Hell Hath no fury like a billionaires Ex

For five years, I was Mrs. Davenport, cleaning up after my husband’s one-night stands and enduring his casual cruelty.

Call it a gilded cage, but this mansion was my prison, bought by my sacrifice: I was the secret medical lifeline keeping him, Ethan Davenport, alive.

Our cruel contract was nearing its end, just three months left.

Then, Chloe, his perfect ex-girlfriend, waltzed back in.

Her arrival wasn't a gentle reunion; it was a wrecking ball designed to finish what Ethan’s neglect had started.

She smeared my name, orchestrated a public humiliation, and then watched, smiling, as Ethan, fueled by rage and alcohol, dragged me to a damp, cold cellar.

He tore apart my most sacred possession—my fiancé’s diary—then brutally killed my loyal dog, Buddy, right before my eyes.