Neglected Wife's Bitter Sweet Revenge

enduring his coldness and affairs for one reason: his

istress, Destany, for all to see. The humiliation made me collapse,

h, playing the role of a devoted husba

into our home after taunting me wit

le," she whispered, her eyes fill

staircase. The fall was a blur of sickening th

his cruelty and her jealousy. The years of his lies and my

nd begging for forgiveness, I felt nothing. I s

, my voice like ice. "And

pte

r Fro

age lights, before they even saw me. Braden, my husband, was tangled with Destany Aguilar, his arm a possessive band around her waist, their faces inches apart. Her hand, adorned with a diamond-studded microphone cha

e of their producer, Braden Harmon, and his rising starlet, Destany. They clapped, they whistled, their faces alight with a perverse excitem

un, to pretend I hadn't seen anything. But a morbid curiosity, or perhaps a desperate need for the final, definitive

kiss, designed for an audience. As their lips finally parted, Braden' s eyes scanned the room, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He looked l

doing? People are watching!" Her voice, though hushed, carried over the pulsing music, laced with a saccharine sweet

n my stomach. "Let them watch, Destany," he murmured, his gaze still sweeping the room, "This is the music industry. Scandal sells." He

eyes land

Her hand, which had been resting casually on Braden's arm, squeezed tighter, a silent warning. I saw it through the shimmeri

e glinting in their depths. "Elinor," he snapped, his voice sharp and laced with irrit

red, their eyes darting between us. Their awkwardness was a small comfort, a fleeting acknowledgment that this was wron

e looked at me as if I were a ghost, a specter haunting his perfect evening. "D

at was both triumphant and utterly contemptuou

, unwavering devotion, pouring every fiber of my being into our marriage, into supporting his dreams. I had believed his promises, his whispered assurances that he would help me rele

. He enjoyed my pain. He thrived on it. I had been walking on eggshells for so long, meticulously avoiding anything that might displease him, always hoping to earn back a sliver of t

ontrast to the buzzing energy of the party. It was a pathetic excuse, a flimsy shield against the onslaught of his contempt.

lirted openly with a backup singer, brushing her hair from her face, his gaze lingering. His friends had laughed, nudged him, egging him on. And he had j

you leave, Elinor," he had snarled, his voice dangerously low, "you can say goodbye to your father's legacy. Forever. And don't forget your fragile health, darling. Stress isn't good for you." He knew my

rring vision, the agonizing crawl of nausea. Eventually, I had collapsed, losing consciousness amidst their drunken laughter. His friends had hurried forward, their faces etched with genuine concern, but Braden had merely watched, a cruel smile playing on

weight now, pressing down on m

, hoping the mundane words would somehow ground me.

back at Destany. He didn't say another word to me, simply

f my feet weren't quite touching the ground. A cold dread seeped into my veins, a premonition of something irrevocabl

, cutting through the noise. It was his ass

ening to swallow me whole. The bass throbbed, louder now, a funeral drum for my dying hope. My vision blurred a

ning again, a voice

instinctive gesture. A sharp, searing p

onsumed me was Braden's annoyed sigh, followe