The Billionaire Married Me for Revenge

robe loosely wrapped around her body, her

last night as hu

dden in the shadows. He didn't respond, didn't tell her she was wro

d her. And how cruel it was, to love

hing at the sight of him- of the man

her voice trembling despite the

met he

ange anythin

hitched, because

made up

n doomed fro

iage, consumed by passion, only to end up here, bre

ow it was sup

arted long be

year

the paved walkway, her worn-out backpack slung over her shoulder.

for her. No warm greetings, no concern. This was the house she ha

sister, lounging on the plush sofa in the grand living room. With her chestnut-red dyed hair and an elegant

. Her gaze, sharp and condescending, flick

ced with sarcasm. "I thought you

he made her way toward the staircase. But before she coul

right

exhaling slowly be

g her chin up with a smirk. "H

er voice calm. "Emily, I have work

ocking laugh. "You think you ha

t a home-wrecking whore. And you? You'r

fore, over and over, until they had become a cruel refrain in her life. Still,

just a child. And though she understood the mistakes her mother had made by fal

use, no one sa

uietly, her voice measured, though her hands cl

ly. "I don't care whose fault it was. What I

othes piled carelessly in the corner of the room. "Wash

knew the high-tech washing machines in the house could handle the load

ience thinning. "I have work. You

ectly shaped brow,

re not a guest in this house. You're not family. Y

don't do it, don't expect me to go easy on you. And pay attention-these are all designer clothe

spoke was like a blade cutting into her pride. But she

down and picked up a pristine

uined with just a small mistake. Taking a deep breath, she carried the clot

ad fallen. Her hands were raw and red, achin

ight pressing on her chest. Under the dim yellow light, her reflection

could this li

was just another battle to survive, to hold onto whatever dignit

ay quickly, even though no one was around to see it. She

hope. Live well. Never do

how they treated her, she wouldn't let them break her. But

e pierced through the

u? Get out here and iron my dr

trickled down her forehead, but she didn't wipe it away. Instead,

n in her hands, embroidered with delicate gold stitching

s. And do

for a moment, gla

you need me to repeat myself? Or ar

eplied, her voice quie

he iron, her gaze accidentally met her father'

newspaper. He merely sat there, deliberately a

tector. The man who had never once d

shame. The living proof of an affair that h

nders

n't make it

herself to move. She wouldn't

an her hands over the fabric, smoothing out the creases with practiced pre

d was another reason for

on was a dan

ainst the delicate

urn mark

ress, inspecting the damage. It was barely noticeable: a t

. And she would

Emily stormed in, her fac

he stopped mid-sentence when her eyes lande