The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Revenge Comeback
For three years, Alyson endured a suffocating marriage, while her biological family treated her like a stray dog compared to her sister, Chelsea.
She thought her husband Kenton would at least show her basic human decency.
But during a horrific car crash in a freezing storm, Kenton used his own body to shield Chelsea.
Meanwhile, a massive, out-of-control truck slammed into Alyson, throwing her broken body into a muddy ditch.
With shattered ribs and blood blurring her vision, she reached out a trembling hand to him for help.
Kenton just stared at her coldly through the rain.
"Stop faking it. It's just a scrape."
Without another glance, he wrapped his arm around the completely uninjured Chelsea and drove away, leaving Alyson to bleed out in the mud.
Hours later, after being saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, her phone rang.
It was Kenton, furiously demanding she bring Chelsea's anxiety medication to the hospital.
He didn't even care to ask where she was, let alone realize she was severely injured.
Alyson couldn't understand how the man she loved could be so blindly cruel, or why her own parents constantly orchestrated her destruction.
The pathetic hope she had clung to for three years finally shattered into dust.
She dragged her battered body back to their penthouse, hiding a divorce settlement inside a stack of tedious charity documents.
When Kenton arrogantly signed his name without reading a single line, Alyson turned her back on the toxic family for good.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
"Why isn't your gold-digging wife here suffocating you tonight?"
Carter Finch's voice bled through the crack of the heavy mahogany doors, accompanied by a chorus of harsh laughter and the thick scent of premium cigars.
Alyson stopped dead in her tracks on the thick Persian carpet of the Waldorf Astoria hallway.
The dark blue velvet box in her hands suddenly felt like a block of lead.
She had been walking with a nervous, light rhythm, her heart beating fast against her ribs at the thought of seeing her husband.
Now, her hand hovered in the air, inches from the brass handle of the VIP lounge.
She shifted her weight slightly, peering through the narrow gap between the double doors.
Kenton Whitaker sat in the center of a tufted leather sofa, a crystal glass of whiskey resting in his hand.
The light from the chandelier caught the sharp, cold lines of his jaw.
He looked devastatingly handsome, and completely untouchable.
"She knows she doesn't belong here."
Kenton's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, carrying easily into the quiet hallway.
The words hit Alyson's chest like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.
Carter let out another loud, grating laugh.
"If she hadn't drugged your champagne that night, Chelsea would be the one sitting in the Whitaker estate right now."
Alyson's teeth dug into her lower lip so hard she tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood.
The memory of that burning champagne sliding down her throat clawed at her throat.
She had been tricked into drinking it, yet she was the one wearing the permanent stain of a predator.
Another man in the room chimed in, his tone dripping with disgust.
"Women from the slums will do anything for a payout."
Alyson stared at Kenton's mouth through the crack in the door.
Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots.
She waited for him to say something, anything, to defend her after three years of marriage.
Kenton slammed his whiskey glass down on the glass coffee table.
"Why are we talking about that disgusting woman? It ruins the mood."
The air in the hallway vanished.
Alyson's vision blurred at the edges as a freezing numbness spread from her chest down to her fingertips.
She took a blind step backward, her body acting on pure survival instinct.
The heel of her shoe struck a tall brass decorative vase against the wall.
A dull, hollow thud echoed through the corridor.
The laughter inside the room died instantly.
Kenton's sharp, predatory gaze snapped toward the crack in the door.
Alyson did not run.
She pushed her hand against the heavy mahogany wood and shoved the door wide open.
The noisy lounge fell into a suffocating silence.
Carter and the other men shifted in their seats, brief flashes of guilt crossing their faces before settling into defensive sneers.
Kenton stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
He adjusted his cuffs, his brow furrowing deep with irritation and unfiltered disgust.
Alyson ignored the heavy stares of the other men.
She walked straight toward the center of the room, her spine rigid, her heels clicking against the marble floor with a steady, unhurried rhythm.
The pathetic, eager wife who had walked down the hallway was gone.
She stopped in front of the glass coffee table and placed the velvet box right next to Kenton's hand.
Inside was the antique Patek Philippe watch she had spent months tracking down.
"Happy birthday, Kenton."
Her voice was completely steady, lacking even a tremor of the panic tearing her apart inside.
Kenton did not spare a single glance at the box.
"Who gave you permission to come here?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill.
Alyson looked directly into his eyes.
A small, self-deprecating smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, and the last flicker of warmth in her eyes died out completely.
"This is the last time," she said softly.
The absolute finality in her tone made the air in the room feel heavy.
Kenton let out a short, dismissive scoff, clearly thinking this was just another one of her desperate ploys for attention.
Alyson did not waste another second looking at him.
She turned on her heel and walked toward the open door, keeping her shoulders pulled back.
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9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
7.9
After her twin brother's unexplained death at Alpha Academy, Alexandria Hyde takes his place and his name to uncover the truth. Now living as "Alex," she's thrown into a world of hot, testosterone-fueled Alphas who fight to the brink of death... and she has to survive it while hiding who she really is.
But staying hidden isn't easy–
Not when the Alphas start noticing her.
Not when the truth she's chasing might destroy her first.
And definitely not when they start fighting for her instead.
8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
9.7
I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing.
During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.
I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.
She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.
"Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house."
I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.
My heart went completely dead.
So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate.
I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.
"I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today."
7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.
7.1
I worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street just to keep my sick brother alive, enduring endless humiliation from the wealthy family that adopted us.
But when I went to surprise my boyfriend of three years, I found him kissing my spoiled adoptive sister, Tatum.
They were celebrating their engagement to merge their powerful families.
To keep me quiet, my adoptive mother, Eleanor, threatened to freeze my brother's medical trust fund unless I attended the party to play the supportive sister.
Instead, I discovered Eleanor had been embezzling from my brother's life-saving fund to cover her own bad investments.
The nightmare worsened when a drunken Ryder cornered me in my apartment stairwell.
"Once I marry Tatum, Eleanor is giving me control of Liam's trust fund to buy out my father's board members."
He planned to drain my brother's medical money, dump Tatum, and keep me as his mistress.
For a decade, I suffered their abuse hoping for a shred of decency, only to realize they were plotting to leave my brother to die on the streets for corporate greed.
Calling the police wouldn't stop these billionaires. I needed absolute power.
Remembering the dark, predatory gaze of Jaren Jarvis—the ruthless billionaire who had watched me fight back at the party—I canceled my call to 911.
If they wanted to destroy my only family, I was going to use the devil himself to crush theirs.