His Unwanted Wife, Her Vengeful Heart

to marry the ruthless Caleb Wiley. He treated me like a c

ade me a cruel offer. To get the money, I had to dri

p in the hospital to learn the money

e to a lecherous judge like a piece of property. My life,

orchestrated everything-my family's ruin,

roadcast every one of the Wile

pte

e Hensl

ey legacy, hung by a thread, just like my own heart. I saw the sleek, black ink bleeding into the pristine

day not with disdain, but with utter indifference, as if I were a particularly annoying fly he wished would just vanish. His true gaze, I knew, was always re

ed blade. She orchestrated this entire charade, this forced union, with the chilling precision of a master puppe

ran off with another man. She eloped, married someone else, vanishing from his life as suddenly a

as shattered as his heart. He survived, but a part of him died that day, and he blamed me for it. He ne

ent assigned a price. It wasn' t just about the money anymore; it was about t

silver, and organizing rooms that felt utterly alien to me. One day, a shard of glass from a broken vase sliced my hand deep.

My hands, once deft with a cello bow, trembled as I played for men who saw me as just another perk of the Wiley empire. Once, a drunk guest grabbed my arm

the hospital. My father. He needed a life-saving surgery, an impo

study, and begged. My voice was a desperate whisper.

uel smile playing on his lips. "You want

ch dropp

h stakes. You play. You

aleb, I... I don't feel well. I have aller

void your duties again, like you avoided being Eva?" His words were a whip. "You're always weak,

I told myself every day to survive. I closed my eyes,

he single word a surre

ere already flaring, my throat tightening. Caleb watched from across the room, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

id shimmered, a poisoned chalice. My father's face fla

ulsing. My chest tightened, each breath a struggle. I could feel the rash erupting on my skin, my airways constricting. The cards blurred, the faces around m

ly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of cold control. "Isabelle, what are you doing?" H

screaming in agony. "The money," I choked out, my

o desperate hope, washed over his face. He looked at me, then at his phone, then back at me. "I'll

through my abdomen. My head hit the floor w

, every muscle screaming in protest. A nurse, her face etched with exhaustion, explained the seve

t least I had the money.

d. "Were they transf

so sorry, dear. There was no transfer. Y

w, stealing the air from my lungs. N

reaming down my face. "No! I nee

. "He hasn't answered any of o

ieces. He betrayed me. He left me t

ce on the other end. "Mr. Wiley is unavailable.

cut through the line. "Isabelle? Sti

ne, my voice raw with grief and rage

me. Anyway, I sent you something. A token of my... appreciation. Just signed

couldn't even cover the most basic cremation. He valued Eva's fleeting presence mor