His Betrayal, Her Unyielding Revenge

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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My ten-year marriage to a tech mogul ended with his affair. But the real betrayal wasn't his cheating with my protégé. It was the words of my five-year-old son. "I want Aunt Bethany to be my mommy!" His cry shattered me. My own son chose the woman who destroyed our family. I was a ghost in my own home, my identity as a wife and mother erased. So I walked away from it all-the money, the mansion, and the son who no longer wanted me. I built a new life, adopted a daughter, Eva, who truly needed me, and found a peace I never knew. Two years later, my ex-husband reappeared. To prove his "love" and force our family back together, he kidnapped my daughter. He thought he could control me. He was about to learn that the woman he broke is gone, and the woman who stands in her place will burn his empire to the ground.

Kidnapping Betrayal Divorce Rebirth Divorce

Chapter 10

The day before yesterday 09:26

Chapter 1

My ten-year marriage to a tech mogul ended with his affair. But the real betrayal wasn't his cheating with my protégé. It was the words of my five-year-old son.

"I want Aunt Bethany to be my mommy!"

His cry shattered me. My own son chose the woman who destroyed our family. I was a ghost in my own home, my identity as a wife and mother erased.

So I walked away from it all-the money, the mansion, and the son who no longer wanted me. I built a new life, adopted a daughter, Eva, who truly needed me, and found a peace I never knew.

Two years later, my ex-husband reappeared. To prove his "love" and force our family back together, he kidnapped my daughter. He thought he could control me. He was about to learn that the woman he broke is gone, and the woman who stands in her place will burn his empire to the ground.

Chapter 1

"The clerk slid the divorce papers across the polished table. It was done. Just like that, a decade of my life, a lifetime of dreams, reduced to a few crisp sheets of paper and a signature."

My hand didn' t tremble. It was steady, almost detached as I signed my name, Claire Dunlap. The name I would keep, the name that felt like mine. A sense of a heavy, suffocating weight lifting off my chest mingled with a raw, hollow ache. Freedom and devastation. They were two sides of the same coin, and I held them both in my hands.

Beck, my now ex-husband, cleared his throat from across the table. He was still the picture of power, even here, in this sterile lawyer's office. His tailored suit, his expensive watch catching the fluorescent light. He pulled out his phone, already scrolling, already busy.

"Claire," he said, his voice smooth, almost practiced. "My driver is waiting outside. He can take you wherever you need to go."

I didn't answer right away. I just looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in years without the veil of hurt or hope. He seemed to shrink a little under my gaze, though he probably didn't notice.

Then, a tiny voice, tinny and distorted, chirped from his phone. "Daddy, is she done yet? Can we go to the park with Aunt Bethany now?"

It was Leo. Our son. Five years old, and already a master manipulator, though he didn't even know it. Beck stammered, pulling the phone away from his ear just enough so I could still hear the faint plea.

He shot me a quick, almost apologetic glance. "Leo, that's enough," he muttered into the phone, his tone clipped, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he usually spoke to our son. He put the phone back to his ear, probably trying to reassure him.

But Leo wasn't done. "Aunt Bethany said she'd push me on the swings higher than anyone!" His voice was full of innocent excitement, a child's pure joy. It was a fresh stab to my chest, a reminder of how easily he had been won over.

Beck's jaw tightened. He ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone into his pocket. His eyes darted to me, then away. He seemed to consider saying something, then thought better of it.

I just watched him. Leo's words, "Aunt Bethany," echoed in my ears. Bethany. My protégé. My friend. The woman who had systematically dismantled my life, piece by piece, right under my nose. And Leo, my own son, preferred her. He preferred the woman who was sleeping with his father.

My throat felt tight, but I swallowed it down. I wouldn' t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. Not ever again. I could feel his gaze on me again, searching for something. Pity? Guilt? I didn't care.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I can manage on my own."

He frowned, a slight furrow between his brows. "Claire, don't be difficult. It's pouring rain. The driver is right outside. Just let him take you."

"We're divorced, Beck," I stated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "There's no 'we' anymore. No obligations."

He flinched, as if I had physically struck him. His polished facade cracked, just for a second. "Claire, come on. We don't have to be enemies. We can still be civil. For Leo's sake."

He tried for a conciliatory smile, the kind that used to melt me, the kind that always promised redemption. Now, it just felt like another one of his calculated moves.

"Civil?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You call this civil? You want to go for coffee, reminisce about old times? Maybe at 'The Daily Grind'?"

His eyes lit up, a flicker of genuine nostalgia. "Yes! Exactly. Remember our first date there? We almost got kicked out for laughing too loudly."

The memory was like a distant dream, beautiful and shattered. He clearly didn't remember the last time we went there. Or maybe he just didn't care.

"They closed down, Beck," I said, the words cutting through the fragile memory. "About a year ago."

His face fell. "Closed down? Really? I hadn't heard."

I almost laughed. Of course he hadn't. He never heard anything that didn't directly impact his bottom line or his meticulously crafted image. I remembered telling him, not once, but three times. Each time, he'd been on a call, or rushing to a meeting, waving me off with a distracted "Hmm, that's a shame, honey."

The Daily Grind was our place. Our little coffee shop where we'd spent endless hours in college, dreaming about our future, fueled by cheap lattes and youthful optimism. The place where he'd proposed. He'd even planned to buy it with me, to help me expand my graphic design business, a decade ago. We were supposed to turn it into something more, together. He'd promised.

But then his startup took off, became a unicorn, and my dreams were politely shelved, replaced by the demands of his rising empire and eventually, a child. The coffee shop's owner, an old woman named Mrs. Henderson, had finally decided to retire. She'd put the place up for sale. I had told Beck, hoping for a spark of that old dream, that old partnership. He'd just nodded, too busy to care. Too busy to see that the world we built together was crumbling, bit by bit.

The coffee shop closed its doors for good the same month I discovered his affair. A fitting end, I thought, for both.

"Goodbye, Beck," I said, my voice firm, final. I turned and walked away.

I didn't take his driver. I hailed a cab in the pouring rain, the chill seeping into my bones. I clutched my small bag, containing only my most essential documents: my passport, my new lease agreement, and the divorce papers. My heart felt like shattered glass, but my resolve was as hard as stone. I was leaving the luxurious estate, the life I'd built, the man I once loved, and the child who now called another woman "Aunt." I was leaving the entire zip code, severing every tie, stepping into an unknown future, carrying nothing but the weight of my broken past and the fierce, burning desire to be free.