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.
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Chapter 8
The morning sun hit the windows of the hospital room, but Alyson felt nothing but cold determination.
She reached over and ripped the IV needle out of the back of her hand.
A thick drop of blood swelled and rolled down her knuckles, but she didn't flinch.
Nurse Jenkins rushed into the room, her eyes wide with panic.
"Mrs. Holt! You can't leave! You have fractured ribs and need to be monitored!"
"Bring me the discharge papers," Alyson demanded, holding a tissue to her bleeding hand.
She signed the medical waiver against doctor's advice, changed into the clothes the hospital staff had washed and dried for her, and walked out the front doors.
Every single step she took sent a violent tremor of agony radiating from her fractured ribs. She had to lean heavily against the cold glass of the hospital doors for a full minute, gritting her teeth until the blinding dizziness and nausea subsided, refusing to let herself collapse.
She took a cab straight back to the Upper East Side penthouse.
Every breath sent a sharp stab of pain through her chest, but she kept her posture perfectly straight, running purely on the cold, mechanical adrenaline of survival.
She stepped out of the elevator and pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner on the front door.
"Beep-Verification Failed."
The robotic voice echoed in the empty hallway.
Alyson narrowed her eyes. She punched in the six-digit passcode.
Error.
The locks had been changed overnight.
A cold smirk touched her lips. She unzipped the hidden pocket of her bag and pulled out a heavy brass override key.
She slid it into the concealed keyhole beneath the keypad and turned it.
The heavy door clicked open.
Alyson stepped inside, and her footsteps immediately stopped.
The minimalist, pristine living room was completely trashed.
Over a dozen bright pink Louis Vuitton hard trunks and luxury shopping bags were piled across the expensive rugs.
The air was thick with a sickeningly sweet floral perfume, completely drowning out the cedarwood scent Alyson usually kept in the house.
Sitting on the center sofa, holding a porcelain coffee cup, was Chelsea.
She was wearing Alyson's dark burgundy silk robe.
Chelsea turned her head at the sound of the door.
A brief flash of shock crossed her face when she saw Alyson standing there, pale but very much alive.
The shock quickly melted into a smug, victorious smile.
"Sister, you finally decided to come back? I thought you actually ran away from home," Chelsea purred, setting her cup down.
Alyson ignored the bait. Her eyes locked onto the fabric draped over Chelsea's shoulders.
"That is my robe."
Her voice was flat, carrying no anger, only a chilling emptiness.
Chelsea touched her collarbone, feigning innocence.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Kenton brought me back here so late last night, I just grabbed the first thing I saw in the closet."
She emphasized the words 'last night' with a sickening sweetness.
"Besides, Kenton said you don't deserve to wear silk anyway. He told me to take whatever I want." Chelsea covered her mouth, giggling softly.
Yesterday, those words would have ripped Alyson's heart in half.
Today, looking at Chelsea felt like watching a clown perform a pathetic trick.
"If you enjoy wearing other people's used trash, keep it," Alyson said smoothly.
Chelsea's smile vanished.
She hadn't expected the usually quiet, submissive Alyson to bite back.
She stood up, her face twisting with sudden malice.
"Don't act so tough. Kenton already agreed to let me move in."
She took a step closer. "He told me to tell you that if you upset me again, he'll cut off your credit cards."
Alyson walked right past her, heading straight for the study.
"Let him."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Chelsea snapped, reaching out to grab Alyson's arm.
Alyson stopped and slowly turned her head.
Her eyes were so dark and lethal that Chelsea instinctively snatched her hand back, her heart skipping a beat in fear.
"It means," Alyson whispered, "I am giving you this garbage dump."
She stepped into the study and slammed the door shut, locking it from the inside.
She blocked out Chelsea's furious screaming and walked over to the desk, flipping open her MacBook.
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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.