Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge

"Her blood type is a match. It’s the only option."

I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs.

I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband’s best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world.

"Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."

For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love.

Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts.

"She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop."

"She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this."

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I’d been feeling wasn't stress.

I was pregnant.

And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor.

He was killing his own child to save his mistress.

To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts.

I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream.

I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach.

He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up?

I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave.

I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Ava Miller POV

"Her blood type is a match, Ethan. It’s the only option."

The words slithered through the slightly ajar door of the executive conference room, freezing my hand on the brass handle.

I knew that voice. It was Ben Carter, my husband’s oldest friend and personal physician. But the hesitation in his tone was new. It was heavy, laden with a guilt I could almost taste in the air.

"Then we do it," Ethan’s voice followed, crisp and devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for public appearances. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."

I stopped breathing. The folder of quarterly reports I was holding dug its sharp corners into my ribs.

*Kidney match. Solution.*

The words bounced around my skull like marbles in a tin can.

For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health. He insisted on comprehensive checkups, blood draws, and endless tests. He called it love. He called it taking care of our future.

I had believed him. I had let him play the doting husband while he was actually shopping for spare parts.

"She isn't just a donor, Ethan," Ben argued, his voice dropping lower. "She is your wife. You can't just harvest her like a crop."

"She became my wife because she was useful when I needed to rebuild Reed Innovate," Ethan replied. The indifference in his tone cut deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this. Chloe is the priority. She always has been."

I backed away from the door.

My legs felt like they were made of lead, but I forced them to move. I walked backward until I hit the opposite wall of the corridor. My heart battered against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape a cage.

*Rare blood type.*

That was what the doctors kept saying about me. That was what Ethan had asked about over dinner three nights ago, swirling his wine while dissecting my medical history with the precision of a surgeon.

I didn't go into the meeting.

I turned around and walked to the elevator, pressing the down button with a trembling finger. I needed air. I needed to think.

*

That evening, the Reed Innovate charity gala was in full swing.

The ballroom was a sea of black ties and designer gowns. I stood by Ethan’s side, a prop in a silk dress, numbly playing the part I had been cast in.

"To my beautiful wife, Ava," Ethan said into the microphone, flashing that million-dollar smile that had once made my knees weak. "My rock. My inspiration."

The crowd applauded.

He turned to me, fastening a diamond necklace around my throat. The metal was cold against my skin. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a collar.

"Smile," he whispered in my ear, his lips grazing my lobe. "Everyone is watching."

I stretched my lips into a shape that resembled happiness. But my eyes drifted across the room.

I saw her.

Chloe. She was standing near the champagne tower, looking pale and fragile in a silver dress.

Ethan’s gaze followed mine. For a split second, his mask slipped. The adoration in his eyes when he looked at her was raw, terrified, and genuine.

It was a look he had never, not once in ten years, given to me.

I felt a wave of nausea roll through me. The applause sounded like static. The compliments from the guests—"You two are perfect," "So lucky"—felt like slaps to the face.

"I need to use the restroom," I muttered, pulling away from his touch.

I didn't go to the restroom. I went straight to the valet, got into my car, and drove home.

The villa was dark and silent. I sat on the cold floor of the living room, staring out at the city lights.

Ten years. I had given him ten years.

When he shattered his leg in that ski accident, I dropped out of my PhD program to nurse him. When his company was failing, I used my inheritance to float him.

I remembered the first time he thanked me after his recovery. I thought it was the beginning of a love story. Now I realized it was just a transaction.

I was an asset. And now that the asset was depreciating, he was ready to salvage the parts.

"You are an indispensable part of my life, Ava." He said that often.

Indispensable. Like a kidney.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Mrs. Davies, our housekeeper.

*Mr. Reed asked me to pack a bag for the hospital again. He is visiting Room 402. Is everything okay?*

Room 402.

That was the room number Ben had mentioned on the phone last week when discussing a "VIP patient."

I stood up. My knees cracked. The numbness was fading, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. I wasn't going to wait for them to wheel me into an operating room.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled to a number I hadn't used since high school.

"Ben," I typed, my fingers shaking. "We need to talk. I know about the kidney."