Betrayal's Echo: A Wife's Revenge

The phone buzzed, a relentless vibration I tried to ignore, but Sarah' s furious face on the video call told me I couldn' t. My artist husband, Ethan, had unveiled his new exhibition, "Raw Truths," a brutal public dissection of our dead marriage. The centerpiece? A twenty-foot-tall projection of me sleeping, mouth open, drooling. The internet exploded, half calling him a monster, half calling me a willing muse. Then I scrolled to the next piece: a distorted loop of my voice, crying after a fight, packaged and sold as art. My phone buzzed again, Ethan' s name on the caller ID. Sarah, my lawyer, ordered me not to answer, but a primal urge to understand the "why" gripped me. He told me he' d made art, groundbreaking art. I screamed that he was selling my tears, my private grief, for fame. His response? This backlash was hurting his career. Then came the real dagger: he' d bring my devout grandmother into this, expose our secret marriage, destroy her if I didn' t release a public apology calling myself a willing collaborator. My world shattered. How could he? How could he use my deepest fear against me? Before I could even process his threat, my aunt called, sobbing. Grandma had collapsed, she' d seen something on the news. It was too late. He had already destroyed the last innocent part of my life. Lying in the hospital, my grandmother gone, I watched Ethan on TV, publicly mourning, accepting accolades. He had taken everything. My peace, my privacy, my family. A cold, hard resolve settled in my chest. If the world wanted a tragic muse, I' d give them a tragedy they' d never forget. I would erase myself from his world completely.

The cold concrete walls of the visitor' s room blurred. My wife, Sarah, sat opposite me, her eyes burning with contempt, dressed in a sharp business suit. "Ethan, that data-exfiltration device was clearly planted by you," her voice, a venomous echo, replayed. "You were just jealous of Alex and wanted him dead! I truly regret leaving Alex for a simpleton like you; you deserve to rot in prison for what you did to him!" That was the last time I saw her before the life sentence. Before everything went black. The betrayal was so fresh, it felt like it happened only a second ago. Alex Thornton, her charismatic tech mogul mentor, gifted her a sleek, black smart ring. As an FBI agent, I recognized it immediately: a sophisticated data-exfiltration device. I tried to warn her, even reported it to the Bureau, cushioning the blow to protect her, sacrificing my own promotion. It was a fatal mistake. Alex died in a suspicious car accident as the FBI closed in. My grieving, loving Sarah then wove a web of digital lies, leaking classified intel and manipulating logs, pointing every piece of evidence directly at me. The jealous, jilted husband. The perfect story. Then, a jarring, insistent beeping cut through the darkness of my prison cell memory. I gasped, my eyes flying open. I wasn' t in a cell. I was in my own bed. My alarm clock. 7:00 AM. My heart hammered. Sarah was still asleep. On her nightstand, gleaming, was the smart ring. It was today. The day it all began. A cold dread washed over me, followed by something hot and sharp: a second chance. The humiliation, the cold slap of betrayal, her mocking words. My colleagues' faces, pity mixed with confusion, as they cuffed me. I had sacrificed everything for a woman who saw me as a simpleton. The love I felt for her was now a black hole. In the quiet of the morning, with the woman who would destroy me sleeping peacefully beside me, I made a new vow. Not of love, or loyalty, but of self-preservation. And justice.

The studio lights burned hot, a stark contrast to the manufactured chill, as I stood on a platform, a fake smile plastered on my face. This wasn' t about a generic second chance; it was about Jake Miller. Then, he walked out-the boy I left behind, now a stranger in a tailored suit, a Silicon Valley titan. His gaze swept past me without a flicker of recognition, and my heart sank. Before I could process the sting, Chloe Davis, a social media influencer, glided onto the stage, linking her arm with his, her cooing voice dripping with practiced sweetness. He stood there, allowing her to cling to him, his silence a crushing answer-seven years of distance felt like an eternity. "Do I know you?" he asked, his eyes cold and empty, when I finally found the courage to approach. The question hit me harder than a physical blow, followed by his dismissive "Right. The artist. I' m a little busy right now." The next morning, his unanswered question mark on my phone served as a stark reminder of his indifference. Then, I overheard him promise Chloe a romantic dinner cruise, solidifying my humiliation. When I twisted my ankle during a beach volleyball game, he watched me with unnerving calm, then abandoned me to take Chloe on the promised date. That night, my desperate, anonymous text confessing my love was met with Chloe' s triumphant announcement that she and Jake were the "Heartbeat Couple," confirming he had publicly chosen her. Just as I was about to give up, my childhood best friend, Ethan Vance, unexpectedly appeared, announcing he was here to "reclaim his fiancée" right in front of Jake and the cameras. Jake' s mask of indifference cracked; his jaw tightened as he strode away, but moments later, in the library, he coldly told me I needed an "appointment" to speak with him. Later, seeing him subtly express jealousy towards Ethan gave me a sliver of hope, only for my mother to call, accusing me of embarrassing the family and demanding I leave the show. Then Ethan delivered the final blow: Jake was planning to announce his engagement to Chloe on the final episode. I rushed to Jake' s mansion, desperate for him to hear my explanation, only for him to declare, "I' m not interested in your excuses. It' s too late," then told me to leave. Returning one last time, begging at his gate, I confessed my heart through his closed door, only for him to open it, revealing Chloe, sitting smugly on his bed. He then pulled out his phone, showed me my contact, and brutally pressed "Delete," whispering, "Don' t ever contact me again," and added a final, cruel remark about Chloe' s preference for flowers. The next morning, as I cut my finger, bleeding onto the counter, he saw me, then turned away to pour Chloe orange juice, as if I didn' t exist. "I' m leaving the show," I told Liam, my voice hollow, realizing there was nothing left to fight for. A year later, with my art finding success, my phone rang-an unknown number. It was Jake, his voice hesitant, saying he needed to talk, and I echoed his past words, "My assistant can schedule a call for you. Perhaps in a few weeks," then hung up. Liam revealed the truth: I left for Paris not out of ambition, but to save my family from bankruptcy, and Jake had changed his number, preventing my desperate calls. Jake watched my televised interview, our misunderstanding laid bare, and for the first time, felt the full, crushing weight of his regret, and I knew: the chase was about to begin.

I stared at the divorce papers, a symbol of freedom after years trapped in Mark Davis's gilded cage, where my art and my soul withered. But just as I dared to breathe, Mark' s self-serving facade shattered completely. His icy disregard for my well-being climaxed when, after a public humiliation at a gala engineered by his mistress, I collapsed at home, suffering a miscarriagewhile he watched, more concerned with his wounded pride and her presence. And then, in the sterile hospital hallway, he twisted the knife deeper, telling her – and anyone who would listen – that I had faked my entire pregnancy for attention. There was no turning back; I would never again be the woman who stood silently in his shadow. I walked away, not just from him, but towards reclaiming the artist I was always meant to be.

The rain hammered against my windowpane, a relentless drumbeat mirroring the dull throb in my abdomen-a constant reminder of the child I' d lost. My husband, Captain David Miller, was a celebrated hero on TV, his charismatic smile a stark contrast to the corroding rust of our marriage. Right there, beside him, was Chloe, my best friend, looking at him with adoration, her hand tucked in his arm. They didn' t know the real David, not like I did. The betrayal had been a slow, agonizing descent, a series of small, sharp cuts. Late nights, calls taken in hushed tones, excuses woven around Chloe' s supposed fragility. "She' s fragile, Scar," he' d say, "You' re strong. You understand." I tried to, but then he missed our anniversary for her panic attack, my doctor' s appointment for her broken-down car. Each time, a piece of my trust chipped away. The final, unforgivable act came when I lay bleeding on the floor, calling him in a choked whisper. "David, please. Something' s wrong. I' m… I' m bleeding." I heard Chloe' s tearful voice in the background, "David, don' t go. I need you." He hesitated. That cold, sharp hesitation twisted in my gut. He never came. I lost our baby alone in a sterile hospital room while he comforted her. He truly cared more about her feelings than our child. Months later, with my mother' s funeral underway, Chloe approached me again. "It' s like she had to go so my son could live," she whispered, claiming my dying mother was a necessary sacrifice for her child. My suppressed rage ignited. This woman, who had manipulated my husband, stolen my locket, and had a piece of my body donated to her, was now mocking my grief. "I want a divorce, David," I declared, the words cutting through the chaos. He tried to deny it, to plead, to promise. But his love was poison, and I was done. I walked away from the graveside, leaving behind the man who had destroyed everything. With the help of my father' s old friend, an opportunity for a new life, a new name, appeared. I didn' t look back as I dropped my wedding ring into a trash can at the airport. It made a small, tinny sound, the final note on a life I was leaving behind. As the city lights faded below, I felt a flicker of peace. My past was over. My future was waiting.

The air in the penthouse reeked of sex and lies; I, Chloe Davis, a tech prodigy, was tangled in the sheets of Ethan Hayes, the venture capitalist titan. But the soft hiss of his shower was soon drowned out by a chilling message on his laptop: "Ethan, can you come keep me company for a bit...? - Liam." Liam-the "first love" I' d recently watched Ethan escort into a hotel with tender care, the same Liam whose face filled the secret shrine in Ethan's study, a shrine I'd discovered while waiting alone on Ethan' s birthday, clutching an engagement ring. That night, news alerts screamed of #TechMogul\'sSecretLove, confirming my worst fears of being nothing but a call-on-demand lover, a temporary diversion while his true obsession was away. Now, as he dismissively left me for his "office" – Liam – a cold dread turned into a furious resolve. I ordered a ride-share, following him to the hotel, my heart hammering as I watched him link arms with Liam, a picture of perfect affection. They looked like a family, something I' d never known. When my own father, eager to marry me off for fifty billion, presented Liam as his mistress' s son, my new stepbrother, the betrayal hardened into a diamond-sharp edge. I bought couture gowns I' d never wear, jewelry I' d never put on, emptying his accounts. Then, walking through a dark alley after my credit card was cut off, I was cornered by two menacing men. Just as they grabbed me, a black car screeched to a halt, and Ethan's assistant, Mark, stepped out, followed by Ethan himself, his face a mask of cold fury. He pulled me into his Maybach, demanding answers. My response was simple: "Away from you. Away from my father. Away from everything." This wasn't just about escape; it was about reclaiming myself.

"Sign the divorce papers and get out!" Leanna got married to pay a debt, but she was betrayed by her husband and shunned by her in-laws. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she agreed to divorce and claimed her half of the properties. With her purse plump from the settlement, Leanna enjoyed her newfound freedom. The constant harassment from her ex's mistress never fazed her. She took back her identities as top hacker, champion racer, medical professor, and renowned jewelry designer. Then someone discovered her secret. Matthew smiled. "Will you have me as your next husband?"

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."

Darya spent three years loving Micah, worshipping the ground he walked on. Until his neglect and his family's abuse finally woke her up to the ugly truth-he doesn't love her. Never did, never will. To her, he is a hero, her knight in shining armour. To him, she is an opportunist, a gold digger who schemed her way into his life. Darya accepts the harsh reality, gathers the shattered pieces of her dignity, divorces him, takes back her real name, reclaims her title as the country's youngest billionaire heiress. Their paths cross again at a party. Micah watches his ex-wife sing like an angel, tear up the dance floor, then thwart a lecher with a roundhouse kick. He realises, belatedly, that she's exactly the kind of woman he'd want to marry, if only he had taken the trouble to get to know her. Micah acts promptly to win her back, but discovers she's now surrounded by eligible bachelors: high-powered CEO, genius biochemist, award-winning singer, reformed playboy. Worse, she makes it pretty clear that she's done with him. Micah gears up for an uphill battle. He must prove to her he's still worthy of her love before she falls for someone else. And time is running out.

At their wedding night, Kayla caught her brand-new husband cheating. Reeling and half-drunk, she staggered into the wrong suite and collapsed into a stranger's arms. Sunrise brought a pounding head-and the discovery she was pregnant. The father? A supremely powerful tycoon who happened to be her husband's ruthless uncle. Panicked, she tried to run, but he barred the door with a faint, dangerous smile. When the cheating ex begged, Kayla lifted her chin and declared, "Want a second chance at us? Ask your uncle." The tycoon pulled her close. "She's my wife now." The ex gasped, "What!?"

Warning: 18+ content for mature audiences. Book Excerpt: Donovan's POV Her enchanting green eyes that were alive with passion the day I told her she could go shopping are pale with only despair dancing in them. "Oh, I'm quite aware of my duties as your wife, Mr. Castellano." My eyes darken at the formal use of my name. I've told her to stop doing that. It feels wrong. Like she doesn't belong to me. I clench my jaw as I wait for her to finish her sentence but her cold smile widens. "Ah, you don't like when I call you Mr. Castellano, right? Too bad. You can't force my mouth to say what you want to hear." Blood rushes to my groin as her words settle in the tensed air between us. Does she realize the gravity of what she'd just said? Does she know she'd moaned my name while I had her wet cunt in her mouth? Does she know how needy she'd been when she wanted me to take her even though she wasn't awake? And is she aware that I know how bad she wants me in her dreams while she pretends in real life to hate me? She glares up at me while I seethe, looking down at her. "It's Donovan," I say darkly, resisting the pull of her lips and maintaining my vision at her eyes. "Mr. Castellano," she retorts. My face draws closer, getting ready to give her a punishing kiss but a harsh sound fills the room and then I realize, belatedly, that I'd just been slapped as my face swings to the side, turning away from Eliana. Eliana slapped me. Luis Santario's daughter just slapped me. Just like her father had done many nights ago. Shame fills me but it's quickly trampled upon by hot, violent anger. How dare she? How dare the whore?! Her cheek instantly goes red with the imprints of my fingers. Blood trickles from her nose and her hair that was up in a messy bun scatters all around her face. Eliana's head remains bowed as the blood from her nose drips onto her white bedcovers. ***** Eliana's POV I know I'm signing my death warrant by provoking him like this but what else can I do when he's already planned to kill me? I could just as well make it easier for him to by getting on his nerves. If I don't push him away, I'm scared I'll start to blur the lines between my dreams and reality. The Donovan in my dreams is drastically different from the one in real life. If my plans to escape from this marriage don't work, I may end up dead or worst, in love with Donovan Castellano. And I'd rather die now than to fall in love with him and die later. *** Many years ago, Donovan Castellano went through something that irrevocably changed him for the worst, and Eliana's father was to blame. Years later, Eliana's father dies. Eliana doesn't know her father's dark past or why Donovan Castellano bought her and then married her. But she knows he's out for blood and wants to kill her, but how long will she continue to defend herself when the way he touches her and kisses her in her dreams is starting to blur the lines between reality and fiction? Will Donovan succeed in finally getting revenge on Eliana for what her father did to him and will Eliana succeed in resisting her possessive mafia husband's advances even when he says he wants her dead? Read on to find out.