The Substitute Bride Is Reborn and Loves Her Husband No more - Chapter 132

Chapter 132: Shadow assassin
“Rose close your eyes now,” he whispered. “Take a deep breath. Try to move your legs. Tell yourself you can walk.”

He followed her physical therapy routine carefully, repeating the instructions she’d been given.

Rose tried. She really did. She took her time. She focused. But still—she felt nothing in her legs.

Frustration grew inside her. The therapist’s voice rang out again, calm but firm.

“Let’s keep going, Rose. Don’t give up now.”

She’d been prejudiced against the woman at first—found her tone too clinical, too cold. But now she was just tired. She followed each instruction without argument, trying everything.

When it was over, Rose slammed her eyes shut in frustration.

“I still can’t feel anything,” she whispered. Her voice cracked with weariness.

Her eyes darkened, a storm of pain and helplessness swirling in them.

The therapist gave a small, gentle smile. “Let’s try something else. Can you pinsh yourself?”

Rose stared at her.

“Pinsh… myself?” she asked slowly, not believing what she’d just heard.

“Yes,” the woman said with quiet challenge in her eyes. “Or would you rather someone else do it for you?”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. The words stung.

Her pride kicked in.

“No,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’ll pinsh myself.”

She tried. She tried with all her might. But again—nothing. No sensation. She lowered her head.

This couldn’t be happening.

—

“How about you close your eyes, Miss Rose?” the therapist said softly. “I have an idea. Pinch yourself.”

Rose’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“What do you mean, pinch myself?”

“Yes. Try it,” the woman insisted gently.

“Rose, listen to her,” Rolan said from beside her.

Rose frowned but did as instructed. She pinched her arm—and felt absolutely nothing.

Her eyes opened and narrowed suspiciously at the therapist.

“What exactly did you expect to happen?” she asked bitterly. “What’s the point of this?”

“I didn’t expect much,” the therapist admitted. “I just hoped you might feel something. It’s part of an experiment. We’re testing limits.”

She turned to Rolan.

“How about you pinch her?”

Rose’s head snapped toward him.

“Why should he pinch me?! I don’t want him to pinch me!”

Her voice cracked from the sheer frustration—but underneath it, was a whisper of fear.

Not of pain.

But of what it meant… to feel nothing.

“Miss Rose, it’s for your own good. I’m just trying something out,” the therapist said calmly.

Rose shot the woman another distrustful look. She just couldn’t believe that this woman, of all people, knew what she was doing. Even though she was clearly experienced and had been on the job for a long time, Rose’s doubt remained.

Roland chuckled under his breath and stepped closer, preparing to follow the therapist’s instructions. He knelt beside Rose and gently pinched her.

Rose yelped.

Both of them froze.

Roland’s eyes widened.

Rose stared at him in disbelief.

She hadn’t expected herself to react like that. She had truly believed she couldn’t feel a thing.

The therapist clapped her hands together, a small smile on her lips.

“I think I know what’s going on now. Miss Rose, as you were told before, your condition is mental. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re incapable of moving—and your mind believed it.”

She paused, watching Rose carefully.

“But the reason you reacted when Roland touched you… is because deep down, you’ve told yourself that only he can bring that kind of reaction out of you.”

What the hell?

Rose blinked.

What did that even mean?

Roland wasn’t the only man in the world. Why would her brain trick her into thinking he was the only one who could make her feel something?

She didn’t trust the therapist’s theory. Not fully. Mostly because this woman was his therapist, not hers. And besides, Rose doubted she was some high-level, five-star expert anyway.

What was all of this supposed to mean?

Later, after the therapist left, Rose sat in silence—still in denial that she had felt something because of Roland.

What did it imply?

That she didn’t want to heal? That she was choosing not to complete her recovery?

Roland smirked and said, “I believe it. You totally reacted to me. Naughty girl… what were you thinking about when I touched you?”

Rose glared at him, blank expression flat and deadly.

“You’re disgusting, Roland. Just shut up.”

“Don’t piss me off,” she added coldly. “My body’s a mess and I don’t have time to entertain your ego. Don’t fool yourself into thinking your touch can fix me.”

But in her heart… a storm was brewing.

Would she have to depend on Roland every time she wanted to feel something—every time she wanted to walk?

Was she really going to let him touch her just so her body would respond?

No.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.

“You’re in denial, Rose,” he said quietly. “This is your body. Only you know what’s really going on inside that stubborn little head of yours. But for you to react like that—my touch clearly triggered something.”

Rose said nothing. She kept her mouth shut and looked away.

“I want to sleep,” she muttered. “I don’t have time to talk to you, Mr. Roland.”

“Oh, you don’t have time to talk to me?” he teased. “It’s only seven PM.”

He glanced out the window where the moonlight spilled in, glowing bright and full.

“Why don’t you go play under the moonlight while I rest,” Rose snapped sarcastically, her eyes drifting to the moon with longing.

But she couldn’t shift. She couldn’t walk.

She was trapped in her own body, watching the world move without her.

Roland went quiet, watching the sadness that crept into her expression.

He regretted bringing up the moon.

She couldn’t shift. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t escape.

She was stuck.

Crippled.

And no words—no teasing or comfort—could change that.

It was supposed to be the perfect, quiet night.

But Rolan knew better than to trust peace.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t react—not even as an arrow sliced through the night and shattered the window.

His expression stayed blank, like he hadn’t just watched a weapon tear into the mansion.

Someone was here.

Someone else was on the island.

It wasn’t just him and Rose.

There was another presence—and Rolan needed to find the motherfucker now.

He clenched his jaw, turning his eyes to the bed where Rose slept soundly. Peaceful. Vulnerable. She had no idea how easily someone could have ended her right there in her sleep.

No.

Not on his watch.

Rolan stepped out of the bed and into the shadows of the house. His eyes glowed faint gold as his senses sharpened. He scanned the area with trained precision, his instincts in full alpha mode.

He sniffed the air.

There it was.

The scent.

Faint… but unmistakable. Not human. It reeked of something ancient, something tied to the supernatural underworld.

An assassin.

A predator who had come for her.

Rolan’s lips curled into a snarl.

He tracked the scent through the house—it was clear for now. But outside… it lingered stronger.

Without hesitation, he turned toward the window and leapt out, landing in a crouch, one hand pressed against the earth.

In a flash, he shifted.

His wolf form tore through the jungle, muscles rippling, golden eyes locked forward. The intruder’s scent burned in his nostrils, growing thicker the deeper he went.

He was close.

Too close.

Rolan halted abruptly, fur bristling. The scent was right there.

“I got you,” he growled, voice low and deadly.

He lunged.

His body collided hard with the figure hiding in the trees. They wore a dog mask—trembling, heart hammering beneath him. Alive. Terrified.

Perfect.

Rolan snarled directly into the masked intruder’s face, his voice laced with raw Alpha authority.

“Who sent you? Are you the one who fired that arrow at Rose?”

Silence.

Coward.

Rolan growled again and raised a paw, striking the masked figure with enough force to knock them out cold.

Then he shifted back into human form in one smooth, commanding motion. He snapped his fingers once—and from behind the leaves, four men emerged.

His men.

“Grokon. Felfa,” Rolan ordered. “Take this one. Interrogate him. No mercy.”

He turned, eyes narrowed. “Actually—take him to the prison behind the mountain. I want him alive. For now.”

Without a word, his men dragged the unconscious assassin away.

Whoever was coming after Rose—Rolan would find every last one of them.

And they’d regret ever thinking they could touch her.