His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen

His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen

Cun Li

3.5
Comment(s)
8.8K
View
10
Chapters

My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin. When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe. That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass. "Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly. The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster. I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow. "The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."

His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen Chapter 1

My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin.

When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe.

That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass.

"Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly.

The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster.

I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow.

"The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."

Chapter 1

My marriage ended the same way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk.

I had just transferred back to the San Francisco District Attorney's office. The official reason was a promotion, a return to the city where I' d made my name. The real reason was to salvage the cold, empty marriage I had with Hilton Austin, the tech billionaire my family had strategically paired me with two years ago.

The crisp white paper felt abnormally heavy in my hands. The case file was thin, a routine public disturbance, but the names on it made my heart clench into a tight, cold fist.

Suspect 1: Hilton Austin.

Suspect 2: Ciera Rose.

I stared at the name Ciera Rose. It was a name I knew from tabloids, from whispered gossip at charity galas, from the venomous comments on her flashy Instagram feed. She was his girlfriend, the influencer he flaunted while I, his wife, remained a carefully managed and largely invisible asset to his public profile.

My stomach churned. The morning sickness I' d been carefully hiding for weeks threatened to surge.

"Looks like a simple one, Aleta," my subordinate, Mark, said, leaning against my doorframe. He was young, ambitious, and blissfully unaware of the personal hell he had just handed me. "Hilton Austin and his flavor of the month, Ciera Rose, had a little spat at the Fairmont. Threw some champagne, broke a lamp. The hotel wants to press charges to make a point."

Mark scrolled through his phone. "The internet is already going crazy. They love these two. People are calling it a 'passionate lovers' quarrel.' Apparently, he bought out the entire top floor for her last night."

A passionate lovers' quarrel. The phrase echoed in my mind, a bitter, mocking laugh. Passion was a country Hilton and I had never visited together. Our interactions were polite, scripted, and as sterile as the prenuptial agreement that bound us.

"The hotel manager is waiting for us," I said, my voice flat and even. I stood up, the movement precise, controlled. I would not let my hands shake. I was Aleta Owen, Assistant District Attorney, daughter of Senator Owen. I was professional. I was untouchable.

I walked toward the door, my heels clicking a steady, resolute rhythm on the polished floor.

Mark followed. "Should I send a team?"

"No," I replied, my eyes fixed on the hallway ahead. "I'll handle this one myself."

The Fairmont' s presidential suite was a disaster zone. A crystal lamp lay in glittering shards on the plush carpet. A half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon was upended in an ice bucket, its contents staining the white silk rug.

But I barely saw the mess. My eyes were locked on the scene by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Hilton Austin, my husband, was on one knee.

He wasn't proposing. He was carefully, almost reverently, tying the satin ribbon of a ballet flat around the slender ankle of Ciera Rose. She was perched on a velvet chaise, pouting.

"There," Hilton murmured, his voice, usually so clipped and arrogant, now a low, soothing hum I had never heard before. He looked up at her, his expression one of complete, humiliating devotion. "Is that better, baby?"

The ballet flat was from a luxury brand I knew cost more than my monthly salary. He had probably bought it for her this morning, a token to appease her after their 'quarrel'.

Ciera sniffled, a calculated, delicate sound. "But you yelled at me, Hilty. My feelings are still hurt."

"I know, I'm sorry," he said, his hand still resting on her ankle. He didn't even seem to notice the police officers in the room, or me, standing in the doorway like a ghost at their private feast. "I'll do anything. Anything to make it up to you. Just tell me what you want."

My vision tunneled. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. It was as if a black hole had opened in my chest, sucking all the light and air out of my world. This was the man I had loved since I was sixteen. The man I had sacrificed my career in D.C. for, hoping to build something real from the ashes of a political alliance.

And here he was, kneeling at the feet of another woman, begging for her forgiveness like a supplicant before a queen.

The love I had harbored for him, the stubborn, foolish hope I had clung to for years, finally shattered. It didn't fade; it died. Instantly and violently.

In its place, something cold and hard began to form.

I stepped forward, my shadow falling across them. "Mark," I said, my voice cutting through the cloying intimacy of their little drama.

Hilton finally looked up. His eyes, which had been so full of adoration for Ciera, turned to ice when they landed on me.

"Aleta. What are you doing here?"

"My job," I said coldly. I didn't look at him. I looked at Mark. "Read them their rights. Arrest them both for vandalism and public disturbance."

Mark hesitated. "Aleta, it's Hilton Austin..."

"Is Hilton Austin above the law?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft. "In my jurisdiction, no one is."

Mark swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

He and another officer approached the pair.

Ciera let out a theatrical gasp. "Arrest us? Hilty, do something! I can't be arrested! My nails aren't even done!"

Hilton stood up, shielding her behind him. He looked at me, his face a mask of contempt. But he didn't argue. He knew that look in my eyes. It was the Owen look. The one that meant the argument was already over.

"Come on, Cici," he said gently, his tone a stark contrast to the venom in his eyes as he looked at me. "It's just a formality. I'll have my lawyers sort it out in an hour."

They walked out of the suite, Ciera still whining about the inconvenience, Hilton murmuring reassurances. I watched them go, my gaze lingering on Ciera's perfectly curated appearance-the baby-doll dress, the flawless makeup, the calculated vulnerability that made men like Hilton feel powerful.

A knot of ice formed in my stomach, so cold it burned. I pressed a hand to my abdomen, a reflexive, protective gesture.

I followed them to the precinct, watching through the one-way glass of the observation room as they were placed in separate interrogation rooms.

I instructed Mark, "Get a detailed statement from Ms. Rose. Every word."

I didn't need to hear Hilton's side. I knew his script. But Ciera... Ciera would be a performance.

Her voice, high and petulant, drifted through the speaker. "He's just so obsessed with me, you know? It's exhausting. Last night, he bought me a diamond necklace, just because I said I liked the way it sparkled. It was a million dollars. Can you believe it? A million dollars for a little sparkle."

She giggled. "He even got a tattoo for me. On his hip. A little rose. Isn't that cute? He says it's so I'm always with him, even when he has to go home to his boring, frigid wife."

I pressed the button to cut the audio feed.

I didn't need to hear any more.

'Boring, frigid wife.' That was me. That was Aleta Owen, a woman who had graduated top of her class at Yale Law, who had a near-perfect conviction rate, who had given up a promising federal career to come back and play the part of a supportive spouse to a man who saw her as nothing more than a political accessory.

I had tried. God, I had tried. I organized his charity events, charmed his board members, and endured his family's cold scrutiny, all for the slim hope that the boy who had once smiled at me at a debutante ball was still in there somewhere.

Now I knew. He wasn't.

Or maybe he was. But that passion, that obsessive, all-consuming devotion I had just witnessed-it was never, ever meant for me.

The last flicker of hope inside me died, and in the darkness, a cold, clear thought took root: I was done trying to save my marriage.

It was time to bury it.

Continue Reading

Other books by Cun Li

More
The Vanished Wife's Revenge: No Turning Back

The Vanished Wife's Revenge: No Turning Back

Mafia

5.0

My husband looked at the toxicology report proving the daughter of the Chicago Capo had poisoned my mother. Then, without missing a beat, he looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted to discuss the dinner menu for the gala. That was the moment I realized Dante Vitiello wasn't my savior; he was the devil in a bespoke suit. To protect his precious alliance with Chicago, he buried the truth. When my mother died from the arsenic, he didn't offer comfort. Instead, he forced me to sign annulment papers, claiming I was mentally unstable. He stripped me of my title, my home, and my dignity to marry Sofia Moretti—the very woman who killed my mother—all because she claimed to be pregnant with his heir. I stood in the freezing rain, watching a giant screen in Times Square as he proposed to her. He told the press that Sofia was his hero, the one who saved his life during the ambush in Chicago. He lied. Under my soaked hoodie, the jagged scar on my arm throbbed. I was the one who took that bullet for him. I was the one who stitched myself up in silence so he wouldn't feel indebted to me. He erased my sacrifice to build a throne for his mistress. He thought he had broken me. He thought Elena Vitiello would fade away in a crumbling apartment in Queens. But he forgot one thing: I was the one who built his encrypted laundering network. I held the keys to his entire empire. I threw my wedding ring into the trash can and lit a match. Elena Vitiello died that night. And the woman who rose from the ashes didn't want his love anymore. She wanted his ruin.

The Alpha's Secret Heir and the Vanished Luna

The Alpha's Secret Heir and the Vanished Luna

Werewolf

5.0

I was pregnant with the Alpha’s heir, yet Michael refused to Mark me, calling my concerns "hormonal" while he paraded another woman, Serena, as his future Luna. The betrayal cut deep, but the breaking point came at the pack celebration. Serena slapped me across the face in front of everyone, and instead of defending his pregnant mate, Michael looked bored and ordered me to stop making a scene. That night, I didn't just leave; I ripped the mate bond out of my own mind. The pain was blinding, but necessary. With my mother's help, I faked my death—and the death of our unborn child—to escape his toxic hold. For four years, I raised my son, Finn, on a hidden island, safe from the politics that nearly destroyed me. I thought I was free, until a ragged, broken man washed up on my shore. It was Michael. He wasn't the arrogant King anymore; he was a beggar who had spent years mourning a ghost. When he saw Finn, he fell to his knees, weeping at the sight of the boy who had his golden eyes. "Is he mine?" he begged. "He is mine," I told him coldly. "You lost him the day you chose her." I prepared to send him away, but then the alarms rang. Serena had found us, leading a rogue army to slaughter my son for dark magic. Michael looked at me, his eyes clearing for the first time in years. "I will be your shield," he vowed. He ran straight into the silver blades, taking the death blow meant for our child. As he died in my arms, I finally forgave him. Now, I stand over his grave not as a victim, but as the Alpha Luna who will rule the world he left behind.

My Life, His Deadly Design

My Life, His Deadly Design

Horror

5.0

My life was a perfectly crafted blueprint of happiness. I was an architect, and my daughter, Lily, was my beautiful design. Then Sophia came along, filling spaces I hadn't known were empty, and her angelic son, Lucas, instantly became Lily' s "best brother." But on our first family camping trip, I found a horrifying collection: a dozen broken dolls, hair snipped, limbs twisted, eyes gouged out. "Lucas said it's his collection," Lily whispered. He smiled his innocent smile, claiming he "just found them and gave them a home," and Sophia rushed to his defense, completely blind. Then Lily fell sick, a strange, spiderweb-like rash spreading across her body. Lucas, the doting brother, sat by her hospital bed, winding a beautiful antique music box-his father' s, he said-filling the room with gentle melodies. But when no one was watching, his sweet expression would vanish, replaced by a cold, detached curiosity as he stared at Lily' s fading form. The day Lily died, that infernal music box was still playing. Her death wasn't an accident; I saw the cold, unnerving stillness in Lucas' s eyes. He had poisoned my daughter, enjoying every slow, agonizing moment. My world was annihilated, consumed by grief and the chilling melody of that music box, until everything went black. Then I gasped, eyes flying open, the scent of grilled burgers and fresh-cut grass in the air. I was holding a velvet ring box, and Sophia was smiling, her voice full of love. "Yes, Ethan, I' ll marry you." It was the day of our engagement party. The day before the nightmare began. And standing next to Sophia, holding her hand and beaming up at me, was Lucas, the monster hiding behind an angel' s face. I was back. I had been given a second chance, and I would not waste it.

You'll also like

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

Katie Oettgen

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Husband

Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Husband

Chang An

I was twenty-five weeks pregnant, sitting on a cracked plastic chair at the hospital, when my billionaire husband looked me right in the eye and called me "it." Ellsworth didn't recognize his own wife in my tight coat and swollen ankles; he was too busy shielding his mistress, Jolie, from the "messy cleaning lady" in the hallway. "Just ignore it," he told his assistant as I struggled to stand. "Close the doors. We’re running late for the gala." He left me there with a high-risk pregnancy diagnosis and a prescription I couldn't afford, while he drove off in a Maybach with a woman who had meticulously stolen my entire identity. When I returned to our cold mansion, the nightmare continued. His grandmother treated me like a breeding animal, and the housekeeper tried to starve me because Ellsworth said my weight gain was "embarrassing" to the family name. I soon realized the sick truth: Jolie wasn't just his lover; she was a mimic, wearing my old clothes and using my old hair tutorials to play the role of the woman I was before the Banks family broke me. How could a man who once promised to love me now treat me like a stain on his perfect life? Why was he keeping me trapped in a guest room while parading a fake version of me around the city? They thought I was a broken, penniless ghost with nowhere to go, but they forgot I was once the sharpest financial mind of my generation. While Ellsworth was busy playing house with a replica, I was secretly accepting a fully funded PhD and auditing his illegal shell companies from the shadows of his own home. He thinks he can keep me trapped in this marriage just to secure his trust fund. He has no idea that I’m not just leaving—I’m going to burn his empire to the ground before the baby is even born.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen Cun Li Billionaires
“My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin. When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe. That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass. "Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly. The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster. I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow. "The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."”
1

Chapter 1

17/10/2025

2

Chapter 2

17/10/2025

3

Chapter 3

17/10/2025

4

Chapter 4

17/10/2025

5

Chapter 5

17/10/2025

6

Chapter 6

17/10/2025

7

Chapter 7

17/10/2025

8

Chapter 8

17/10/2025

9

Chapter 9

17/10/2025

10

Chapter 10

17/10/2025