Divorce Amidst Revenge
I'd been married to Clayton for three years, but what did I get in return? Damaged hands, a heart full of grievances, and a body beyond repair. It wasn't until Arabella woke up that I discovered my husband had once been her boyfriend. Clayton married me purely out of spite. Yet, strangely, now that I'm at death's door, he seems more affectionate than ever. By the time I arrived at the hospital, my sister was awake. Her bedside was crowded with people, including Clayton. "Arabella, you're finally awake, dear." "It's such a relief that you're awake." "Where's my sister?" Arabella glanced around but didn’t see me. Her face was pale, her brow slightly furrowed, and as soon as she spoke, Clayton's expression tensed up. I tried to find my voice.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
As soon as the words left my mouth, the room plunged into a deep silence. Clayton's eyes were cold, his expression dark as he looked at me. Arabella's gaze darted between us, her disbelief morphing into a shaky laugh. "Sis, what are you talking about? Your husband is?"
"Clayton," I continued without hesitation. "Didn't he tell you? We got married three years ago, three months after you were admitted to the hospital. And just so you know, he confessed to me first."
Arabella shook her head in disbelief, then quickly looked to Clayton for confirmation.
"Clayton, say something. This can't be true, right? This isn't real."
She was on the verge of tears, her pale face showing her distress. I felt a twinge of guilt, but Clayton was a horrible person, not deserving of someone as good as Arabella.
Clayton's eyes were hard, his lips pressed into a thin line betraying his anger. After a moment, he let out a sarcastic laugh, then gently patted Arabella on the head.
"Arabella, just take it easy and get some rest. Your sister and I have things to sort out. Don't worry, my feelings for you haven't changed."
"Clayton!"
Arabella's tears fell as she reached out for him, but couldn't hold onto him. Clayton stood up and walked toward me, step by step, like he was on a mission for revenge.
"Since you've already started, please go on, my wife," he said, practically spitting out the last two words.
I wanted to laugh, but couldn't. It was the first time in three years Clayton had called me his wife. How revolting!
I turned my head to look at Arabella lying in the bed. "Arabella, get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."
Keep Watching!
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to continue reading
Unlock All Episodes
You may also like
7.6
Dumped at the altar, she shocks everyone by marrying her ex-fiancé's father on the spot.
Now she's trapped in a scandalous marriage with a ruthless billionaire, while her ex becomes obsessed with winning her back.
But the biggest danger isn't the forbidden love...
It's the secrets her new husband is hiding.
8.2
For five years, I was the invisible glue holding Damien Crawford together. I was the one who pulled him from a burning car until the skin melted off my back, and I was the one who donated bone marrow when he was on death's door. I even gave up a full-ride scholarship to MIT just to be his nurse.
Yet, he believed his mistress, Hadley, was his savior. To him, I was just the maid's daughter who changed his bedpans—a piece of furniture he could abuse while he planned his wedding to another woman.
But his cruelty didn't stop at verbal abuse. When my father suffered a massive heart attack, Damien refused to let me use the car, choosing to comfort Hadley over a fake panic attack instead.
His mother even slashed the tires to ensure I couldn't leave.
While my father died cold and alone, Damien stabbed a needle into my hand just to teach me a lesson about "respect," oblivious to the fact that the scars on my skin were the receipt for his life.
He didn't know he was torturing the only person who had ever truly loved him. But the girl who begged for crumbs of affection died along with her father that day.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number saved simply as a dot.
"He's dead," I whispered to the man on the other end—Anderson Morrison, the city's most feared Don and my sworn protector.
"I'm coming," he replied, his voice lethal. "And I'm bringing the army."
It was time to show Damien that he hadn't just mistreated a maid; he had declared war on a Queen.
7.0
My chest tightened with anticipation, five years of shared struggle culminating in this moment at the Manhattan penthouse banquet. But Chace, my partner, didn't look at me; he turned to Karyn, sliding his family's heirloom emerald ring onto her finger. Then, his voice echoed through the hall, dismissing me as "nothing but an asset under my name to provide entertainment."
My smile froze, the room erupted in laughter, and a cruel kick sent me sprawling, spraining my ankle on the cold marble floor. Karyn mocked me, but it was Chace’s icy gaze that truly shattered me. He dismissed our past, threatening my mother’s grave and my father’s life if I didn't "stay in your place and be an obedient dog."
The man I bled for, starved for, fought for, was a complete stranger, a monster veiled in cold disdain. My heartbreak bled out, replaced by a reckless, destructive madness. This wasn't just humiliation; it was an execution.
Retreating to the lavish restroom, my mind sharpened. I unblocked a forbidden number, a name whispered with terror in the New York underground: Keith Mosley. My text was brief: "I am ready to pay my debt." His reply flashed, stark and dominant: "The price is marriage." This wasn't a price; it was my knife.
8.3
On the day of our fifth wedding anniversary, a video of my husband cozying up to his childhood sweetheart at work blew up on social media. She had the camera aimed at his chest, speaking in a playful, flirty tone. "He says I'm too beautiful to be left alone, so he wants to keep me with him all the time!"
I accidentally forwarded the video to our family group chat, which prompted a scolding phone call from him. "She's just a victim who's been through a lot. Do you want the whole family to make things worse for her?"
All day, he broadcasted everything while holding her—eating, going to the bathroom, even sleeping. This time, instead of confronting him, I quietly signed the divorce papers. ---
On our anniversary, a viral video caught my attention. It was a vlogger sharing what it's like to be a cherished wife. "My husband takes me to work every day. Being loved like this is wonderful."
When I saw those long legs entwined around the man's waist, I felt as if I'd been hit with a sledgehammer.
7.8
The quarterly reports for Ford Enterprises were a sea of black ink, a testament to twelve years of sleepless nights and ruthless ambition. I sat in my corner office, thirty floors above the sprawling grid of Manhattan, the city looking like a circuit board we had personally wired. The silence was absolute, save for the hum of the climate control, until the heavy oak door creaked open. My assistant, usually composed, looked pale as she placed a thick manila envelope on my desk. "Courier just dropped this off, Mrs. Ford. Marked urgent. Personal."
She retreated before I could thank her. My fingers brushed the rough paper. There was no return address.
8.8
The white dress felt perfect on me as I stepped into the gala venue. Three years of late nights, endless cups of coffee, and lines of code that stretched into infinity had led to this moment—our Series-A funding celebration. The dress was my small rebellion against the hoodies and jeans that had become my uniform. Tonight, I wanted to feel like the founder I'd worked so hard to become. "Gemma!" Benicio's voice cut through the ambient chatter. My lead engineer approached with his trademark enthusiasm, followed by Saint, our security architect. "The investors are asking about the neural network's learning curve. They're blown away by the numbers."
"Tell them it's just the beginning," I said, smoothing down my dress nervously. "Once we implement the next phase of the algorithm—"
"Excuse me." A voice sliced through our conversation. Whitney Salazar stood there in a blood-red dress that hugged every curve, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.