The Unwanted Wife's Revenge

The Unwanted Wife's Revenge

Gavin

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Seven years married to the tech CEO New York adored, I was the picture-perfect wife in a gilded cage. Nine months pregnant, I stood beside him at a glamorous gala, watching as his mistress caused a humiliating scene. Instead of managing her, he hissed, "Sarah, fix this," forcing me to apologize while my water broke. He dismissed my agonizing labor as "dramatic," then celebrated his mistress's birthday while I bled out, alone, in the hospital. Days later, he brought her into *our* opulent penthouse, where she staged a vicious fake attack. When she cut herself, he roared at me to apologize for her bleeding. Looking at my own wrist, I pressed a letter opener to old scars, a silent cry for help. He saw it, then sneered, "What, self-harm for attention now? Pathetic." His methodical abuse, his casual cruelty, had stripped away every shred of my self-worth. How could the world's most celebrated man be such a soulless monster in private? Why was I, the victim, always to blame, discarded at will? My heart, once broken, solidified into a cold, unbreakable resolve. There was only one way out of this living hell. I orchestrated a final, humiliating public confession, painting myself as the villain. Then, I meticulously staged my own dramatic death, vanishing from the world's stage. Sarah Hayes was officially gone. But Sadie? Sadie was just beginning to live, finally free.

Introduction

Seven years married to the tech CEO New York adored, I was the picture-perfect wife in a gilded cage.

Nine months pregnant, I stood beside him at a glamorous gala, watching as his mistress caused a humiliating scene.

Instead of managing her, he hissed, "Sarah, fix this," forcing me to apologize while my water broke.

He dismissed my agonizing labor as "dramatic," then celebrated his mistress's birthday while I bled out, alone, in the hospital.

Days later, he brought her into *our* opulent penthouse, where she staged a vicious fake attack.

When she cut herself, he roared at me to apologize for her bleeding.

Looking at my own wrist, I pressed a letter opener to old scars, a silent cry for help.

He saw it, then sneered, "What, self-harm for attention now? Pathetic."

His methodical abuse, his casual cruelty, had stripped away every shred of my self-worth.

How could the world's most celebrated man be such a soulless monster in private?

Why was I, the victim, always to blame, discarded at will?

My heart, once broken, solidified into a cold, unbreakable resolve.

There was only one way out of this living hell.

I orchestrated a final, humiliating public confession, painting myself as the villain.

Then, I meticulously staged my own dramatic death, vanishing from the world's stage.

Sarah Hayes was officially gone.

But Sadie? Sadie was just beginning to live, finally free.

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I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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