My Husband’s Staged Fall, My Perfect Revenge

My husband, Preston Hawthorne, took a nasty fall from a ladder on the second floor of our Hamptons mansion, suffering three broken ribs and a devastating injury to his groin.

Instead of rushing him to the nearest New York-Presbyterian, I sent him by private jet to Arizona, over a thousand miles away.

In my past life, Preston’s fall was orchestrated.

He’d staged the accident so his influencer girlfriend, Tiffany Reed, could land a cover story by performing a so-called “exclusive energy therapy” on him.

At the time, I refused his absurd request, and as a result, Tiffany lost her shot at fame.

Though he recovered, he blamed me entirely for sabotaging her career. The day he was discharged, he cut the brakes on my sports car, staging my death as an “accident.”

The next thing I knew, I was right back on the day of Preston’s fall.

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1

“Scarlett Vance, don’t just stand there! My ribs are broken! Get me on the private jet to Tiffany’s wellness center in Sedona, now!”

Preston Hawthorne's roar snapped me out of my daze. I stood frozen on the marble floor of our mansion, my eyes fixed on where he lay crumpled on the ground—freshly fallen from the second-floor ladder.

He gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain, his eyes filled with a familiar, venomous disgust.

“Scarlett, if you dare take me to a New York hospital and disappoint Tiffany again, I swear, I’ll make your death even more gruesome this time.”

Those words obliterated any lingering doubt. I’d been reborn—and so had he.

In my previous life, I married Preston out of a misguided sense of gratitude after he saved me from a yacht fire.

I leveraged my Wharton education and the massive inheritance from my parents to transform his hollow business concept into a multi-billion-dollar empire.

While he flitted between parties, I was the one burning the midnight oil in our penthouse office, perfecting one business plan after another.

When his mother, Carol Hawthorne, needed heart surgery, I was the one at her bedside, orchestrating every detail flawlessly.

I poured everything I had into this family, into his career.

Yet, all my devotion meant less than getting his high-school ex-girlfriend, Tiffany Reed, a magazine cover.

In my past life, I hadn't listened. I didn't send him to Sedona. Consequently, Tiffany was publicly humiliated and lost the opportunity.

He blamed me for denying him her “treatment.” Then, in a fit of rage, he severed my brake lines, sending me to a fiery death on the highway.

The absurdity of it was staggering. I gave him everything, and he repaid me with a meticulously planned murder.

He wants Tiffany to “treat” him, does he? Fine. This time, I’ll grant his wish.

A wicked part of me hoped the high-altitude turbulence would be just enough for his broken ribs to puncture a lung.

“Scarlett, take me to Tiffany’s wellness center! She’s waiting for me! And don’t you forget what happens if you disobey!”

Fearing I would defy him again, he bared his teeth, roaring like a cornered beast.

Just then, Carol rushed out of her room, her eyes widening at the sight of Preston's wretched state.

“Are you insane? Tiffany’s place is in Arizona, a thousand miles away! You’ll be bleeding internally by the time you get there! No! Scarlett, call an ambulance right now and take him to New York-Presbyterian!”

I suppressed a cold sneer, forcing a conflicted expression onto my face. “But he insists on going there…”

“Don’t listen to him! We all know Tiffany is just some social media influencer! What does she know about medicine? Scarlett, stop dawdling and call an ambulance!”

“I'm not going,” Preston snarled. “If you don’t take me to Tiffany’s, I’ll leak all your family’s scandals to the New York Post!”

Seeing Carol refuse to back down, he grew even more aggressive, glaring at us with a vicious threat in his eyes.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth before I sighed, feigning resignation. “Alright, Carol. We’ll do as he says. I’ll arrange the plane.”