The Wife He Destroyed, Reborn

The Wife He Destroyed, Reborn

Gavin

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On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband Liam handed me a beautifully wrapped gift. It wasn't jewelry; it was a leather-bound notebook, a "playbook" detailing years of his affairs, each encounter meticulously logged. My world shattered as he casually demanded I "disperse" his harem, paying them off so we could "start over." For ten years, I' d been the obedient wife, the replacement bride after my twin sister Chloe supposedly died. Swallowing the humiliation, I worked my way through the list, until only one name remained: Chloe, still alive, and heavily pregnant with Liam's child. He hadn' t wanted me back; he wanted me gone, to bring her home. The cruel, elaborate lie of my marriage finally unraveled. When I confronted him, Liam' s facade dropped, his hands around my throat, whispering I was just a "pathetic replacement." Then, Chloe appeared, feigning innocence and twisting our past, painting me as obsessed, while Liam demoted me from wife to servant, ordering me to care for his pregnant mistress. Driven to despair, I called my mother, who immediately came to my rescue. But just as she arrived, Chloe, in Liam' s car, brutally ran her down, killing her before my eyes. Liam then presented me with a waiver, demanding I absolve Chloe of responsibility to protect his mistress and "his son," offering me money for my mother' s death. The callous contempt in his eyes, the utter disrespect for my grief, ignited a cold, hard fury I had never known. I tore his waiver to shreds, the act a blazing declaration of war. At my mother' s funeral, Chloe brazenly confessed the murder, gloating over her "plan" to get rid of my mother, then deliberately provoked me. Liam, in his rage, viciously kicked me in the stomach, causing the miscarriage of our child-a child he didn' t even know existed. The final betrayal came when I needed him most; in the hospital, writhing in pain, he dismissed my pleas for help, choosing Chloe, leading to another devastating miscarriage. I was losing everything, suffocating in a nightmare orchestrated by the very people who were supposed to be my family. But then, my uncle arrived, a beacon of unwavering support, pulling me from the abyss. Two years passed. Reborn as Ava Sterling, a successful design mogul, I returned, ready to make Liam pay. At a charity gala, I humiliated him publicly, then gave him a choice: send Chloe, the woman he' d loved, to prison for murder, or lose me forever. He chose to sacrifice Chloe, but his act of penance was merely the opening gambit in my game of revenge. Chloe was arrested, her frantic cries exposing Liam's complicity, destroying his reputation. His calls became desperate, demanding his "reward." He had no idea his punishment had just begun.

Introduction

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband Liam handed me a beautifully wrapped gift.

It wasn't jewelry; it was a leather-bound notebook, a "playbook" detailing years of his affairs, each encounter meticulously logged.

My world shattered as he casually demanded I "disperse" his harem, paying them off so we could "start over."

For ten years, I' d been the obedient wife, the replacement bride after my twin sister Chloe supposedly died.

Swallowing the humiliation, I worked my way through the list, until only one name remained: Chloe, still alive, and heavily pregnant with Liam's child.

He hadn' t wanted me back; he wanted me gone, to bring her home.

The cruel, elaborate lie of my marriage finally unraveled.

When I confronted him, Liam' s facade dropped, his hands around my throat, whispering I was just a "pathetic replacement."

Then, Chloe appeared, feigning innocence and twisting our past, painting me as obsessed, while Liam demoted me from wife to servant, ordering me to care for his pregnant mistress.

Driven to despair, I called my mother, who immediately came to my rescue.

But just as she arrived, Chloe, in Liam' s car, brutally ran her down, killing her before my eyes.

Liam then presented me with a waiver, demanding I absolve Chloe of responsibility to protect his mistress and "his son," offering me money for my mother' s death.

The callous contempt in his eyes, the utter disrespect for my grief, ignited a cold, hard fury I had never known.

I tore his waiver to shreds, the act a blazing declaration of war.

At my mother' s funeral, Chloe brazenly confessed the murder, gloating over her "plan" to get rid of my mother, then deliberately provoked me.

Liam, in his rage, viciously kicked me in the stomach, causing the miscarriage of our child-a child he didn' t even know existed.

The final betrayal came when I needed him most; in the hospital, writhing in pain, he dismissed my pleas for help, choosing Chloe, leading to another devastating miscarriage.

I was losing everything, suffocating in a nightmare orchestrated by the very people who were supposed to be my family.

But then, my uncle arrived, a beacon of unwavering support, pulling me from the abyss.

Two years passed.

Reborn as Ava Sterling, a successful design mogul, I returned, ready to make Liam pay.

At a charity gala, I humiliated him publicly, then gave him a choice: send Chloe, the woman he' d loved, to prison for murder, or lose me forever.

He chose to sacrifice Chloe, but his act of penance was merely the opening gambit in my game of revenge.

Chloe was arrested, her frantic cries exposing Liam's complicity, destroying his reputation.

His calls became desperate, demanding his "reward."

He had no idea his punishment had just begun.

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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