House Of Zeus

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Modern Parenting Ex-wife Drama

Download the Book on the App

Friday and the Shadows of Destiny

On Friday morning, Malik stood before the calendar hanging on the wall, slowly reaching to tear off a new page, as if each day recorded a destiny waiting to be revealed. He held the paper between his fingers and gazed at it thoughtfully. The date was clearly written:

Friday, November 17, 2025

Beneath the date, the day's wisdom was inscribed in small but weighty letters, as if it were a message from time itself:

"It is said that he killed ninety-nine people and entered Paradise."

From behind him, Daniel approached quietly and stood beside him, observing the paper in Malik's hand. In a quiet but curious voice, he asked,

"Do you believe that?"

Malik looked at him steadily, his eyes piercing the horizon as if seeing beyond the letters and numbers themselves. He spoke in a calm voice filled with certainty:

"I believe in only one thing... that something controls this world, deciding life and death. Death... always falls upon the weak." Daniel paused for a moment, then asked hesitantly, "Do you mean those ghosts you saw before?"

Malik smiled sadly, as if his experience with shadows had taught him a great deal:

Perhaps they are... or perhaps a force greater than themselves.

Daniel stared at him, trying to grasp the depth of his meaning:

- You mean... God?

Malik responded with an enigmatic nod:

Perhaps it is... or perhaps not.

At that moment, Rovan and Dima emerged from behind them, standing quietly beside Malik and Daniel, exchanging glances of expectant anticipation. Malik turned towards the balcony, then stepped out of the chalet with measured, deliberate steps. Rovan and Dima followed him nonchalantly, and Daniel arrived last, leaving the chalet door open behind them.

Malik sat behind the wheel, his eyes scanning every movement on the road ahead. Daniel sat beside him, while Dima and Rovan occupied the back seats, silent, tense, waiting for whatever this new day might bring.

Read Now