My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 02

My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 02 The Soup
This time, afraid of being found out, Feodora only had the black market torture me for a week.
She held me in her arms, my body riddled with holes, and cried until her eyes were bloodshot.
“I’m so sorry. I went to get a doctor, and when I came back, you’d been kidnapped again. Babe, tell me who did this to you. I’ll kill them.”
I looked at this woman falling apart in front of me and let out a bitter smile.
She loved Emerson, so she destroyed me.
Now she was pretending to love me just to keep me by her side and continue torturing me.
“I’m taking you to the hospital right now. Just hang in there.”
I didn’t say a word.
When we got to the hospital, I found that every doctor had been assigned to Emerson’s room.
They left me on a gurney in the corner of the ER, the pain making everything go black.
It wasn’t until I passed out that they finally sent in an intern.
The stitches were uneven, and they poured disinfectant straight onto my open wounds.
When she started cutting away the rotting flesh, her hands shook so badly that every cut took healthy tissue with it—one piece, then another, then another.
I was torn up this bad, and Feodora still wouldn’t even give me a proper doctor.
I gritted my teeth, pain twisting through my chest.
When I woke up, I went home. There was a man standing in the kitchen.
The second he saw me, the hand holding the bowl began to tremble.
Before I could say a word, Feodora immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him from me.
“Emerson knew you were coming home today, so he came over to make you some soup. Don’t you dare lose your temper.”
I managed a faint smile, took the bowl, and took a sip.
The taste was off. I looked down into the pot.
There was something floating in the broth—something shaped like a baby.
My hand trembled, and the bowl slipped from my grasp and shattered on the floor.
“What the hell did you put in this?”
The butler spoke up. “The body of a baby that Emerson brought back. He claimed it was a dark ritual soup that would cure you. And yes, Ms. Wilde knew about it too.”
I doubled over and threw up—bile and everything.
Tears hit the floor, blurring my vision.
I staggered upstairs and shoved open the bedroom door.
Their intertwined bodies came into view, waves of heavy panting washing over me.
I ignored the nausea and roared, “Feodora, where’s our son? Why are you doing this?”
“What son? Didn’t he die right after he was born?
“Emerson said we should make him into a soup for you, something to help restore your health, and I agreed right away. I was just looking out for you…”
I shoved them aside and smashed the table lamp with my fist.
I was about to swing at Emerson when Feodora kicked me square in the chest.
“Chester, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s just a dead body. Are you seriously this worked up over it?”
My heart was breaking.
Emerson suddenly threw himself at my feet, putting on a pitiful act.
“Mr. Brooks, it’s all my fault. If you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me. Don’t blame Feodora.”
Images of my son being abandoned in a trash pile, starving to death before being boiled into soup, flashed through my mind.
This man standing before me was the one responsible.
Rage surged through me. I grabbed the fruit knife beside me and lunged at Emerson.
The blade came down.
Feodora moved first, swinging the knife and severing my hand.