After My Dead Wife's Revenge, I Found New Love

The London air felt different—sharper, cleaner than Seattle's. Or maybe it was just that I was breathing as a dead woman now.

My recovery was slow, each day measured in small victories. First sitting up without assistance. Then walking to the window of Nicholas's Kensington townhouse where I'd been installed in a bedroom converted to a medical suite. Dr. Mitchell monitored my progress with professional efficiency and surprising warmth, never asking questions about the circumstances that had brought me here with a new identity and a body map of healing injuries.

"You're healing remarkably well," she said one morning, checking my ribs. "The physical trauma, at least."

The unspoken hung between us. The emotional wounds would take far longer—if they ever healed at all.

"Mr. Watkins would like to see you," she added, helping me into a silk robe that was far nicer than anything I'd owned before. "Are you up for visitors?"

I nodded. Every moment spent recovering was a moment Donovan believed he'd won. I couldn't afford the luxury of complete healing.

Nicholas entered with the same commanding presence I remembered from the hospital, though here in his territory, he seemed more relaxed. He wasn't alone.

"Reina, this is Marcus Chen," Nicholas said, gesturing to the compact, sharp-eyed man beside him. "My head of security and most trusted business partner."

Marcus gave a slight bow. "Mrs. Wheeler. Or should I say Ms. Torres now?"

"Reina is fine," I said, my voice stronger than it had been in weeks. "I understand you helped arrange my death."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "One of my more satisfying projects."

Nicholas took the chair beside my bed while Marcus remained standing, his posture suggesting military training.

"How much do you know about your husband's business operations?" Nicholas asked, getting straight to the point.

"Everything," I replied. "Donovan thought I was just a pretty ornament, but I listened. I watched. I learned. He discussed deals in front of me as if I couldn't possibly understand."

Nicholas's eyes gleamed with something like appreciation. "Then you're even more valuable than I anticipated."

He unfolded a laptop, opening files that displayed the Wheeler Company's current projects and partnerships. The European manufacturing consortium contract—Donovan's crown jewel, the deal he'd been pursuing for years—was highlighted.

"This is where we start," Nicholas said. "This contract is worth billions, and Donovan believes it's secure."

"It's not," I said, leaning forward despite the pain in my ribs. "The consortium's chairman, Henrik Lindström, has concerns about production timelines. Donovan promised delivery schedules he knows are impossible."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "How certain are you?"

"I heard him admit it to his CFO at our anniversary dinner—right before he tried to kill me."

Nicholas and Marcus exchanged looks.

"Perfect," Nicholas said. "We'll approach Lindström with evidence of the Wheeler Company's production delays and financial instability. My company can offer realistic timelines and better terms."

"And I can provide the insider details that will make your case irrefutable," I added.

For the next hour, we outlined our strategy. It wasn't just about taking the contract—it was about systematically dismantling Donovan's carefully constructed business empire, piece by piece, until he had nothing left.

"What about Arielle?" I asked finally. "What's happening with her?"

Marcus tapped his tablet. "She's been busy. According to our sources, she's already moved into the Wheeler family estate. She's working on Eleanor Wheeler—Donovan's mother."

He pulled up surveillance photos showing Arielle and Eleanor at lunch, Arielle's face animated as she spoke, Eleanor's expression shifting from skepticism to sympathy.

"What is she telling her?" I asked, my stomach clenching.

"Our lip reader says she's spinning quite a tale," Marcus replied. "About her tragic medical condition, her love for Donovan, how they met while you were... struggling in your marriage."

I laughed bitterly. "And Eleanor believes this?"

"She's being shown medical documents," Nicholas said quietly. "Forged, of course, but convincing. Documents explaining why she needed... the donation."

My baby's organs. I closed my eyes, fighting back the wave of nausea and rage.

"Eleanor was always cold to me," I said when I could speak again. "But even she wouldn't condone what they did if she knew the truth."

"Then perhaps that's another angle to pursue," Nicholas suggested. "But first, the consortium deal."

Two weeks later, I watched from Nicholas's office as he concluded the video call with Henrik Lindström. The Wheeler Company had just lost its biggest contract. Nicholas's company had gained it.

"It's done," Nicholas said, turning to me with satisfaction. "The first domino has fallen."

I felt a cold smile spread across my face. "Let the rumors begin."