Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge

Ava Miller POV I didn't get hit—but I missed death by inches. A taxi swerved at the last second, the side mirror clipping the air beside me. Adrenaline spiked through my veins as I scrambled into the backseat of a waiting Uber that had just dropped off a passenger. "Drive!" I yelled at the driver, slamming the door. "Just drive!" We sped away, tires screeching, leaving Ethan cursing impotently on the curb. I had him drive me to a motel on the outskirts of the city—a place anonymous enough to disappear in. I paid in cash. Once inside the room, I broke my SIM card in half and flushed the pieces down the toilet. I spent the night packing everything I had into a single box. I scheduled a courier to pick it up and ship it to a storage unit in Nevada. I was methodical. I was erasing myself. The next morning, there was a knock on the door. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. *How did he find me?* I looked through the peephole. It was Ethan. He wasn't alone. He had the police with him. Panic clawed at my throat, but I had no choice. I opened the door. "There she is," Ethan said to the officer, his voice thick with manufactured relief. "My wife. She's having a mental breakdown. She ran away. She's a danger to herself." "I am not crazy," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady as I addressed the officer. "I am leaving my husband. That is not a crime." "She's confused," Ethan said, stepping into the room with the confidence of a man who owned the world. "She thinks I'm trying to steal her organs. It's a delusion, Officer. We've been dealing with this for months." The officer looked at me with pity. "Ma'am, maybe you should go with your husband. He seems very worried about you." "He forged medical documents," I said, my voice rising. "Check with Dr. Carter. Call the hospital." "Ben is confused too," Ethan interjected quickly, smooth as silk. "He's been enabling her delusions. It’s a shared psychosis." Ethan walked up to me. He grabbed my shoulders. "Ava, come home," he said, his eyes drilling into mine. "We can forget all this. I forgive you for the scene at the airport." *He* forgave *me*? "My kidney," I said, staring him down, refusing to blink. "Where is the surgery scheduled? St. Jude's? Or a private clinic?" "Stop it," he hissed, squeezing my shoulders hard enough to leave a mark. "You're embarrassing yourself." "I know what you are," I said, loud enough for the officer to hear. "You think women are property. You think I am a spare part." "You are nothing without me!" Ethan shouted, his mask slipping for a fraction of a second. He shook me. "You leave me, and you have nothing! No money! No home! No name!" "I'd rather be a nobody than be yours," I spat. I remembered the nights he whispered he loved me. The lies. The poison vitamins. "I am done," I said. "I am not your wife. I am not your donor. Get out." Ethan’s face turned purple. He raised his hand. The officer stepped forward, hand on his belt. "Sir, step back." But before the officer could intervene, the door burst open. A man rushed in. It wasn't Ben. It was Julian. The inventor from the gala. He had a gun. "You!" Julian screamed at Ethan. "You ruined my life!" Ethan froze. He held up his hands. "Julian, calm down." "You took everything!" Julian waved the gun wildly. "I followed you here, Ethan! I knew you'd lead me to something you cared about! Now I take what you love!" He grabbed me. He grabbed *me*. "This is your true love, right?" Julian yelled, pressing the cold barrel of the gun to my temple. "The one you paraded on stage? The one you protect?" Ethan looked at me. Then he looked at Julian. His face went blank. Cold. Calculating. "She means nothing to me," Ethan said flatly. My heart stopped. "She's just a nuisance," Ethan continued, taking a step back, straightening his suit jacket. "Shoot her if you want. It solves a problem for me." Julian looked confused, the gun wavering slightly. "What?" "I'm here to commit her," Ethan shrugged, indifferent. "She's broken. Useless. Go ahead." He was gambling. He was gambling with my life to save his own skin. Or maybe he wasn't gambling. Maybe he really didn't care. "You liar!" Julian screamed. He dragged me backward out the door. "We're going for a ride!" Ethan didn't move. He stood there, watching me get dragged away by a gunman. He didn't lunge. He didn't beg. He just adjusted his cuffs. Julian shoved me into his car. We drove fast. The city blurred into streaks of gray and concrete. He was muttering to himself, rocking slightly. "He loves her... he has to love her..." "He doesn't," I whispered. My voice was hollow. "He loves no one." We arrived at the George Washington Bridge. It was windy. Gray. The Hudson River churned violently below. Julian dragged me to the edge. "He'll care if you're dead!" Julian yelled into the wind. "He'll have to care!" "No," I said, looking down at the dark water. "He won't." Julian pushed me up against the railing. I felt the cold metal bite into my back. "Please," I gasped. "I'm pregnant." It was a lie. But it was the only card I had left. Julian hesitated. Then I saw Ethan’s car pull up. He got out. He stood twenty feet away, unflappable. "Do it!" Ethan yelled over the roar of the traffic. "Prove you have the guts!" He was taunting him. He wanted me dead. If I died, he got the sympathy. He got the victim narrative. And he didn't have to deal with a messy divorce or a stolen kidney scandal. Julian’s eyes went wide. He looked at Ethan’s cold, smiling face. Then he looked at me. "I'm sorry," Julian whispered. He didn't shoot me. He pushed me. I went over the rail. Gravity took hold. The wind roared in my ears, deafening and cruel. I saw the gray sky spinning. I saw Ethan’s silhouette, watching, still as a statue. I hit the water. Darkness.