Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit
At the auction, my husband raised his paddle and bid five million dollars on the only keepsake I had left of my dead mother.
But he didn't buy the sapphire necklace for me.
He handed the velvet box to his pregnant mistress, Mia, right in front of the entire New York underworld.
When I reached for it, Mia faked a stumble.
Dante moved with the speed of a predator. He shoved me hard to clear space for her.
My body slammed into a marble pillar, shattering my hip, while he scooped her up and carried her out, stepping over my dress without a single glance.
That was only the beginning.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her during a false emergency.
He exiled me to a freezing cabin with no heat, leaving me to be buried alive in an avalanche while he comforted her over a lie.
Lying in the hospital bed after surviving the snow, I realized I no longer hated him.
Hate is passion. Hate implies he still matters.
I felt nothing but a cold, heavy silence.
So when he finally left the house to hunt down the truth about Mia’s baby, I didn't wait for his apology.
I left my wedding ring on the bathroom counter.
I dropped my phone into a sewer grate.
By the time the Dragon of New York realized his wife was gone, I was already in Seattle, painting a new life where monsters couldn't find me.
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Chapter 3
I woke up to the sharp sting of antiseptic layered over the heavy scent of expensive cologne.
Dante was sitting by the bed.
His brows were drawn together, a mask of worry etched onto his handsome features.
He played the role of the devoted husband so well, I almost believed him.
"You had a fever of 104," he said, reaching for my hand. "Why didn't you call me?"
I pulled my hand away before his warmth could trick me again.
"You were busy reading," I rasped.
He flinched.
"I was calming her down. It was a false alarm."
Of course it was.
It was always a false alarm.
"I need fresh air," I said, my voice brittle.
I tried to sit up, but the room tilted dangerously.
"I'll take you riding," he said suddenly. "You love the horses. It'll be just us. We can talk. Fix this."
Fix this.
As if our marriage was a leaking faucet and not a demolished building.
But looking at the determination in his eyes, I didn't have the energy to argue.
We went to the stables.
The air was crisp, biting against my fever-tender skin.
I saddled Luna, my gentle mare, my movements slow and deliberate.
Dante was preparing his stallion, a massive black beast that matched his soul.
Then I heard the crunch of gravel.
Mia walked into the stable, wearing a riding outfit that looked brand new, the leather still stiff.
"The doctor said light exercise is good," she chirped, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Can I come?"
Dante hesitated.
For a second, I saw the conflict in his eyes.
He had promised me us.
But then Mia placed a hand on her stomach and sighed, a calculated display of fragility.
"Please, Dante? I don't want to be alone in that big house."
"Fine," he said, his resolve crumbling. "But stay close to me."
He lifted her onto a horse.
He checked her stirrups.
He checked her reins.
He checked her helmet.
I mounted Luna by myself, gritting my teeth against the sharp flare of pain in my hip.
We rode out toward the trails.
Dante rode next to Mia, his hand resting on her horse's neck to steady it.
I rode behind them.
The third wheel in my own marriage.
Dante's phone rang.
He answered it, distracted, talking business with his Underboss.
Mia slowed down until she was beside me.
She smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile; it was a predator's grin.
"He's never going to let me go, you know," she whispered. "He loves the idea of the baby more than he loves you."
I stared straight ahead, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Watch this," she said.
She kicked her horse hard in the ribs.
The horse bolted.
It slammed sideways into Luna.
Luna panicked.
She reared up, her hooves flailing at the sky.
I lost my grip.
"Dante!" I screamed.
He turned.
He saw everything.
He saw Luna bucking.
He saw Mia's horse dancing nervously, though Mia was perfectly safe in the saddle, faking a scream.
He had a choice.
A split second.
Me or her.
He lunged.
Toward her.
He grabbed Mia's reins, steadying her horse, pulling her into his arms to shield her from a danger that didn't exist.
I hit the ground.
The impact knocked the wind out of me with a brutal force.
A sharp crack echoed in my chest.
A rib.
Maybe two.
Luna's hoof came down inches from my head, kicking dirt into my eyes.
I lay there, gasping for air, unable to move.
I watched through the dust as Dante checked Mia for scratches.
"Is the baby okay?" he asked frantically.
"I think so," she sobbed, burying her face in his coat. "Serena... she spooked my horse."
He looked at me then.
Lying in the dirt.
Broken.
He didn't run to me.
He glared at me.
"Stay there," he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth. "I have to get her back to the house. I'll send someone for you."
He turned his horse and galloped away, cradling his mistress against his chest.
I lay in the dirt, staring at the gray sky.
And I finally stopped crying.