Don Hoffmann's Secret Wife Run away

*Alani’s POV*

When I slid the folder toward Gordon, he was leaning against his desk, phone pressed to his ear, voice low.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll be right there. Don’t be mad.”

On the other end, a woman’s syrupy voice spilled out, like a string that could yank all his attention away with a single tug.

I stood across from him, my face completely devoid of anything a fiancée should be asking.

—That was Paula. His brother’s widow.

Gordon barely looked down.

He listened to Paula coo into the phone while his hand reached for the fountain pen. The nib touched the signature line and his name flowed out in one quick, decisive stroke.

“I’ll head back now,” he told her, his tone so gentle it grated. “Of course I’ll have dinner with you.”

Then he hung up, his gaze resting on my face for less than a second before his expression cooled again.

“Anything else?”

“No.” I drew the documents back toward me, my movements steady, not even a tremor in my fingertips.

In five years, I’ve handed him more files than I can count. Each one, by virtue of his name, could decide whether someone lived or died.

Today, he was deciding about me.

Hidden beneath the routine paperwork I’d placed in front of him was an authorized Hoffmann exit agreement.

He grunted in acknowledgment and was already turning to grab his coat. “I’m going back to the old house.”

“Okay.”

The unspoken line was: *Don’t bother me if nothing’s on fire.*

He left the study quickly. His footsteps echoed over the marble, thin and hollow.

When his back disappeared at the end of the corridor, I turned and left the other way.

By the time I pushed open the door to the punishment hall, the old butler Ignatius was already standing in the center of the room, his silver-gray eyes as sharp as blades.

His gaze swept over the signed line on the document. His brows moved, just barely.

“You’re sure you want to leave the Hoffmanns?”

His tone was calm, but it sounded like he was making sure I wasn’t about to change my mind.

I knew why.

Leaving the organization meant leaving the Hoffmann sphere for good—maybe even leaving this country forever.

And before you left, they branded you with red-hot iron. Once the blood scabbed over, they ripped the whole piece of flesh off. No medication allowed, no treatment for the wound.

A lot of people bled out from the pain alone. But—

Without hesitation, I nodded.

“I’m sure.”

Ignatius’s narrowed eyes weighed me, but in the end he said nothing.

He flicked his hand. Two guards carried in the brazier. The iron brand carved with the faction’s crest glowed in the fire, heating until it turned red and hissed, a sound that made your scalp crawl.

Then they grabbed me, one on each side, forcing me down, kneeling with my back exposed.

Very soon, the searing heat closed in on my spine.

“Begin,” Ignatius said quietly.

The next second, a fierce stab of pain exploded across my back, and my vision went white.

My breath shattered. All that made it out of my throat were broken whimpers, crushed between my teeth.

That was the first strike.

Before I could draw in another full breath, the second came. Then the third—

I could smell my own flesh burning, blood congealing and then bursting open

Just like that firefight five years ago.

I’d stumbled into a street corner gun battle, bullets shaving concrete off the walls. I thought I was going to die. Gordon dragged me out of the smoke, his palm clamped around the back of my neck, his grip a command.

“Don’t look back,” he said.

But I did.

From that day on, I followed him—learning the rules, learning how to negotiate, learning how to hide a blade behind a smile. I was clumsy. I fell. He kicked me out in front of people more than once.

Later, I stepped in front of an explosion for him. In the haze of unconsciousness I heard him call my name, voice tight with anger.

When I woke, he was bent over the side of the bed, his gaze as dark as night.

I asked, “Gordon…? Are you okay…?”

He answered by covering my mouth with a kiss.

And I actually believed that was my answer.

Until he took me back to the old house and slipped a ring onto my finger—while his eyes stayed fixed on Paula standing in front of us, his brother Scott’s widow.

I thought it was respect. That he wanted his family’s approval.

But after dinner, when I went down the hall looking for him, opened the garden door, and circled past the flowerbeds, I saw him pinning Paula against a wall.

Her lips were red and swollen, the neckline of her blouse rumpled.

It was obvious she’d just finished a very heated kiss.

“You wanted to break up before, said Scott was better for you,” Gordon’s voice was low and rough, each word bitten off like he was chewing on rage. “I let that go.”

“But now he’s gone, Paula. That means you can only be mine.”

She glanced, flustered, toward the doorway. “Alani is still—”

Gordon just gave a cold little laugh, like he was laying down the rules of a game.

“Marrying Alani is just for you,” he said. “I don’t believe you can watch me with her and *not* get jealous.”

The next second, he kissed her again, hard and merciless.

Like he wanted to devour her, but couldn’t help being gentle.

In that moment I understood—this so-called fiancée was nothing more than a prop he’d picked up to incite someone else’s jealousy.

I was a supporting prop in their love story.

No different in function from a bouquet of flowers.

So now, when he signed the permission for me to leave, he didn’t even need to lift his eyes.

By the time I dragged myself out of the memory, my back was drenched. The blood blisters had burst, mixing with cold sweat and trickling down along my waist.

Three large emblems had been branded in a row, overlapping just enough so that, when it came time to tear the scabs off, it would be fast, brutal, and “clean.”

I could barely stand.

When the guards let me go, Ignatius’s voice was still steady.

“By the rules, no medicine, no dressings. When the bleeding stops, you come back and rip the scabs off.”

The pain hollowed me out until it felt like there was nothing left inside but air. I nodded, pulled my coat on, and forced the burning in my back down beneath the fabric.

As soon as I stepped out of the punishment hall, my phone buzzed.

His name lit up the screen.

“Get to the estate. Now.” Gordon’s voice was as commanding as ever, leaving no room for refusal. “Right now.”

By the time I made it back to the main house, the sky was already dark.

The reception room was brightly lit. Gordon sat in the main seat. Paula was beside him—impeccable suit, soft, fragile smile.

I had barely walked up when he spoke, his tone as casual as if he were announcing a routine personnel transfer.

“From today on, Paula will slowly take over your work.” He didn’t even look at me. “Show her the ropes first.”

The brand on my back felt like it was on fire, blood slowly seeping through my shirt.

But I still nodded. “Okay.”

Like a proper secretary about to be replaced.

The problem was Paula couldn’t even manage a cup of coffee.

I went to the pantry to make the coffee Gordon needed for a meeting. I’d just picked up the coffee beans when she came in, carrying an empty cup, smiling soft and harmless.

“I should learn this,” she said. “From now on, I should be the one doing these things.”

I watched her reach for the heavy brass kettle and reminded her, “The kettle’s really hot. Careful.”

She hummed in reply, but her hand “accidentally” slipped. The lid flipped open and the boiling water poured straight toward me.

I stepped back on instinct. The fabric dragged across the brand on my back, slowing me by half a beat. The hot water and the cup in her hand crashed to the floor together. Shards of porcelain flew up, slicing across my knee. Blood welled out immediately and slid down my shin.

“Ah—” She screamed, like the one who’d been hurt.

Almost at the same time, the door banged open.

Gordon stood in the doorway. His gaze swept the scene once and his expression darkened instantly.

“What happened?” His voice vibrated with barely contained anger.

“I’m sorry…” Paula immediately clutched her wrist, eyes going red on command. “I—I thought Alani would warn me…”

He didn’t spare me a single glance. His voice was as cold as ice.

“Alani, what were you thinking? You need her to do even this for you?”

“It was her—” I tried to explain.

“You’re the secretary,” he cut in, flat and sharp. “Letting her carry the coffee and you think you’re in the right?”

Then he took a step forward and simply scooped Paula up into his arms.

“Does it hurt?” he asked her softly, a gentleness I’d never heard from him, “We’ll get it looked at first.”

Before he left, he turned and glanced at me.

He didn’t see the blood running down my knee, or the blisters rising angry and red on my shin.

“If you can’t handle something, then you won’t be handling it anymore.”

He dropped the words like a verdict, then strode off toward the master bedroom with Paula in his arms.

She curled against his chest. Over his shoulder, the look she gave me was feather-light and gloating.

With a single sentence, he stripped me of my authority and my right to defend myself in one stroke.

I suddenly felt like laughing.

But I’d already used my final right—to get away from him.

On balance, I hadn’t really lost.