The Neglected Wife's Billion Dollar Sweet Revenge

"Three years, Julianne. Do you really think warming my brother-in-law's bed gives you a place in this house tonight?"

Debroah Thornton, dressed in a black, custom-designed embroidered gown, approached Julianne Riggs along the edge of the outdoor pool at the Blanchard family estate on Long Island.

The evening breeze, carrying the salty scent of the Long Island Sound, swept across the marble terrace.

Julianne stood there, looking at the lavish banquet and the crowd of onlookers in the distance, she swirled the sparkling water in her glass and lifted her eyelids slightly.

"If this shabby house means that much to you, take it. You don't need to tell me-I couldn't care less." Her voice was flat. "Now step back. Your perfume is giving me a headache."

Debroah's face twisted. Instead of stepping back, her fingers shot out and clamped around Julianne's thin wrist, her nails digging into the skin.

"You bitch. You're nothing but a useless, worthless piece of trash. As long as I'm breathing, this house will never be yours."

Before Julianne could pull her hand free, the corners of Debroah's mouth curled upward. She planted her high heels against a wet patch of marble, pushed off hard, and threw herself backward into the deep end of the pool.

A heavy splash shattered the night air. White water sprayed several feet high across the stone deck. Debroah thrashed in the freezing water, her screams echoing across the courtyard.

"Help! My baby... Julianne, why did you push me!"

The heavy carved oak doors of the banquet hall flew open. Chadwick Blanchard charged out onto the terrace.

As the head of Blanchard Enterprises and Julianne's husband of three years, he didn't spare Julianne a single glance.

He dove straight into the icy water, his long arms wrapping around his brother's widow to haul her trembling body back to the edge.

The estate butler and four security guards rushed forward, pulling both of them onto the deck. Someone wrapped a thick cashmere blanket around Debroah's shoulders.

Debroah curled up on the wet marble, both hands clutching her flat stomach. Bright red blood seeped from between her legs, mixing with the pool water along the stone seams. Her voice was barely a thread.

"Chadwick... save your brother's only child... She hated that the family trust went to me... She pushed me in with her own hands..."

Gasps rippled through the crowd of guests gathering on the terrace. Society wives covered their mouths, their disgusted stares turning toward Julianne in unison.

Paramedics from the estate's standby medical team sprinted over with a stretcher. They lifted Debroah, whose eyes had rolled back in a faint, onto the gurney and wheeled her toward the driveway as ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

Chadwick stood up slowly. Black wet hair hung over his forehead, and his dark gray eyes were cold under the courtyard lamps.

He yanked the soaked silk tie from his collar and stalked toward Julianne, his leather shoes splashing through the bloody water until he was half a step away.

His large hand shot out and seized Julianne's jaw, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"You knew she was carrying my late brother's only bloodline. How dare you do this? What is your heart made of?"

Julianne's jaw ached under his grip, yet her dark amber eyes remained still.

"I didn't touch her. She jumped in herself. There are cameras in every corner of this estate. Go check the footage."

Chadwick let out a harsh laugh.

"She jumped in herself? Risking a formed fetus to jump into the deep end? Your talent for making up lies makes me sick, Julianne."

Heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed from the end of the colonnade.

A sterling silver eagle-headed cane struck the stone floor as Ignatius Blanchard, the eighty-year-old former patriarch of the family, appeared at the top of the steps surrounded by board elders.

Ignatius didn't even look down at Julianne.

"For the sake of the Blanchard family reputation, this ungrateful lowborn woman cannot stay in the main house to stain our name."

Beside him, several senior board members muttered among themselves about the viciousness of a bride with no family background.

Julianne straightened her spine and met the old man's cold gray eyes.

"I will cooperate with any forensic investigation. If I am at fault, I'll take full criminal responsibility. If I'm not, I want every person on Long Island to apologize to my face."

Chadwick flung her chin away, leaving red finger marks on her pale skin.

"Apologize to your face? Even now you're calculating your pride! What right do you have to bargain with the Blanchard family?"

A bolt of white lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. Heavy rain began to pour down over the estate.

Chadwick stripped off his dripping suit jacket and tossed it to the head of security.

"Lock her in the private chapel in the back courtyard. Until Debroah's surgery results come out, no one lets her take half a step outside."

Two armed guards stepped forward and grabbed Julianne's shoulders.

"This way, ma'am."

Julianne brushed off their white-gloved hands.

"Don't touch me. I can walk."

She walked down the flooded stone path through the rose garden, leaving the bright lights of the banquet hall behind for the dark Gothic stone building at the rear of the property.

A guard twisted a heavy iron key in the rusted lock and shoved the door open. Damp, stagnant air poured out.

Julianne stepped over the threshold and turned to look at the security captain standing under his black umbrella.

The iron door slammed shut against the storm. The heavy metal bolt slid into place from the outside, locking her in.

Inside the pitch-black chapel, a single candle flickered on the altar.

Julianne raised her right hand, wiped a drop of muddy water from the back of her skin, and slipped her fingers into the hidden lining of her clutch.

Her fingertips brushed against a thin micro-storage card. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.