Betrayed Wife: Reclaiming My Stolen Life
On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart.
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Chapter 6
The study was dark, the only light coming from the glow of the computer monitor and the green light of the photocopier. Audrey worked methodically, her knee throbbing with every step.
She had found the asset transfer documents. She had found the bank statements showing the monthly transfers to an account in Carmen's name. She had found the receipts for the jewelry he had bought his mistress—jewelry that probably wasn't fake.
But the deeper she dug, the more she realized what was missing. The main investment accounts were empty. The files that should have contained their joint tax returns for the last five years were gone. The folders were labeled, but the paper inside was gone.
The door handle rattled, then the lock clicked. The door swung open, flooding the room with light from the hallway.
Devonte stood in the doorway, his silhouette large and imposing. He was holding a thick sheaf of papers.
"Looking for something?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Audrey straightened up, her hand instinctively moving to cover the photocopier. "Just organizing some files."
Devonte walked into the room and threw the papers at her face. They scattered in the air, landing around her like confetti. Audrey looked down. It was the prenuptial agreement. The one she had signed when she was twenty-two, naive, and desperately in love.
"You really think you can take me to the cleaners?" Devonte laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "You think your little lesbian lawyer friend can find a loophole in that?"
Audrey didn't say anything. She just stared at him, her jaw clenched.
"Let me make this easy for you," Devonte said, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and turned it toward her. It was a banking app. The balance read $0.00. "I moved everything this morning. The cash, the stocks, the bonds. It's all in offshore accounts now. Accounts you can't touch."
Audrey's stomach dropped, but she kept her face blank.
"So you see, that prenup you're so scared of? It's worthless," Devonte said, leaning against the desk. "There is no marital estate to divide. You get nothing. No house, no alimony, no retirement."
"You can't just hide assets," Audrey said, her voice hoarse.
"I already did," Devonte smirked. "And if you try to fight me, I will drag your name through the mud. I will tell the court you're unfit, a mentally unstable alcoholic. I have witnesses, Audrey. The staff will say whatever I pay them to say."
He leaned in closer, his eyes glittering with malice. "And you will never see what's inside that Leo file. I'll make sure it's destroyed."
Audrey stared at him, waiting.
"Sign the divorce papers, and get out of my life, or I will bury you." Devonte shoved a pen toward her.
The threat to Leo's file was a sledgehammer to her chest. It wasn't just about money anymore; it was about the truth of her son. If she signed, she might lose her only link to him. If she didn't, Devonte would make her disappear into a psychiatric ward. She needed a shield, something he couldn't break.
She reached out and grabbed the prenuptial agreement off the floor. She looked at the signature line, the ink faded with time. Then she ripped the paper in half.
Devonte's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
She ripped it again. And again. She threw the shredded paper into his face. "I'll sign nothing until I know the truth about my son."
Devonte brushed the paper scraps off his suit, his expression shifting from shock to amusement. "You're crazy. You have no money, no power, and no one to protect you. The clock is ticking on your sanity, Audrey."
Audrey grabbed her purse and walked past him out of the room. She didn't look back. She walked out the front door, the cool evening air hitting her face.
She stood on the porch, the reality of her situation crashing over her. She was alone, penniless, and fighting for the truth about her child. She needed legal protection, someone who couldn't be intimidated by Devonte's money or threats.
She pulled out her phone and dialed the only number that mattered.
"Paige," she said, her voice shaking. "I need a favor. And it's a big one."
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8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."
7.9
Rose was so naive that she didn't know Jonah, her ex-fiancé, was cheating on her even before her wedding day. On the night before her wedding, she caught him cheating on her with the last person she would ever expect him to be with, Rebecca.
Out of anger and spite, she cursed at them and left, then went and got herself drunk and made out with a mafia don, who, oblivious to her, was her fiancé's stepbrother and his boss.
On the day of the wedding, she stormed in and canceled it, calling Jonah out. After the embarrassment, Jonah vowed to make her life miserable. She tried to get a job, but it was almost impossible because of the influence Jonah had.
So she went to the greatest mafia don that her friend Lucy recommended to her. When she went to ask for his help, the don turned out to be the mysterious man who had been showing interest in her, but she had kept declining. Unbeknownst to her, he was her ex-fiancé's boss and stepbrother.
She asked for his help, and he offered it, of course, but on one condition.that she would be his mistress !.
9.4
I spent the night with a stranger...
Who got me pregnant...
And turned out to be my boss...
Whoops, sorry, did I say "boss"? I meant a MOB boss.
To be fair, I didn't know he was my boss when I slept with him.
I thought he was just the kind stranger offering me a place to stay.
But one night in Misha Orlov's hotel room got me way more than I bargained for.
It got me champagne that tasted like starlight.
Satin sheets as soft as a dream.
And a man with silver eyes who showed me how it felt to come undone.
And then, in the morning...
He was gone.
That's I needed to get my life together anyway.
After all, my ex-not-quite-husband (it's a long story) just emptied all our bank accounts and disappeared, taking my home and my money and my job with him.
So I'm starting from a blank slate.
I find myself a new apartment.
A new job.
And I put both Misha and my husband behind me.
At least, I thought I did.
Until Day 1 of orientation.
When I learn that Misha Orlov is my new boss.
That's bad enough.
What's worse is what came next.
A car crash.
A doctor's appointment.
And two pieces of unsettling news.
Congratulations, the doctor says. You're pregnant.
Congratulations, Misha says. You and I are getting married.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
9.2
I got pregnant from a one-night-stand.
I wasn't going to tell the father...
Until I walked into the office and found out he's my new boss.
Here's some advice: Don't sleep with your boss.
Here's some more: Don't sleep with your married boss.
And while I'm at it: Don't sleep with your married, dangerous, billionaire, completely-incapable-of-feeling boss, because all he's going to do is break your heart and your body and leave you to cry in the ashes.
But I've never been good at taking my own advice.
In my defense, I didn't know that Nikolai Zhukova was any of those things when we met.
I just thought he was the gray-eyed sinner in first class.
And when I started having a panic attack at the sudden turbulence, I thought he was the kind soul calming me down.
But Nikolai is the farthest thing from kind.
He's cruel, he's powerful, he's arrogant.
And now, according to the test in my hand...
He's the father of my baby.
7.8
For five years, I was the flawless wife to the heir of the De Luca empire, securing billion-dollar acquisitions to prove my worth.
But my husband, Alessandro, still paraded his mistress in our home, publicly humiliating me as a "cold spreadsheet" while she sneered in triumph.
It didn't stop at infidelity. When I dared to cut off her credit cards, Alessandro decided to teach me a lesson.
He allowed his mistress to secretly file down the metal clasp on my horse's saddle right before a massive public equestrian event.
My leg was completely shattered in a horrific, agonizing fall in front of hundreds of elite guests.
While I lay bleeding in the dirt, my husband didn't even glance my way. Instead, he rushed to hold his mistress, shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight.
Later, pretending to be unconscious in the infirmary, I overheard him ordering his guards.
"Get rid of the saddle. It was just a lesson to remind her who's in charge."
He didn't just want me humiliated; he wanted me crippled and broken.
As the sterile smell of the hospital hit me, a horrifying realization set in—I was two weeks late. I was pregnant with his child.
The thought of my baby growing up in this ruthless, toxic family made my blood run cold, and the last spark of my love turned into absolute hatred.
The obedient wife died on that dirt track.
I quietly contacted his family's biggest rival and activated my secret scorched-earth protocol. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.