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The Underestimated Wife's Revenge

The Underestimated Wife's Revenge

Gavin

5.0
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The heavy scent of grilled meat and expensive cologne filled the private room at Harris' Steakhouse. My tech CEO husband, Mark, called it a "boys' night out," but I was there, a silent fixture at the dark wood table, habitually ignored. His tech bro friends, Kevin and Josh, flanked him, their laughter growing too loud. Then, in a momentary lull, I calmly stated, "I' m thinking about it too," referring to getting a divorce. The entire table erupted, not in surprise, but in loud, condescending laughter, Mark' s the loudest of all. He wiped a tear from his eye and sneered, "You? Divorce me? What do you have without me, Sarah? You dropped out of Vassar, remember? For me. You think you can survive for a week without my money?" His friend Kevin, already flushed from too much wine, then slurred a public dare, "If you actually divorce Mark, I swear, I' ll live-stream chugging a blended concoction of the grossest things!" They truly believed I was a fragile, dependent ornament, easily controlled. They saw only a trophy wife, utterly incapable of independent thought or action. They didn't see the cold, hard knot of pure resolve tightening inside my gut. They certainly didn't know about the countless hours I'd spent in our Atherton mansion's library, diligently studying California community property law. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips as I met their gazes. "No, Mark," I said, standing slowly, my voice cool and even, "I don' t think I will apologize; in fact, I've already had divorce papers drawn up." My lawyer would be in touch with his. Weeks later, when his young intern, Tiffany, smugly tried to announce her fake pregnancy at a family dinner, I exposed Mark's zero sperm count to his horrified mother and everyone present. They had utterly underestimated me, and my meticulously researched plan to reclaim my life had just begun.

Introduction

The heavy scent of grilled meat and expensive cologne filled the private room at Harris' Steakhouse.

My tech CEO husband, Mark, called it a "boys' night out," but I was there, a silent fixture at the dark wood table, habitually ignored.

His tech bro friends, Kevin and Josh, flanked him, their laughter growing too loud.

Then, in a momentary lull, I calmly stated, "I' m thinking about it too," referring to getting a divorce.

The entire table erupted, not in surprise, but in loud, condescending laughter, Mark' s the loudest of all.

He wiped a tear from his eye and sneered, "You? Divorce me? What do you have without me, Sarah? You dropped out of Vassar, remember? For me. You think you can survive for a week without my money?"

His friend Kevin, already flushed from too much wine, then slurred a public dare, "If you actually divorce Mark, I swear, I' ll live-stream chugging a blended concoction of the grossest things!"

They truly believed I was a fragile, dependent ornament, easily controlled.

They saw only a trophy wife, utterly incapable of independent thought or action.

They didn't see the cold, hard knot of pure resolve tightening inside my gut.

They certainly didn't know about the countless hours I'd spent in our Atherton mansion's library, diligently studying California community property law.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips as I met their gazes.

"No, Mark," I said, standing slowly, my voice cool and even, "I don' t think I will apologize; in fact, I've already had divorce papers drawn up."

My lawyer would be in touch with his.

Weeks later, when his young intern, Tiffany, smugly tried to announce her fake pregnancy at a family dinner, I exposed Mark's zero sperm count to his horrified mother and everyone present.

They had utterly underestimated me, and my meticulously researched plan to reclaim my life had just begun.

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The Unwilling Wife

The Unwilling Wife

Short stories

5.0

The organ music swelled, painting my white wedding dress in shades of blood red. I was marrying Julian Thorne, a man who despised me, believing the lies that had ruined my reputation. This wasn't a marriage; it was a sentence, orchestrated perfectly by my stepsister, Sophia, who had always wanted Julian for herself. Everyone saw Eleanor Vance, the brilliant architect, as the luckiest woman alive, but my heart was a cold stone. As the word "I do" escaped my lips-a whispered surrender-a blinding white light engulfed me. I woke up in my old bedroom, the floral wallpaper still on the walls. My phone read October 12, 2014-ten years ago, the day of my first wedding, the one that never happened. Relief surged through me; I wasn't Julian Thorne's wife. But then dread set in as Sophia's text buzzed on my smaller, older phone: "Julian's family is coming for dinner tonight, you have to make a good impression!" It was all starting tonight, the very dinner where Sophia would introduce me to the Thornes, setting off the chain of events that would lead to my forced marriage. The contempt in Julian's eyes was already there, seeing me as a social climber, exactly the image Sophia had carefully crafted. I was trapped again, a ghost in my own life, burdened by a future I knew was coming: the Thorne family's imminent financial ruin, and my own career sacrificed to support them. But this time, I wasn't the naive girl to be manipulated. I knew all their secrets, and I would not spend another ten years as Eleanor Thorne. I would fight.

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