Queen Of His Twisted Betrayal

Queen Of His Twisted Betrayal

Moria Anninger

5.0
Comment(s)
5.2K
View
10
Chapters

My husband, Cameron, cheated on me with his intern, Cara. After months of begging, I gave my childhood sweetheart a second chance, but the trust was gone. One night, after a fight, he stormed out. I watched on a hidden dashcam as he drove straight to her apartment, the sounds of their passion echoing through the car's speakers, a soundtrack to my despair. The next day, I found them kissing in our foyer. In a blind rage, I attacked Cara. Cameron shoved me to protect her, and my head slammed against the wall, splitting open. As blood streamed down my face, he cradled Cara, murmuring, "Are you okay?" At the hospital, his mother arrived, horrified. "She's pregnant with another man's child, and she's trying to trap you!" she screamed at Cameron. But he only had eyes for his mistress. He pushed past me, sending me sprawling to the floor, and rushed to Cara's side after she faked a medical emergency. He didn't even look back. Later, he returned, his eyes cold. "I can't let Cara go," he said. "You'll still be my wife. My queen. Just... allow me this one small indulgence." The audacity was breathtaking. He wanted me, his wife, to accept his mistress. But his arrogance didn't stop there. When Cara went missing, he accused me of harming her. He dragged me from my hospital bed, held a knife to my arm, and sliced my skin. "Tell me where she is," he hissed, his face twisted with madness, "or I'll make you."

Chapter 1

My husband, Cameron, cheated on me with his intern, Cara. After months of begging, I gave my childhood sweetheart a second chance, but the trust was gone.

One night, after a fight, he stormed out. I watched on a hidden dashcam as he drove straight to her apartment, the sounds of their passion echoing through the car's speakers, a soundtrack to my despair.

The next day, I found them kissing in our foyer. In a blind rage, I attacked Cara. Cameron shoved me to protect her, and my head slammed against the wall, splitting open. As blood streamed down my face, he cradled Cara, murmuring, "Are you okay?"

At the hospital, his mother arrived, horrified. "She's pregnant with another man's child, and she's trying to trap you!" she screamed at Cameron.

But he only had eyes for his mistress. He pushed past me, sending me sprawling to the floor, and rushed to Cara's side after she faked a medical emergency. He didn't even look back.

Later, he returned, his eyes cold. "I can't let Cara go," he said. "You'll still be my wife. My queen. Just... allow me this one small indulgence."

The audacity was breathtaking. He wanted me, his wife, to accept his mistress. But his arrogance didn't stop there. When Cara went missing, he accused me of harming her. He dragged me from my hospital bed, held a knife to my arm, and sliced my skin. "Tell me where she is," he hissed, his face twisted with madness, "or I'll make you."

Chapter 1

Audrey POV:

The sweet taste of betrayal was a lingering aftertaste, even now, months later, as my husband's lips found mine with a tenderness that felt like a lie. His breath on my skin, his familiar scent, it all screamed comfort, but my heart only whispered caution.

"Audrey, my love," Cameron murmured against my neck, his voice a soft rumble.

It was the same voice he used to soothe me after a long day, the same one that promised forever under a sky full of stars. Now, it only grated on my nerves, a false melody in a broken song.

He kissed my forehead, then my eyelids, a slow, almost reverent trail that ended at my lips. His touch was so careful, so full of devotion. It should have melted the ice around my heart. Instead, it built a wall.

I closed my eyes, but it didn' t help. The image still burned behind my eyelids.

The memory, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the fragile peace we pretended to have. An echo of a night, not so long ago, when his lips were on another woman' s.

It wasn't a dream, and it wasn't a nightmare. It was a waking horror. I'd walked into his studio, a place I considered sacred, a sanctuary of his art and our shared dreams.

But it was no sanctuary that night. It was a stage for a betrayal.

His intern, Cara Suarez, was there too. His ambitious, bright-eyed intern, who I' d thought was just a budding artist he was mentoring.

They were in the corner, among the canvases and paint-splattered easels. The air was thick with the scent of turpentine and something else, something cloying and sickly sweet.

He had her pressed against a half-finished sculpture, his hands tangled in her unnaturally bright blonde hair. His jaw was tight, his eyes glazed with an intensity I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

Cara, all lean limbs and feigned innocence, was gazing up at him. Her white blouse was rumpled, a stark contrast to her dark skirt that was hiked up just enough to hint at secrets. Her lips, painted a vivid cherry red, were swollen from his kisses.

Cameron was devouring her. His body, usually so guarded, was loose, abandoned. He was lost in her, utterly consumed.

And the door to the studio? It swung slightly ajar, a careless testament to their recklessness, their utter disregard for anyone else.

She was young, barely out of college, with eyes that held a calculating sparkle beneath a veneer of vulnerability. She clung to him like a vine, wrapping around him, pulling him deeper into her web.

His usual quiet demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, primal hunger. He moved against her, a low growl rumbling in his chest. I remembered thinking, He never makes those sounds with me anymore.

Then, her voice, a breathy whisper that still scraped at my soul. "Cameron, my love."

And his reply, "Mine. You're all mine."

He said it while his hands roamed her back, pulling her impossibly closer. It was a possessive declaration, a claim that echoed the words he once used for me.

The sheer audacity of it, the thrill they both seemed to derive from the forbidden. It was all there, laid bare in front of me.

They were so wrapped up in each other, so completely engrossed, they didn't even notice the doorway where I stood. I was just a shadow, a forgotten presence in a scene that was meant for two, but shattered three lives.

My voice, when it came, was a choked gasp. "Cameron!"

He froze, his head snapping up, eyes wide with terror as he finally saw me. Cara, startled, stumbled back, trying to smooth her skirt, her face a mask of feigned shock.

But I wasn't looking at Cara anymore. My gaze was fixed on Cameron. His face, flushed with lust just moments before, now morphed into a grotesque parody of the man I loved. The man I thought I knew.

This isn't him. But it was. Two faces, one man. The loving husband and the cheating stranger, superimposed, blurring into an image of pure disgust.

A wave of nausea hit me, cold and relentless. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. I couldn't breathe.

I shoved him, hard, the force of my anger surprising even myself. He stumbled, catching himself on an easel.

I ran, not to escape, but to purge. I barely made it to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach, as if I could somehow expel the poison I had just witnessed.

Cameron was there, his voice soft, laced with a fear that sounded almost genuine. "Audrey? Are you okay?"

He tried to touch my shoulder, a weak attempt at comfort.

I flinched, recoiling as if his touch burned. "Don't," I choked out, a raw, guttural sound. "Don't you dare touch me."

His face stiffened, the concern draining away, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. He almost bristled, but then, he visibly reined himself in. The mask of a contrite husband settled back on his face.

He moved to the sink, pouring a glass of water, the clinking of the glass against the ceramic basin the only sound in the suffocating silence. He offered it to me, his eyes carefully neutral.

He had come back home, three months ago, after begging, after promises, after I, inexplicably, agreed to give him a second chance. Three months of this fragile truce, this cold war disguised as a marriage.

We hadn't really moved past it. We simply drifted, two distant stars orbiting a dying sun.

I rinsed my mouth, the taste of vomit and betrayal still clinging to my tongue. I looked at him in the mirror. His eyes, usually so expressive, held a weariness, a careful neutrality that spoke volumes. He was exhausted by this pretense, too.

A beast roared inside me, trapped and furious. It clawed at my throat, demanding release. But I couldn't let it out. Not yet.

I forced a smile, a brittle, mechanical thing that didn' t reach my eyes. "So, Cameron," I said, my voice flat, calm. Too calm. "Are you happy now?"

His pale face instantly flushed, then drained of all color. The careful control he'd maintained shattered. His eyes, usually so gentle, narrowed, filled with a sudden, furious rage.

He kicked the bedside table, a hollow thud echoing in the room. A lamp wobbled, then crashed to the floor, scattering shards of glass across the Persian rug. Books tumbled, a vase overturned, water spreading dark stains.

His gaze, when it met mine, was a mixture of exhaustion and pure fury. "Happy?" he spat, the word dripping with venom. "Happy? Is that what you think this is, Audrey? You think I'm happy?"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space in front of me like a caged animal. "You hound me, you question me, you accuse me every single day! What do you want from me?"

He stopped, turning to face me completely, his shoulders slumped, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. "Don't you think I regret it? Don't you think I wish I could go back? I'm miserable, Audrey. I'm utterly, completely miserable."

His despair was palpable, a raw wound. But was it for me? Or for himself?

"You're the one who keeps tearing at the wound, Audrey!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "You're the one who won't let us move on! Just tell me what you want me to do to make this right!" His eyes pleaded, but his body language screamed frustration. "Just tell me!"

His words hung in the air, thick with accusation, a desperate attempt to shift the blame. But I knew better. I always did. The bitter truth was, he wasn't miserable because of what he did, but because he got caught. He was trapped, and he blamed me for it. And I finally saw it, clear as day.

"I want you to tell me the truth, Cameron," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the air like a knife. "Are you still seeing her?" My gaze locked onto his, demanding an answer he couldn't evade.

His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, a tell-tale sign that shattered any remaining illusion.

"Audrey, please," he began, his voice suddenly weak, but I saw the fear in his eyes, not of losing me, but of being exposed.

"Tell me," I pushed, my voice gaining strength, "have you broken your promise? Have you gone back to her?" My heart pounded, not with hope, but with a terrifying certainty.

He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the broken lamp. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until it was too much to bear.

"Cameron!" I screamed, the beast finally unleashed. "Tell me!" My voice echoed in the room, raw with pain and fury, demanding to know if the last three months had been nothing but another elaborate lie.

Continue Reading

Other books by Moria Anninger

More

You'll also like

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Jessica C. Dolan
4.9

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

THE SPITEFUL BRIDE: MARRY TO RIVAL'S SON

THE SPITEFUL BRIDE: MARRY TO RIVAL'S SON

Ray Nhedicta
4.6

"Let's get married," Mia declares, her voice trembling despite her defiant gaze into Stefan's guarded brown eyes. She needs this, even if he seems untouchable. Stefan raises a skeptical brow. "And why would I do that?" His voice was low, like a warning, and it made her shiver even though she tried not to show it. "We both have one thing in common," Mia continues, her gaze unwavering. "Shitty fathers. They want to take what's ours and give it to who they think deserves it." A pointed pause hangs in the air. "The only difference between us is that you're an illegitimate child, and I'm not." Stefan studies her, the heiress in her designer armor, the fire in her eyes that matches the burn of his own rage. "That's your solution? A wedding band as a weapon?" He said ignoring the part where she just referred to him as an illegitimate child. "The only weapon they won't see coming." She steps closer, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume, gunpowder and jasmine. "Our fathers stole our birthrights. The sole reason they betrayed us. We join forces, create our own empire that'll bring down theirs." A beat of silence. Then, Stefan's mouth curves into something sharp. "One condition," he murmurs, closing the distance. "No divorces. No surrenders. If we're doing this, it's for life" "Deal" Mia said without missing a beat. Her father wants to destroy her life. She wouldn't give him the pleasure, she would destroy her life as she seems fit. ................ Two shattered heirs. One deadly vow. A marriage built on revenge. Mia Meyers was born to rule her father's empire (so she thought), until he named his bastard son heir instead. Stefan Sterling knows the sting of betrayal too. His father discarded him like trash. Now the rivals' disgraced children have a poisonous proposal: Marry for vengeance. Crush their fathers' legacies. Never speak of divorce. Whoever cracks first loses everything. Can these two rivals, united by their vengeful hearts, pull off a marriage of convenience to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs? Or will their fathers' animosity, and their own complicated pasts tear their fragile alliance apart?

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book