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The Betrayed Wife's Spectacular Sweet Revenge

Chapter 2

Word Count: 853 | Released on: Today at 13:37

on with Clara at a dimly lit jazz bar, Alia pushed t

expensive wax fill her lungs. She tossed her car keys into the silver t

. It was Christy's high-pitched gigg

the skin on Ali

ofa immediately. He walked toward her, his arms wide open, his fa

s arms around

oral perfume clung to the lapel of his suit. It mixed with

forced her hand to lift, patting him twice

lia up and down, her eyes lingering o

m the mahogany coffee table. She slapped them dow

was sharp. "Three years and this house is s

ochures advertised high-end IVF clini

nsation spread th

ou are a machine for Legatum Designs. You

cart. He poured a glass of re

at Alia. "But she has a point, honey. Maybe you should cut

wine. She saw Jerel's hand f

ot take t

rel?" Alia asked. Her voice was l

ine spilled onto the carpet. He quickl

to the window for a fraction of a second befo

at, thick and bitter. She stood up str

omorrow morning," Alia said. "I a

She slammed her manicured

y yelled. "The Tucker family needs a

cutting through the room like a blade. "I will

eached out and grabbed Alia

lm down,"

rm back so hard h

. She turned her back on them

porcelain hitting the floor. Christy was

he pushed the door shut and turned the

ood. She opened her mouth and dragged i

y shirt, every pair of pants, every tie Jerel had touched that week off the hangers

o cold. She cupped the freezing water in her hands and splashed

y. She opened her laptop and typ

wser. She logged into a

end private investigator she had u

card statements, hotel bookings, real esta

hit

ookshelves, the hardwood floors. She had paid for every single inch of thi

teeth ached. They were not

Chapter End

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The Betrayed Wife's Spectacular Sweet Revenge

Emma Romance

“Alia bought her four-million-dollar Manhattan townhouse in cash the day before she married Jerel. For three years, she worked eighty-hour weeks as a top architect to build their life, until an anonymous text shattered her reality. It was a high-definition photo of her husband kissing his junior partner, followed by an eight-week ultrasound. Alia didn't scream. She went home, only to find her mother-in-law throwing IVF brochures at her, screaming that she was a selfish, barren workaholic for not giving the family an heir. Jerel played the perfect, gentle husband, wrapping his arms around her and urging her to rest. But later that night, Alia caught them on a secret call with a lawyer. They were plotting to blindside her with a divorce, claiming his minor financial contributions entitled him to the property, aiming to kick her out with a measly fifty-thousand-dollar settlement. They wanted to steal her hard-earned home to raise his pregnant mistress's child. Alia's jaw tightened until her teeth ached. She had paid for every single inch of that estate. Did they really think her dedication to her career made her blind, weak, and easy to destroy? She didn't shed a single tear. Instead, she walked into the office of the city's most ruthless private equity billionaire and struck a dangerous deal to lock away all her assets in an irrevocable trust. Days later, when Jerel handed her the settlement with a fake, sympathetic smile, Alia poured cold black coffee directly over the ink. "Tell Tiffany she is never stepping foot inside my house," Alia said smoothly. "I'll see you in court."”