No More Love For Him Novel by Elise _ Novel




No More Love For Him Chapter 01

Ever since a severe blow to the head left her with internal bleeding, Marissa Petrova had become the perfectly compliant wife Randall Morales had always wanted.
No more nagging him about his drinking. No more getting on his case about his staying up late. She didn't even pack his gear for his deployments anymore.
Just yesterday, she'd collapsed at the research station.
A frantic colleague had helped her off the floor, asking, "Marissa, where's your family? I can call them to take you to the ER."
Marissa had frozen. Family? Did she even have one?
A sharp pain had flared behind her eyes, clouding her memory. She'd managed a weak smile. "No need. I don't have anyone."
On day five, feeling marginally better, she opened her bedroom door to find Randall lounging on the living room couch.
He had a cigarette in his hand and glared at her with obvious impatience. "Marissa, you're not going to change anything by starving yourself."
Starving herself?
The blood clot in her brain was causing such intense nausea that she couldn't keep anything down. Just opening her eyes sent the room spinning.
Marissa stared at the face she used to love. She opened her mouth to speak, but a hazy memory suddenly shoved its way to the surface.
It was from the day she had gone to his office seeking comfort after being discharged from the hospital—only to overhear a conversation that now echoed with brutal clarity in her mind.
"Colonel Morales, you actually won the bet. Well, money is all yours."
"I still can't believe you paid guys to set Marissa up. I heard things got a bit crazy, though. She almost died."
"Going that far just to get payback for Heather was brutal. Aren't you worried Marissa's gonna leave you if she finds out?"
Randall flicked the ash from his cigarette, sounding completely unconcerned. "She won't leave," he said calmly. "And while she's recovering, she won't have the energy to argue with me about Heath. I'll make it up to her later."
***
A sharp pain pierced Marissa's temples. Her doctor's warning echoed in her ears, "The blood clot is pressing on a nerve. You could lose your memory anytime. You need surgery as soon as possible."
She looked down, swallowing her grief and forcing herself to bury the memory that had just resurfaced.
When she stayed silent for a while, Randall's jaw tightened. He crushed out his cigarette. "Marissa, I've told you. Heath is just a new student on base. She had a fever, so I checked in on her.
"Besides, if you hadn't gone into that neighborhood in the first place, none of this would've happened to you." He rose to his feet, towering over her. "When Heath gets back, you need to apologize to her. And stop looking so pissed off all the time."
Apologize?
The demand hit Marissa like a physical blow, sending a wave of agonizing betrayal washing over her.
She had almost died in that alley. Now, instead of asking how she was healing, her husband was ordering her to apologize to the other woman.
The pounding in her head left her too exhausted to even fight back.
"Alright," she said.
Her voice was quiet, totally hollow.
Randall frowned, clearly caught off guard by how quickly she caved.
Before he could say anything else, his phone rang. It was the ringtone he'd set just for Heather.
He picked up. Heather was on the other end, sounding tearful. "Colonel Morales? My fever spiked again, and I'm home alone..."
"I'll be right there." He ended the call, grabbed his jacket, and made for the front door. He paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at Marissa.
"Go," Marissa told him. She turned, walked into her bedroom, and softly shut the door.
He hesitated, but didn't say a word to her. Instead, he lifted his phone back to his ear, his voice suddenly thick with concern. "I'll be there in a minute. Do you want me to grab you something to eat?"
He hurried out of the house.
The second the front door clicked shut, Marissa's phone rang.
It was her colleague from the research station, sounding frantic. "Marissa, the hospital in New York just scheduled your surgery for the tenth of next month. But I have to remind you about the risks. The clot is deep in your brain, and you could die during the procedure. Are you really not going to tell your husband?"
Marissa stared out the window.
His military uniform hung in the yard, the sleeves swaying in the breeze, but the thought of that man no longer made her feel safe.
She lowered her eyes, her voice flat. "There's no need.
"Soon, he won't have anything to do with me."
Randall—Commander of the Special Operations Regiment, was a young, accomplished, and untouchable man.
Yet, three years ago, this same man had chased her with relentless dedication.
For two months straight, he had waited outside her research station every day after work, never complaining once. Even when she gave him the cold shoulder, he was perfectly happy just being there.
He'd banked all his leave and traveled thousands of miles to go with her, simply because she'd mentioned wanting to see the desert stars.
He wrote her thirty-seven letters, every single one promising to stay by her side for the rest of his life. It had been incredibly romantic.
But the moment they got married, he shut her out entirely, leaving her alone in their quiet, empty house.
In their third year of marriage, he brought Heather home.
He claimed she was just a childhood friend he'd grown up with. He insisted nothing was going on between them, saying he was merely following his parents' orders to look out for her.
Later, though, Marissa caught them talking by the training grounds. Heather was crying, tugging at his sleeve, and Marissa could see the genuine distress in Randall's eyes as he wiped her tears away.
When Heather complained about her crappy dorm, he immediately found her a new apartment.
When Heather decided she wanted a job at the research station, he used his influence to help her bypass the standard requirements.
And when Heather said that Marissa was difficult to get along with, he told Marissa to be more accommodating.
Things finally escalated the day Heather ran outside after Marissa scolded her. A group of street thugs harassed Heather, and Randall responded brutally, beating them within an inch of their lives.
When Marissa went down to the police station to bail him out, one of the men smirked at her.
"You really think Colonel Morales likes you?" the guy sneered. "You're just a smokescreen to keep his family off his back.
"His grandfather forced him to marry a respectable woman and threatened to send Heather away if he didn't. Why else would he pick you?"
She broke down in tears and ran to confront him.
Randall just glared back at her, furious.
"Marissa, stop with the dirty thoughts," he snapped. "I only see Heath as my sister."
Fuming, she bolted into the night.
She wandered outside for a long time. When she finally stumbled across them again, Randall was shielding Heather from another group of thugs.
One of the men was rearing back to smash a metal pipe into Randall's head.
Marissa sprinted over as fast as she could and took the blow meant for him. Bleeding heavily from her head, she blacked out.
When she came to, her memory was in pieces.
Later, she found out Randall had actually hired those guys himself—just to give Heather a chance to vent her frustration.
It was absurd. Marissa had lain in the ER for three days while he was out celebrating Heather's birthday.
Fine.
Wasn't this exactly what he wanted?
A wife who didn't argue, didn't make waves, and never demanded his attention.
She had played the part perfectly.
Marissa opened her contacts and pulled up the number of an old friend who worked at a law firm.
She carefully typed out a message, "Please help me draw up a divorce agreement. My husband cheated, and I have proof."

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