Discarded Wife's Billionaire Revenge Unleashed

Name: Discarded Wife's Billionaire Revenge Unleashed
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Gavin

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The fourth time I lost our baby, my husband threw me out of his Bentley on a deserted road. My crime? The heel of my shoe had scuffed the pristine leather interior. I woke up in a hospital bed, bleeding and alone, only to see him through the glass door, holding his high school sweetheart in his arms. Moments later, his mother posted their picture online with the caption: "Finally back where they belong. A true love story." Their friends commented, calling me a "social-climbing nobody" he was finally getting rid of. They thought they had broken me, that I would come crawling back like I always did. But they forgot about the betrayal clause in our prenup, the one that would give me control of my family's entire fortune. And it expired in one week.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce CEO Billionaires

Chapter 22

09-30 14:49

Chapter 1

The fourth time I lost our baby, my husband threw me out of his Bentley on a deserted road. My crime? The heel of my shoe had scuffed the pristine leather interior.

I woke up in a hospital bed, bleeding and alone, only to see him through the glass door, holding his high school sweetheart in his arms.

Moments later, his mother posted their picture online with the caption: "Finally back where they belong. A true love story."

Their friends commented, calling me a "social-climbing nobody" he was finally getting rid of.

They thought they had broken me, that I would come crawling back like I always did.

But they forgot about the betrayal clause in our prenup, the one that would give me control of my family's entire fortune.

And it expired in one week.

Chapter 1

Harper Griffin POV:

The fourth time I lost our baby began with the scuff of a heel on the leather interior of a Bentley.

My stomach was already cramping, a low, familiar ache that sent a spike of cold dread through me. I shifted in the buttery soft seat, trying to find a position that didn't feel like my insides were being twisted into a knot. In my discomfort, the heel of my shoe scraped against the door panel, leaving a thin, black line on the pristine cream-colored leather.

A sound so small, yet in the oppressive silence of the car, it was like a gunshot.

Adler Irwin, my husband, didn't even turn his head. His eyes, fixed on the winding, empty road ahead, narrowed. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

"Get out," he said. The words were flat, devoid of any emotion except a chilling sort of finality.

I blinked, the pain momentarily forgotten. "What?"

"I said, get out of my car." He still didn't look at me. His profile was perfect, like something carved from marble, and just as cold.

"Adler, please," I whispered, a hand instinctively going to my stomach. "I'm not feeling well. The cramps are bad."

"I don't care," he said, his voice dropping an octave, a tone that always signaled the edge of his patience. "You know how I feel about this car. It's an extension of me. Perfect. Unblemished. You just... defiled it. With your carelessness."

Defiled it. He spoke about the leather as if it were sacred skin and my shoe was an act of blasphemy. My pain, the child we might be losing, was less than an inconvenience. It was irrelevant.

He pulled the car over sharply, the tires crunching on the gravel shoulder of the deserted country road. We were miles from anywhere, surrounded by nothing but barren fields and the gray, unforgiving sky.

"Adler, you can't be serious," I pleaded, the panic rising in my throat, thick and suffocating. "I'm... I think I'm bleeding."

For the first time, he turned to look at me. His gaze wasn't one of concern. It was one of pure, unadulterated disgust. As if the very idea of me, of my body's messy, unpredictable functions, was an offense to his curated world of perfection.

"Then you'll have even more incentive to be careful next time," he said, his voice like ice. He reached across my body, his expensive cologne filling my lungs, and pushed my door open. "Out."

The cold wind whipped into the car, a brutal shock against my skin. I didn't move. I couldn't. The cramps were intensifying, sharp and vicious. Tears welled in my eyes.

He unbuckled my seatbelt with a flick of his wrist. "Don't make me repeat myself, Harper."

With no other choice, I stumbled out of the car, my legs weak. The moment my feet hit the gravel, he slammed the door shut and drove away without a backward glance. The Bentley disappeared around a bend, its engine a low, indifferent hum that was quickly swallowed by the silence.

I was alone. And the pain was tearing me apart.

I collapsed to my knees on the rough gravel, a sob ripping from my chest as a wave of agony washed over me. I felt a warm gush between my legs, and I knew. I knew I was losing another child.

Hours later, a kind farmer found me, barely conscious and lying in a pool of my own blood.

The next thing I remember is the sterile, white ceiling of a hospital room. The world was a blur of muffled sounds and the sharp, antiseptic smell that I had come to associate with heartbreak. A nurse was speaking to me in a gentle voice, her words about "complications" and "so sorry for your loss" washing over me without sinking in.

My fourth loss. My fourth empty space where a small life should have been.

When my vision finally cleared, I saw them through the glass panel of my room door. Adler was there. But he wasn't looking at my room. He was standing with his back to me, his shoulders shielding another woman from the harsh hospital lights.

Juliana Pitts.

His high-school sweetheart. The one he' d told me was just a part of his past. Her "old money" family had always looked down on me, on my family's "new money" earned through my parents' architectural firm.

She was crying into his chest, her perfectly manicured hands clutching the lapels of his designer suit. And Adler... Adler was stroking her hair. He was murmuring words of comfort to her, his head bent low, his expression one of tender concern. The same expression he used to reserve only for me, in the very beginning.

My heart, which I thought had already been shattered, broke into a million more pieces.

As if to twist the knife deeper, my phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a notification from Instagram. My hands trembled as I picked it up.

It was a post from Adler's mother, Mrs. Irwin. A picture of Adler and Juliana, taken just moments ago, right outside my hospital room. They were embracing, Juliana's head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around her.

The caption read: "Finally back where they belong. Some things are just meant to be. A true love story for the ages."

Below it, a flood of comments from their elite social circle.

"So happy for them! A perfect match."

"I always knew they'd find their way back to each other."

"Thank God he's finally getting rid of that social-climbing nobody."

The world tilted. The air in my lungs turned to poison. He hadn't even waited for the blood to dry. He hadn't even waited for me to wake up. He was celebrating his reunion with his old flame while I was lying in a hospital bed, mourning the death of his child. For the fourth time.

In that moment, something inside me died. The hopeful, loving Harper who had sacrificed a prestigious architectural scholarship to marry him, who had endured years of his coldness and control, who had excused his behavior as the quirks of a perfectionist. She was gone.

A deep, cold calm settled over me. I looked at the happy couple through the glass, his mother' s cruel words burning on my screen. I felt nothing. No tears, no rage. Just a vast, empty clarity.

I picked up the phone again, my thumb hovering over my lawyer's contact.

Five years. The prenuptial agreement my parents had insisted on, the one I had fought them on, had a clause. The "betrayal clause." If Adler's infidelity was proven within the first five years of our marriage, control of the massive Griffin family trust fund, which Adler had been managing, would revert entirely to me.

Our fifth anniversary was next week.

My finger pressed down. The call connected.

Adler must have heard the ringing from inside my room. He turned, his face a mask of annoyance that quickly morphed into something like performative concern when he saw I was awake. He gently pushed Juliana aside and walked toward my door.

"Harper," he began, his voice laced with that fake, smooth sympathy he was so good at. "The doctor said-"

I held up a hand, cutting him off.

The lawyer's voice came through the phone, crisp and professional. "Mrs. Irwin?"

"It's Griffin," I said, my voice steady, my eyes locked on my husband's confused face. "My name is Harper Griffin. And I want a divorce."

Adler's face hardened, his sympathy vanishing. He let out a short, condescending laugh. "Don't be dramatic, Harper. You're emotional. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

He was so certain. So arrogant. He truly believed I was nothing without him. That I would always come back, begging for the scraps of affection he threw my way.

"No, Adler," I said, the words clear and sharp as glass. "We're done."

He scoffed, turning to leave. "You'll be back. You always are."

But he was wrong. This time was different. I wasn't just leaving him. I was going to dismantle him. My parents had warned me about him, and in their last letter before their plane went down, they told me the prenup was their last line of defense for me. A safety net I had been too blind with love to see.

Now, I saw it all. And I was going to burn his perfect world to the ground.

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