind him. I stumbled backward, my back slamming hard against the corner of a cluttered table. Sharp pain shot through my lower back, and my fractured right arm throbbed agonizingly, making my face go stark white. Jacob didn’t even glance at me. “Jacob… I’m so scared…” Celeste cried, her face drenched in tears. “I just wanted to help her tidy her things, I didn’t expect her to suddenly… Maybe she’s upset because of her hand injury, I don’t blame her…” “Anya, Celeste was trying to be kind, and you actually laid hands on her?” Jacob glared at me. “Where are your manners?” I steadied myself against the table, pointing at the mess on the floor. “Kindness? She destroyed all my paintings, and you call that kindness?!” “Changing the villa’s decor was my idea.” Jacob interrupted me. “That’s no excuse for hitting someone. Apologize!” “Or what?” I looked up at him. “I won’t apologize,” I said, enunciating each word. “Jacob, since you haven’t checked your phone, I’ll tell you face-to-face.” I pulled out a copy of the divorce papers from my bag and flung them hard at his face. The papers scattered between him and Celeste. “You can have the house. I don’t care for it.”
Anya POV Jacob didn’t even stoop. He simply raised his foot and stepped on the divorce papers. “Anya. So you’ve learned to hit people. And you’ve also learned to play the victim.” He scoffed. I opened my mouth to speak when the housekeeper emerged from a corner of the wreckage, holding a dark red wooden box-my mother’s last belongings. “Open it,” Jacob said, his tone utterly flat. “And throw everything inside away.” “No!” I tried to rush over, but he grabbed my right hand and roughly shoved me back. The intense pain in my right arm made my vision blur. Jacob pointed to ten moving boxes that had just been unloaded outside the door. “Since you have the energy to hit people and refuse to apologize, you have the energy to work. Go move all of Celeste’s luggage to the master bedroom on the second floor. If you miss one box, I’ll burn one of your mother’s manuscripts.” I looked up at him in disbelief. “Don’t you know my hand is broken… How do you expect me to move them?” “Can’t your left hand still slap people?” Jacob said coldly. “Use your left hand to move them.” I looked at my mother’s belongings and finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll move them.” From the first floor to the second, twenty-four steps. I dragged the first heavy box with my left hand, bracing it with my body, stumbling upward step by step. With each step, a searing pain shot through my right arm. Sweat drenched my back, dripping onto the marble floor. Five feet away on the sofa, Jacob and Celeste sat comfortably. A tea table held red tea and pastries. “Jacob…” Celeste frowned, glancing at the stairs. “Maybe let it go? She is injured, after all. It wouldn’t look good for the Thorne family. Just let the workers move them.” Jacob didn’t move. “Since she won’t apologize, she can move the luggage as atonement. Don’t mind her.” “But that box contains my couture gowns and crystal heels,” Celeste said, raising her voice sweetly, clearly for me to hear. “Be extra careful, okay? Those shoes were specially ordered by Jacob from Italy. I’d be very upset if they got damaged.” My footsteps faltered. I, too, once had a pair of crystal heels Jacob had given me-he’d casually thrown them at me on our wedding day, telling me to “just make do.” Turns out they were just Celeste’s unwanted defective items. Fourth box, fifth box… My left hand became numb, my legs felt like lead. Until the bandage was soiled and stained with blood. By the eighth box, I was exhausted, and the box slammed heavily against the edge of a step. “Oh!” Celeste shrieked dramatically from downstairs. “My piano scores! Were you doing that on purpose?” Jacob’s face darkened, and his teacup clattered heavily on the table. “Anya! Do you still want your mother’s manuscripts or not?” I frantically clutched the box. “I didn’t… It wasn’t on purpose…” Finally, all ten boxes were moved into the master bedroom. I collapsed, utterly exhausted, in the second-floor hallway, gasping for breath. I propped myself against the wall and slowly moved downstairs, stopping in front of Jacob. “They’re all moved,” I said, extending my trembling left hand. “Give me the manuscripts.” Jacob pointed upstairs. “They’re in your bedroom. Get some rest. And don’t ever cross Celeste again.” I didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him again. Silently turned and went upstairs.
Anya POV The next morning, I woke up to excruciating pain. My right arm was violently grabbed, and I was roughly pulled up. My vision blurred from the pain, and then I was shoved hard against the headboard. “Anya, you truly never cease to amaze me.” Jacob’s face was grim, and behind him stood Celeste, eyes red-rimmed and looking utterly wronged. “What’s with this tantrum so early in the morning…” I didn’t understand. “Hand over the item.” “What item?” “Don’t play dumb!” Jacob suddenly raised his voice. “Celeste’s blue diamond necklace, did you take it?” I found it absurd. “When have I ever taken her things?” “Jacob…” Celeste tugged at his sleeve, her voice tearful. “Maybe she just borrowed it to wear for a couple of days… It was grandma’s keepsake for me. As long as she returns it, I won’t pursue the matter…” Her words confirmed my “guilt” of stealing out of jealousy. “I didn’t steal it! I don’t care for her things!” “Yesterday during the move, you were the only one who touched that box!” Jacob’s eyes were sharp. Turns out that black jewelry box I’d personally carried was a setup. “The box was sealed; I didn’t even open it! You can check the surveillance cameras!” “The surveillance system was down yesterday due to a power outage during renovations.” Jacob looked at me coldly. “Did you plan this all along?” “I didn’t take it.” I closed my eyes. “Believe it or not.” “Fine.” Jacob forced a laugh, clapping his hands. Two bodyguards immediately entered. “Since you won’t hand it over, I’ll find it myself.” Jacob ordered. “Search. Turn the place upside down until you find it.” “Jacob! How dare you! This is my privacy!” “Because I’m your husband, and because you’re a suspect.” He waved his hand coldly. “Go.” One bodyguard pinned me to the bed. I struggled desperately but was easily restrained. “Let go of me! Jacob, you bastard!” The other bodyguard searched through everything. My purse was emptied, my phone, wallet, even personal hygiene items scattered across the floor. Next, the bodyguard picked up the red wooden box from the bedside. “Don’t touch that!” I shrieked hysterically. “That’s from my mom! There’s only paintings inside! Jacob, I beg you!” A flicker of hesitation crossed Jacob’s eyes, but Celeste’s sobbing interrupted him. “Jacob… that was grandma’s memento for me…” “Open it.” With a “click,” the wooden box was pried open by force. The bodyguard turned the box upside down, violently emptying its contents onto the floor. Clatter. A few old paintbrushes, yellowed manuscript notebooks, fragments of unfinished paintings tumbled out. Several fragile thin papers shattered the moment they hit the floor. I stopped struggling. I stared blankly as my mother’s last traces in this world were being trampled and searched through. “Mr. Thorne, nothing,” the bodyguard reported. The room was dead silent. “Anya, where did you hide it?” His expression was grim. I didn’t answer. I slowly crawled off the bed, knelt on the floor, and began picking up the shattered manuscripts, piece by piece.
Anya POV I knelt on the floor. “Jacob, if you’re calling me a thief, let the police decide. That necklace is worth a fortune. If I stole it, that’s years in prison. But if I didn’t…” I looked at the shredded manuscripts scattered around me. “Then I’m want justice.” “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a break-in. A violent search. Destruction of property. And…a false accusation.” Half an hour later, the police arrived. Jacob stood by the window, his face ashen, while Celeste hid behind him, looking flustered. “Did you call this in?” The older officer looked at the mess on the floor, his brows tightly knit. I knelt on the ground, pointing at the two of them. “They falsely accused me of stealing a necklace worth millions, forcibly searched my belongings, destroyed my mother’s relics.” “Millions?” The officer’s expression turned serious. “Has the necklace been found?” “No.” “I request a search of the accuser, Celeste’s, personal belongings as well. After all, she’s not exactly a stranger to deception.” “What nonsense are you talking about!” Celeste clutched Jacob’s arm tightly. “Jacob, look at her.” The female officer, in a no-nonsense manner, held out her hand. “Miss Monroe, please cooperate.” Jacob frowned, stepping in front. “Celeste is the victim, and she’s a renowned pianist; she couldn’t possibly do something like this.” “Everyone is equal before the law. If you don’t cooperate, we have the right to take you to the station for questioning.” Jacob paused, then stepped aside, quietly reassuring Celeste. “It’s fine, just let them take a look.” Celeste’s face went pale, and she reluctantly handed over her purse. The female officer, wearing gloves, took out the contents one by one. Makeup, perfume, wallet… Finally, her finger explored a hidden zippered compartment at the bottom of the bag. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on her hand. The next second, the female officer pulled her hand out. That dazzling deep blue glow was strikingly bright under the fluorescent lights. It was the missing blue diamond necklace. Celeste’s face instantly drained of all color, and tears gushed from her eyes. “How could it be here? I clearly remember putting it in the box!” She frantically grabbed Jacob’s arm, her face streaming with tears. “Jacob, I honestly don’t know… Did I just put it in there too hastily yesterday and forget? I’ve been disoriented since the earthquake; I often can’t remember things… I truly didn’t mean to, I thought it was stolen…” “It’s okay, it’s good that it’s found.” He pulled Celeste into his arms, gently patting her back. “Don’t cry, no one blames you.” No one blames her? I sat amidst the chaos, listening to his forgiveness, feeling as if my blood had frozen in my veins. The police officer watched the scene with a speechless expression. “Since it was a misunderstanding, and the necklace has been found, then the matter of property damage…” “We’ll settle out of court,” Jacob immediately interrupted, handing over his business card. “I’m Jacob from Thorne Enterprises; we’ll handle this internally.” The police looked at me. “Ma’am, what’s your opinion?” I hadn’t even spoken yet when Jacob’s warning and intimidating gaze swept over me. What could I, in my current state, do to fight Thorne Enterprises? “Settle out of court.” I squeezed out those two words through gritted teeth. After the police left, the hospital room door closed again. Celeste was still sobbing her apologies. “I’m sorry, I really forgot… I made you suffer, I didn’t mean to…” “Get out.” I said, looking down. “What did you say?” Jacob frowned. “I said, get out!” I suddenly looked up, grabbing a pillow and flinging it hard. “Take your dirty things and get out! Now! Immediately!” He opened his mouth. “Anya, Celeste didn’t mean to…” “Just calm down. I’ll compensate you for the damaged items at full value.” With that, he escorted Celeste and strode out. That evening, I sat alone in the emptied room, piecing my mother’s manuscripts back together, fragment by careful fragment. My phone buzzed. A bank transfer notification. Your account has been credited: $5,000,000.00 USD. Memo: Restoration fee. Jacob’s text followed seconds later. “Compensation. Five million should cover the best restorers. Celeste was just frightened. She didn’t mean to set you up. Let it go. Don’t make this bigger than it is.” Five million. So that was the price. For my mother’s life’s work, my dignity, and whatever was left of my innocence. And this wasn’t even an apology. It was a transaction. A payment to cover Celeste’s lie. A fee for my silence. A laugh tore out of me. Hot, heavy tears hit the phone screen. Jacob. I don’t love you anymore.
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