Rise of the Betrayed wife
I died with blood pooling and betrayal.
My fiancé never loved me-he only wanted. My stepsister never saw me as family. And when I discovered I was carrying his child and tried to expose their affair, they shoved me into a shattered glass table and left me to bleed out alone.
But I woke up a year earlier, with my voice miraculously returned and a second chance burning in my chest.
This time, I refuse to be the silent, obedient sacrifice they used and discarded. This time, I'll make them pay. And when a ruthless billionaire offers me an impossible deal-a fake marriage to save his crumbling empire, I accept without hesitation.
They still see me as that broken, voiceless girl who couldn't fight back.
They have no idea I've already won.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Isla's POV:
My husband, Declan, was on the bed, but he wasn't alone.
My stepsister, Sienna, was straddling him, her blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth on his.
His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer like he couldn't get enough.
The pregnancy results slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.
They didn't notice me at first.
I stood there, frozen in the doorway, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, to the tiny life growing inside me that I'd been so excited to tell him about.
This couldn't be real.
This couldn't be happening.
Declan's eyes flicked up and met mine.
He didn't scramble. He didn't push her off. He didn't even look guilty. He just stared at me, like I was the one intruding.
Sienna turned her head slowly, following his gaze. When she saw me standing there, a smile spread across her face. That wasn't the look of embarrassment, not shame. Amusement.
"Oh," she said with false sweetness. "You're home early, Isla."
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around my lungs and squeezed.
The baby. I was carrying his baby, and he was here with her.
Declan shifted Sienna off his lap with an irritated sigh, like I'd interrupted something inconvenient. He didn't bother fixing his unbuttoned shirt. He didn't bother looking apologetic.
"Don't just stand there," he said coldly. "Close the door."
My hands shook at my sides.
Sienna laughed, soft and mocking. She stood up from the bed, adjusting her dress like this was nothing. Like I was nothing.
"What?" she said, tilting her head. "Did you really think he loved you? Did you think he actually wanted to touch you?"
The words hit me like physical blows.
"She can't even moan," Sienna continued, her smile widening. "She's mute and damaged. What kind of man wants a wife who can't even make a sound?" She looked back at Declan. "Tell her, darling. Tell her how much you've suffered."
Declan stood, buttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements.
"I've been enduring you for years, Isla," he said flatly. "Even before we got married. Do you know how tedious it is? How boring?"
My vision blurred from the sheer impossibility of what I was hearing.
My husband didn't even feel remorseful. Is this what has been going on behind my back?
"Why?" Sienna laughed again. "Why did he marry the barren mute?" She stepped closer to me, her eyes glittering. "Because I told him to, Isla. I told him to marry you, and wait for father to die, and then we get everything. The company. The properties. The inheritance. All of it."
My knees felt weak. I was on the verge of collapsing. I couldn't believe my ears and eyes. Could this be real? Or a dream?
"You were always just a placeholder," Declan said, his voice devoid of emotion. "A means to an end."
My hand moved to my pocket, fumbling for my phone. I needed proof. I needed evidence. I needed to show my father what they'd done, what they were planning.
The pregnancy results still lay on the floor between us, face-up. Sienna's eyes landed on them, and her expression changed instantly.
"What is that?" She bent down, snatching up the paper. Her eyes scanned it quickly, and her face twisted with rage. "You're pregnant?"
I tried to grab the paper back, but she jerked it away.
"You're trying to trap him!" she shrieked. "You think a baby will make him love you? You think this changes anything?"
She crumpled the paper in her fist.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, pointing it at them. I needed to record this. I needed someone to know the truth.
Sienna's eyes narrowed the moment she saw the phone.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I held it up higher, my finger hovering over the record button.
Declan's expression darkened. "Put the phone down, Isla."
I shook my head. Not this time. I wasn't backing down. Not when I had a child to protect.
Sienna moved fast, faster than I expected.
She lunged at me, her fingers clawing for the phone.
"Give it to me!" she hissed.
I jerked back, trying to keep it out of her reach, but she grabbed my wrist and yanked hard.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Just my hands moving frantically, desperately, trying to push her away.
"You stupid mute bitch," she snarled, her face contorted with fury. "You think anyone's going to believe you? You think anyone cares about you or that bastard baby?"
Declan didn't help. He just watched, with his arms crossed, like this was beneath him.
Sienna's nails dug into my skin as she twisted my arm. Pain shot up to my shoulder, but I held on tighter to the phone.
"Let go!" she screamed, as she shoved me hard, and I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the edge of the rug.
Everything slowed down, and my back hit the glass coffee table.
The sound of shattering glass filled the room.
Pain exploded across my skull, sharp and blinding. Warmth spread beneath my head, sticky and wet. I could smell the fain scent of blod. Too much blood. I tried to move, I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn't respond.
Sienna stood over me, breathing hard, my phone now in her hand.
Declan finally moved. He stepped closer, looking down at me with wide eyes. For a moment, I thought I saw fear.
"Sienna," he said, his voice shaking. "What did you do?"
"What she deserved," Sienna said coldly. She crouched down beside me, and to my horror, she smiled.
Her hand reached out, gently petting my hair like I was a child.
"Oh, Isla," she whispered. "You could have just let it go. You could have pretended you didn't see anything. Then you would have still been alive."
My vision was fading. The room was getting darker. My hand moved weakly and slowly to my stomach. The baby. Our baby.
"Come on, Declan," Sienna said, standing up. She grabbed his arm. "Let's go. She's already gone."
"But.." Declan stared at me, frozen.
"It was an accident," Sienna said firmly, dragging him toward the door. "She fell. That's all. We'll find a way to cover it up. She's mute after all."
I watched them leave through blurring vision. The door closed, and I was alone now.
The cold was spreading through me now, starting in my fingers and toes and crawling inward toward my heart.
I'm sorry, I thought, my hand still resting on my stomach. I'm so sorry, little one.
The darkness swallowed me whole.
You may also like
7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
8.6
As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess.
When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place.
To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach.
On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance.
"Let her die. It might be for the best."
I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood.
Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.
I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night.
Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity.
Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock.
But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live.
I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure.
"I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him.
In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
8.3
Hovering as a translucent soul in the freezing cemetery, I watched Corbin Mendez—the ruthless billionaire I had spent my entire life despising—violently smash open my tomb.
I thought he had come to desecrate my corpse. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, reverently kissed my dead lips, and swallowed a lethal bottle of pills without a drop of water.
In my past life, I was betrayed by my ex-fiancé, framed by my vicious step-family, and trapped in a suffocating marriage with Corbin. I thought he was a paranoid, abusive monster who only wanted to control me. I fought his madness every single day until I died sick, exhausted, and utterly defeated.
But watching him climb into my casket, wrapping his massive arms around my cold body to die beside me, my non-existent heart shattered.
Why hadn't I seen the truth? He wasn't a monster; he was a deeply traumatized man suffering from severe PTSD, and his obsessive love for me was his only tether to sanity.
The regret and agony tore my soul to pieces.
"My love, I'm too late."
Those were his last words before his heart stopped.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't floating in a dark tomb. I was lying in Corbin's bed, exactly two years in the past.
This time, I wouldn't run away. I would heal the broken beast who died for me, and I would personally put a bullet in everyone who ruined us.
7.2
Dr. Kylee Mcdonald was a brilliant medical examiner whose life was defined by cold, mechanical precision.
But that perfect control shattered when her phone rang in the middle of an autopsy.
It was her best friend, Dana, whispering their old college distress code.
"Curtain call."
By the time Kylee and Detective Justice kicked down Dana's door, she lay dead on her couch, her skin a horrifying cherry-red from cyanide.
The crime scene was clumsily staged to frame a billionaire suitor, but soon, every single suspect linked to Dana turned up violently dead.
Internal Affairs pointed the finger at Kylee, accusing her of using her medical expertise to become a vigilante serial killer.
But the encrypted truth Kylee uncovered was far more chilling.
Dana had been severely abused by her boyfriend, and driven to the edge, she manipulated him into murdering their tormentors before executing him and taking her own life.
To avoid a public scandal, the police chief buried Dana's brilliant, terrifying manifesto.
Kylee's flawless mind short-circuited. She was a genius at reading the dead, so why had she been completely blind to the living hell her best friend endured right in front of her?
Three days later, while attending a formal gala to numb her grief, a nearby apartment building exploded in flames.
As Kylee examined the charred bodies pulled from the rubble, she realized the male victim was strangled long before the fire started.
She looked at the surviving mother, whose baby had just died in the blast, but the woman's eyes were completely, terrifyingly empty.
The alarm bells in Kylee's meticulously ordered brain began to chime, signaling that a new, deadly script had just begun.
9.6
I woke up alone in a cold hospital room after a near-fatal car crash.
My husband of three years, Bryant, claimed he was too busy with back-to-back meetings to visit me.
But when I dragged my bruised body into the hallway, I caught him pinning his pregnant mistress against a vending machine.
"As soon as my company IPOs next month, I'm dumping my useless wife."
"She's so pathetic. She'd be living on the streets if it wasn't for my charity."
For three years, Bryant and his mother had humiliated me for being an orphan, treating me like a penniless burden while he secretly bought a multi-million-dollar townhouse for his new family.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I had almost died in that wreckage, yet my husband was disgusted by my very existence, eagerly waiting to throw me away.
But Bryant didn't know about the damp, sealed envelope the paramedics had recovered from my wrecked car.
The DNA report inside proved I wasn't a nobody from the gutter.
I was the biological daughter of the Beaumonts—New York's wealthiest, most ruthless billionaire dynasty.
I didn't scream or confront them.
Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone, recorded their affair in high definition, and dialed a Wall Street financier I hadn't spoken to in years.
"I'm done playing the happy housewife. Pull his algorithmic backdoors and drain the accounts."