My Husband Banished Me To A Ruined Farm On Our Wedding Day — Three Years Later He Begged For Mercy
Part 1
The January wind rattled the windows of the courthouse.
I stood in the hallway in a simple white dress.
At twenty years old, I felt like a child playing make-believe.
My father hovered nearby with relief etched into his aging face.
This marriage would save him from complete ruin.
Brian Preston’s money was going to pay off the massive gambling debts that threatened to send my dad to prison.
The judge stamped our paperwork with a heavy thud.
I dared a glance at my new husband.
Brian stood tall and rigid beside me in his expensive tailored suit.
His responses during the brief ceremony had been clipped and entirely devoid of emotion.
He slipped the simple gold band onto my finger without looking at me.
His touch was completely impersonal.
It felt like he was conducting a hostile corporate takeover rather than pledging his life to mine.
The reception at his downtown penthouse was an elegant but somber affair.
I sat beside him at the head table and barely touched my food.
London’s elite raised crystal glasses to celebrate a union that felt more like a prison sentence.
Brian suddenly rose from his seat and offered me his arm.
It was the first gesture of courtesy he had shown all day.
He guided me away from the grand dining room and into a smaller private study.
“I trust the arrangements are satisfactory,” he asked to the glass.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
“Everything is lovely,” I managed to say.
He turned to regard me with those freezing eyes.
“I understand this is not the match you dreamed of,” he said flatly.
“But I assure you that you will want for nothing material.”
I summoned every ounce of courage I had left.
“Why did you choose me?” I asked quietly.
Something flickered across his face before vanishing instantly.
“My reasons are my own,” he replied tersely.
“But know this, I require a wife who understands discretion and duty.”
He nodded as if sealing a business deal.
“We depart for my private estate tomorrow.”
He paused with his hand on the brass door latch.
“I should inform you that ours will be a marriage in name only.”
He left the room before I could even process his words.
I sank into a leather chair while my white dress pooled around me.
I was now a wife in title only.
I was married to a man who could barely stomach the sight of me.
The journey the following day was conducted in near complete silence.
We traveled in his luxurious private SUV for hours.
I attempted conversation several times but only received monosyllabic grunts.
Rain began to fall against the tinted windows by mid-afternoon.
The landscape changed from neat suburbs to wild and rugged terrain.
Brian buried himself in paperwork on his tablet.
The SUV continued down an increasingly desolate path.
We crested a hill and I gasped at the sight before me.
A gray stone farmhouse stood spread across a wind-swept moor.
It was partially shrouded in mist and looked entirely abandoned.
A low stone wall surrounded extensive grounds of nothing but heath and sky.
“Greymoor,” Brian announced with an oddly flat voice.
“This isn’t your main estate,” I said with rising panic.
He finally met my eyes directly.
“No, this is where you will be residing.”
The vehicle stopped before the rotting wooden porch.
He stepped out into the rain without offering me a hand.
I scrambled out behind him in complete disbelief.
A single older woman stood waiting on the porch with a somber expression.
“I’ve prepared everything according to your instructions,” she said quietly.
Brian nodded and gestured vaguely in my direction.
“This is Megan, and she will be taking up residence here indefinitely.”
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Indefinitely?” I whispered.
His expression hardened into stone.
“The marriage contract is fulfilled and your father’s debts are paid.”
Rain soaked through my thin traveling coat.
He didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Brenda will see to your needs,” he continued briskly.
“You will have an adequate allowance for household management.”
I fought to keep my voice steady.
“And where will you be?”
“Anywhere but here,” he replied coldly.
He turned to the driver.
“Keep my bags in the trunk because I won’t be staying the night.”
I stood motionless as rain streamed down my face.
This was beyond a cold marriage of convenience.
This was a complete banishment.
“You cannot simply abandon me here,” I said finding my voice at last.
His laugh was entirely without humor.
“The law says what is mine is mine, including you.”
He turned back to the waiting vehicle.
“You are not to use my name in society,” he instructed in a low growl.
“If you must travel, you will present yourself as a widow.”
I felt as though I had been physically struck.
He climbed inside the SUV without a backward glance.
The vehicle rolled down the muddy drive and took my future with it.
Three years passed in that rural isolation.
I transformed the ruined property into a thriving working farm.
I built a life from the ashes of his cruel rejection.
I never heard a single word from him.
Then the worst storm of the decade hit our county.
Wind lashed at the windows of the farmhouse while I reviewed account ledgers.
A sudden heavy pounding echoed from the front entrance.
I rushed to the foyer and threw open the heavy oak door.
The man who had thrown me away like trash was standing on my porch, and he looked like he had just crawled out of a grave.
