Abandoned by Unfaithful Husband

I stared at my phone, my world collapsing around me in waves of disbelief. The livestream playing on my screen showed a luxury Manhattan maternity suite, all soft lighting and expensive floral arrangements. And there, cradling a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket, was Hailey Young—with Zach standing proudly beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. "And here's little Zachary Junior," Hailey cooed, her perfectly manicured finger stroking the baby's cheek. Her eyes flicked toward the camera with calculated precision. "I'm sure Katherine Sullivan would have loved to meet him, but she's probably busy with her mother's funeral today. Such unfortunate timing." My fingers trembled against the screen. Five years. Five years I had given to Zach, enduring his mother's constant belittling, his growing indifference. All because he had saved my mother from that car accident.

I walked away from a billionaire husband who betrayed me with my best friend-divorced, pregnant with twins, and determined never to look back. But Ethan Harrington doesn't know how to lose. Years later, he's sober, broken, and begging for scraps of time with our children. Supervised visits. Two hours a month. Steel boundaries. I thought revenge would feel sweeter. Instead, I found Damian Black-dangerous, devoted, scarred by his own shadows-and built a new empire from the ashes of the old one. Now I'm carrying his child. Our daughter. But when Ethan's redemption starts looking too real, and old secrets threaten to unravel everything I've fought for... Will I finally close the door on my past? Or will one last betrayal force me to choose between the family I chose and the one that was forced on me? Betrayal. Divorce. Secret babies. Second chances. Revenge. A kickass heroine rising from ruin. And a love that refuses to stay buried.

I hummed softly as I sketched out the menu for our anniversary dinner, my fingers tracing the elegant script I'd been practicing for weeks. Four years with Marcus deserved something special, something that reflected the depth of what we shared—or what I thought we shared. The dining room table was covered with my plans: swatches of burgundy and cream table linens, printouts of recipes I'd been perfecting, and a detailed timeline ensuring everything would be flawless. Marcus deserved perfection. We deserved perfection. "Seared scallops with champagne beurre blanc," I murmured, adding it to the menu. His favorite. I'd spent three weekends practicing until each scallop had the perfect golden crust. The specialty saffron I'd ordered from an obscure online vendor had finally arrived yesterday—the final ingredient for the risotto that would accompany the main course. My phone buzzed with a reminder: I needed to confirm our dinner reservation at Lumière, the intimate French bistro where we'd celebrate before coming home for the private dinner I was planning.

I stood frozen in the doorway of our Manhattan penthouse, my fingers gripping the frame so tightly my knuckles turned white. The scene before me was surreal—Marcus, my husband of five years, tenderly cradling a newborn baby in his arms while Amber Chen, his mistress, looked on with exhausted satisfaction from our guest bed. The same hands that had once held mine with promises of forever were now gently stroking the cheek of another woman's child. His child. The irony was knife-sharp—this was the same man who had forced me through eight abortions, each one taking a piece of my soul, each one justified with his insistence that children would interfere with our ambitious lifestyle. "Look at him, he has my eyes," Marcus whispered, his voice carrying a tenderness I hadn't heard in years. The baby made a soft cooing sound, and Marcus's face lit up with a smile that twisted in my chest like barbed wire. I must have made a sound because Marcus finally looked up, his expression changing from adoration to cold indifference in an instant. There was no shame, no guilt—just annoyance at my presence interrupting his perfect moment. "Victoria," he said, his tone clipped.

On the third day after my husband lost his memory, I asked him for a divorce. He agreed without hesitation. His amnesia meant he'd forgotten me, but somehow he remembered the woman he was obsessed with, who’d just finalized her own divorce. By asking for a divorce, I was inadvertently paving the way for their union. A month later, he showed up at my door with hospital records in hand. "We have a kid together," he said. I nodded. "Yes, we do." His eyes turned red. "Where's the kid?" I couldn't help but laugh. "I've already let go of you, so why would I keep the child?

Chapter 1 Three years after Jerry lost his memory, Emily decided to die. She had cancer. After swallowing 520 sleeping pills, she quietly turned on the gas in her apartment. When she woke again, Jerry’s father and mother stood by her ICU bed, their expressions icy. “Put it out of your mind,” his mother said. “Even if you kill yourself ten thousand times, my son won’t spare you a second glance.” His father added, “I advise you to sign the divorce papers sooner rather than later. Miss Judith is a Capital City socialite, a perfect match for our family. She’s carrying the heir to the Huo legacy—something a woman of your status could never compare to.” The words pierced her heart like a needle. Three years ago, Jerry had loved her to the bone. He once drove nine hundred kilometers to the peak of a mountain just to pick her a rare alpine rose, all because she’d lingered on a photo of one for three seconds at an exhibition. When her menstrual cramps were unbearable, he’d abandon multi-billion-dollar deals, rush out into a downpour to scour every pharmacy in the capital for pain relievers, then stay up all night brewing her a soothing tea—only to catch pneumonia himself from the fever it induced. Later, when she wanted to go abroad as a doctor in a warzone, Jerry defied his family’s fierce opposition. For three days and nights, he faced the family council, willing to be disowned, just so he could join the special forces and follow her. When he appeared before her in that crisp, tailored uniform, she cried. He’d just kissed her forehead gently, holding her close, and whispered, “Don’t cry. It hurts me to see you like this.” They married, got their license, and became the couple everyone in the special forces envied. She thought their happiness would last forever. But during their final rescue mission, she was taken hostage by rioters, her body strapped with explosives. With fifty-two seconds left on the timer, Jerry shot himself without hesitation. Covered in blood, he offered to exchange himself for her, mouthing the words “I love you” soundlessly across the chaos. An explosion. Life and death separated. Every time she remembered that scene, even breathing was agony. She guarded his empty grave, only to learn he wasn’t dead. The news that followed was worse: he’d lost his memory and fallen in love with Miss Judith. For three years, he watched her heartbreak with cold indifference, pouring all his former tenderness into Judith. He loved Judith the way he once loved her. She didn’t know if this was heaven’s mercy or its cruelty. She had begged. She had suffered. She had tried to end it all. Over one thousand and ninety-five days and nights, she’d shed countless tears. But Jerry never even looked up. At first, he was cold as a stranger. Later, his disgust for her grew, culminating in getting Judith pregnant. Hurried footsteps sounded at the door. Emily looked up to see a cold, aloof man walk in. He wore a black suit, the top button of his shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of his elegant collarbone. Jerry gripped her chin, the force so great it brought tears to her eyes. His gaze was ice. “Was it you who turned on the gas? Do you have any idea Judith is pregnant?” Her voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know Miss Judith would be at the villa.” “Don’t play the victim with me,” he said coldly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Judith is the love of my life, my fiancée. I’m warning you—don’t get any ideas.” The man who once loved her deeply now looked at her with nothing but distance and disdain. Just three years ago, a single glance from her would make his ears turn red with shyness. Holding her hand made him sweat with nerves. Kissing her made his whole body tremble. He had willingly walked to his death to save her. She had held onto the love in his eyes for three long years. But now… those same eyes held only revulsion. A cold numbness spread through Emily’s body. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, but not a single tear would fall. She opened her mouth, her throat tight. “Jerry, let’s get a divorce.” The air hung silent for a few seconds. Jerry suddenly let out a cold laugh, a mocking curve lifting the corner of his mouth. “Trying to trick me into a divorce again, so you can drug my coffee? Emily, using the same trick twice? Aren’t you tired?” “No, this time it’s real—” “Enough,” Jerry cut her off impatiently. “Judith had a scare. I need to take care of her. I don’t have time for your nonsense.” Watching his retreating back, Emily’s eyes stung. The man who once loved her to the bone wouldn’t even spare her a moment of his time now. Not long after they left, the duty nurse came to collect payment. “Miss Emily, here is your medical bill. The total is ten thousand.” Emily glanced at her bank balance and felt a pang of bitter sorrow. “I can’t pay that all at once. Could I owe it? I’ll transfer the money tomorrow.” The nurse hesitated but went to start the approval process.