The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 37

Numb to Pain

Mrs. Helen rushed to grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, her hands trembling as she opened it. She stood beside Alina, who remained motionless, staring at the messy floor–spilled soup, scattered bowl fragments, and fresh blood dripping from Alina’s right palm.

“Madam, please sit down,” Mrs. Helen pleaded with a trembling voice. “I need to clean your wound. It looks quite serious.”

Alina didn’t move. She just stood there with an empty expression, as if feeling nothing. As if the wound on her hand–a deep cut from the sharp bowl shard–didn’t exist.

Mrs. Helen took a shaky breath and slowly reached for Alina’s hand, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. The older woman began cleaning the blood with gauze, her hands shaking at the sight of the fairly deep wound.

“Madam, this must hurt terribly,” Mrs. Helen whispered, her eyes tearing up. “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?”

Alina showed no reaction. She didn’t even wince. Even when Mrs. Helen touched the deepest part of the wound, Alina’s face remained calm. Flat. As if she felt no physical pain at all.

Because compared to the pain in her chest, this hand wound was nothing.

Mrs. Helen had just begun cleaning the wound with alcohol when the bedroom door burst open violently.

CRASH!

Daniel stood in the doorway, breathing slightly labored, as if he’d run here. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, hair not as neat as usual–signs he was in a hurry.

His eyes immediately fell on Alina’s bleeding hand in Mrs. Helen’s lap.

For a moment–though very brief–the expression on Daniel’s face changed.

Worry. Even fear.

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the wound, hands balling into fists at his sides.

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But that expression vanished quickly. Replaced with a controlled, composed mask–the mask he’d worn for years.

“What happened?” Daniel asked, his voice low but firm. “How did Alina get hurt?”

Daniel’s gaze fixed on Mrs. Helen.

Mrs. Helen stood quickly, bowing respectfully. “I’m sorry, sir, 1–I don’t know exactly. I only heard the sound of something breaking from inside the room, and when I came in, Madam was already injured.”

Alina.” Daniel shifted his gaze to his wife, who showed no reaction whatsoever. “What happened?”

Silence.

Alina didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.

She just sat there with her bleeding hand in her lap, staring at the floor with a vacant expression. As if Daniel Wasn’t in the room. As if his question didn’t matter.

Daniel’s jaw fighteried. He stepped closer measured, controlled steps despite the tension in his shoulders,

“Alina,” Daniel repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m talking to you.”

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Still no response.

Frustration began appearing on Daniel’s face. He stepped even closer, stopping right in front of Alina.

Then his hand lifted–firm but not rough–grasping Alina’s chin, forcing her to look up.

“Why is your hand injured?” Daniel asked, staring directly into Alina’s eyes. “Answer me.”

For a moment, their eyes met.

And Daniel saw something in Alina’s eyes that made something twist in his chest.

Emptiness.

Not sadness. Not anger. Just a deep emptiness. Like something inside Alina had already died.

Then quickly and forcefully, Alina knocked Daniel’s hand away from her chin.

A rough movement. A clear rejection.

‘Injured or not, it’s none of your business,” Alina said in a flat, cold voice.

Daniel flinched–shocked by that response.

Alina had never been rough with him. Had never rejected his touch with such violence. Had never spoken in such a dismissive, cold tone.

“What do you mean none of my business?” Daniel’s voice hardened, frustration mixing with something that might be hurt. “You-”

“Leave if you have no business here,” Alina cut him off, without looking at Daniel. “I can take care of myself.”

Daniel gritted his teeth, increasingly annoyed with Alina. But he tried to restrain himself. Didn’t want to argue.

“Mrs. Helen,” Daniel said with an edge to his voice, “do you really not know what actually happened here?”

The older woman raised her head–eyes teary, torn between loyalty to Alina and fear of Daniel.

“I… truly don’t know, sir,” she whispered. “I only heard a sound, and when I came in, Madam was already injured.

Daniel’s eyes fell on the floor beside the table.

The remains of spilled soup not yet cleaned up. Bowl fragments. Brown liquid pooling.

halian soup. The one he’d specially ordered.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “You threw the soup?” he asked, turning back to Alina with disbelief. “You’re throwing a tantrum because you didn’t like it?”

Alina laughed a short, bitter sound without humor.

*Throwing a tantrum?” she repeated softly, finally looking at Daniel with eyes that were somehow colder than he’d ever seen. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I just refuse to eat that food anymore. Starting today, I don’t even Want to see it. Ever.”

Daniel was confused. He knew that was Alina’s favorite soup. He was certain because Alina never stopped smiling when eating it. She even often praised the taste.

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Daniel stared at the wound on Alina’s hand—a deep cut still bleeding, clearly needing medical attention—and something protective kicked in despite the tension.

“Mrs. Helen,” Daniel said firmly, “call the doctor. Now.”

Mrs. Helen nodded quickly and rushed out, clearly relieved to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

The door closed.

Just Daniel and Alina remained.

Daniel stepped to the first aid kit Mrs. Helen had left behind, picked it up, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll clean your wound before the doctor arrives.”

Daniel reached for Alina’s hand to treat it, but Alina violently knocked his hand away.

“I can do it myself.”

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Alina grabbed the first aid kit with her left hand a determined though awkward movement and managed to

take it from Daniel.

Daniel was ready to help, to insist–but words stuck in his throat when he saw what Alina did next.

With her slightly trembling left hand, Alina took the alcohol bottle. Then without hesitation, without preparation–she poured it directly onto the open wound.

Daniel’s breath caught.

That must hurt. Intense burning pain. A deep wound with pure alcohol-

But Alina didn’t flinch.

Didn’t make a sound.

Didn’t even blink.

She just stood there with a blank expression while the alcohol flowed into the wound, cleaning the blood, causing pain that should be unbearable.

“Alina-“Daniel stepped forward, an instinctive need to stop her-

But Alina was already finished. She set down the bottle, took antibiotic ointment with mechanical, efficient movements, applied it to the wound, then began wrapping the bandage with one hand–awkward but somehow effective.

Daniel stood there–stunned–watching.

He knew Alina hated pain most of all. In the past, even a paper cut made her wince. When there was a needle for a blood test, she would close her eyes and grip his hand tight.

But now

Now she treated a much more serious wound with shocking cold efficiency. As if she felt no pain at all.

ur–worse as if this physical pain was nothing compared to the other pain she felt.

Alina finished the bandage with a simple knot, then stood up.

RASTANTE FER“,

She walked to the window–putting distance between herself and Daniel–and stood with her back to him.

“If there’s nothing else,” Alina said with a controlled, final voice, “please leave.”

Daniel stood there–conflicted between anger, worry, guilt, and something more complicated.

“Alina-”

“I need rest,” Alina cut him off without turning. “Please leave.”

A clear dismissal. Final.

Daniel’s hands clenched at his sides. Jaw tight. Every instinct said to stay, force her to talk, to explain, to fix whatever this was.

But seeing Alina’s posture–rigid, distant, like one push away from breaking completely-

And seeing the wound she’d inflicted on herself without flinching-

Daniel realized that pushing now would only make things worse.

He turned–reluctant, frustrated–and walked to the door.

At the threshold, he stopped.

“The doctor will be here soon,” Daniel said. “Let him examine the wound properly.”

No response from Alina.

Only silence.

Daniel paused–wanting to say something, anything but words wouldn’t come.

So he left, closing the door with a soft but somehow final sound.

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