My Wife is a Hacker

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

The maternity ward in Queen Mary Hospital, in Summer City.

Kate Stark was lying on the operating table with her hair disheveled, her face was pale, dripping with sweat, her legs were wide apart, and blood was pouring out from her lower body, turning the snow-white sheets blood red.

In the blood lay a tiny baby, the umbilical cord still attached to the mother's body, his eyes tightly closed, his face was purple, his mouth slightly opened and his tiny chest was slowly rising and falling.

Yvonne Stark took the tools on the operating table and fiddled with the baby and said, "Oops...my little nephew is still alive after all sorts of torturing."

Ken Brook pulled a cold smile from the corner of his mouth and cast a sidelong glance at the baby, "What's the point of living, is a bitch qualified to bear my child, to bear the Brook family's great-grandson, huh!"

Kate looked at the two people in front of her, the hatred in her heart growing like wild weeds, the fire of hatred burning in her eyes, and she gritted her teeth and scolded, "You must die in my boots!"

Yvonne giggled without shame, "Is sister blind? Now in this situation, you can't even get off the operating table, how can we die in your boots, right, Ken?"

Kate's body trembled, she clenched her fists, her nails were deeply embedded in the flesh of her palm, and her teeth were gnashing, "How dare you guys, if you do this, won't you be afraid of my father......."

"Oops....honey, I am sooo scared." Yvonne deliberately hugged Ken in a spoiled manner, said with a pretty smile, "Maybe I forgot to tell you, I am the real Stark family, how would dad blame me?"

What?

What did she mean?

Read Now