The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening
My husband, Kahlil, despised me, while his "sister" Cassandra lived in our home, playing the role of a fragile, wheelchair-bound victim.
To get rid of me, she orchestrated a trap, taking a misleading photo to frame me for having an affair.
When Kahlil saw the photo, he didn't even give me a chance to explain.
He believed Cassandra's fake tears instantly and violently shoved me away.
I crashed hard into a heavy glass table, the impact sending agonizing spasms through my stomach that dropped me to the floor in a cold sweat.
While I writhed in excruciating pain, he stood there shielding the very woman who was destroying my life.
"Stop playing the victim," he roared, looking at me with pure disgust. "You are my wife in name, and you will not make a fool of me!"
My heart completely shattered as I lay on the cold hardwood floor.
I had never been unfaithful, yet he treated me like property, blindly protecting a snake who wore sheer tops to seduce him at midnight.
Why was I enduring this suffocating farce of a marriage just to be trampled on?
But when Cassandra pushed her luck and hired a sleazy playboy to assault me in the dark garden, her perfect mask finally shattered.
As Kahlil rushed in to save me, a terrified Cassandra forgot her own lie and stood up from her wheelchair on two perfectly healthy legs.
Looking at their shocked faces, I realized it was finally time to crush the snake and walk away for good.
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Chapter 1
Cassandra sat on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers twisted the crisp white bedsheet, pulling the fabric so tight her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. The tears were still wet on her cheeks, but the despair in her chest was already hardening into something cold and sharp. Despair was a useless emotion. It wouldn't win her Kahlil. Only action would. Cold, sharp action.
Mrs. Dawson stood beside the bed. She handed Cassandra a tissue, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Miss Mills, you can't let that woman steal everything from you."
Cassandra snatched the tissue. Her voice shook, but the venom in her throat was undeniable. "She has everything. The face, the name. And now she wants his child? I won't let her."
Mrs. Dawson leaned closer. The older woman's breath smelled of peppermint and malice. "I overheard the staff talking. Mrs. Sinclair is trying to be with the master. To conceive."
Cassandra's head snapped up. Her pupils dilated. A hot, ugly jealousy burned in her stomach, rising to her throat like bile. "Conceive? After he rejected me? It's all her doing! She's bewitched him!"
Mrs. Dawson paused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "There is one person. A Sinclair. A useless playboy, but he has the name and the appetites."
Cassandra's breathing hitched. A twisted, cold smile stretched across her lips. "Preston Sinclair. The family embarrassment."
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Her thumb tapped the screen rapidly. When the line connected, the coldness vanished from her face. Her voice instantly dropped into a soft, trembling pitch. "Preston? It's Cassandra. I... I need your help. It's about my sister..."
A low, sleazy laugh echoed through the speaker. Cassandra's stomach churned with disgust, but she forced a sweet, helpless tone, spinning a web of lies.
When she finally ended the call, the fragile mask shattered. Her eyes were flat and dead. "If she's ruined, Kahlil will have no choice but to see her for the harlot she is."
Cassandra pushed herself off the bed and settled into her wheelchair. She rolled out of the guest room, the wheels gliding silently over the thick carpet as she headed toward the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, Bianca stared at the mixing bowl. Her hands were covered in white flour. She gripped a whisk, her chest tight with frustration.
Mrs. Gable hovered nearby, wiping the marble counter with a frantic rhythm. "Madam, perhaps you should let the chef..."
"No." Bianca bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. "I need to do this. It's part of the plan."
The thought of the heir agreement made her stomach drop. She reached for a bottle of dark sauce. Her hand trembled. The bottle slipped. Dark liquid splashed across the pristine white stove, hissing loudly as it hit the hot burner.
Mrs. Gable gasped, rushing forward with a towel. Bianca squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her flour-coated palms against her forehead. Her lungs felt tight.
The soft squeak of wheels broke the tension. Cassandra sat in the doorway, a perfect, concerned smile painted on her face.
"Bianca? What happened? You look overwhelmed." Cassandra's voice dripped with fake sympathy.
Bianca dropped her hands. She glared at the woman in the wheelchair. "Just trying my hand at cooking. What do you want?"
Cassandra rolled forward. Her eyes scanned the messy counter, a flash of mockery hiding behind her long lashes. "Let me help. I'm not good for much, but I can manage this."
Bianca wanted to scream at her to leave. But she looked at the ruined sauce and remembered Kahlil. She needed him to come home. She needed this dinner. Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Don't mess it up."
Bianca turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.
The moment Bianca was gone, Cassandra's smile vanished. She stood up from the wheelchair with ease, grabbed an apron, and tied it around her waist. Her movements were sharp and practiced.
Mrs. Gable watched her, eyes wide. "Miss Mills, you seem quite skilled."
Cassandra let out a short, hollow laugh. She picked up a knife and began dicing vegetables. "I had to learn. My father wasn't always around."
She turned to a young maid standing by the sink. "Could you check if Mr. Montgomery is in his study? I want to make sure the timing is perfect for dinner."
The maid nodded and scurried away. Cassandra kept chopping, her ears straining to catch the whispers of Mrs. Dawson, who had just sidled up beside her under the pretense of checking the pantry.
"Miss Mills," Mrs. Dawson whispered, leaning close so the other staff wouldn't hear. "I checked the pharmacy receipts this morning. Madam is ordering ovulation tests. She is actually trying."
Cassandra's knife slammed into the cutting board, slicing clean through a carrot. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Bianca wanted to get pregnant. She was actually trying.
Cassandra took a deep, uneven breath. She swept the vegetables into a hot pan. The oil sizzled and popped. Preston's plan needed to happen faster. She couldn't wait. The smell of roasting garlic filled the air, but to Cassandra, it smelled like victory.
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7.4
Fiona prepared a candlelit anniversary dinner, scallops glistening on porcelain, champagne chilling beside a "Three Years" card—her secret pregnancy swelling beneath her silk dress.
The doorbell rang, but it was just a delivery. Then Emmanuel called: his ex, Carley Marshall, crashed her car. He blew off their night.
Cramps hit like a vise. She collapsed, blood soaking her gown, screaming into the phone: "I'm losing the baby!" Emmanuel scoffed, "Fake ploy for attention," and hung up—Carley's voice cooed in the background.
Paramedics rushed her to ER for emergency D&C. The baby was gone. Audrey saved her life. Emmanuel sent lilies with a card: "Stop dramatizing."
She signed divorce papers. He laughed it off, contested everything, froze her out of hotels and clubs. Dragged her from the St. Regis by force, dumped her sobbing on a rainy sidewalk with her suitcase in puddles—Gus drove off without looking back.
He thought she was manipulating him, playing jealous games for attention. But she'd truly carried his child, bled out alone while he comforted Carley. How could he not believe her, even after the hospital proof? Why twist her agony into lies?
Now blacklisted and broke, Fiona clutched her grandfather's antique restoration tools. No more begging—she'd expose his cruelty, rebuild from the ashes, and make him regret ever underestimating her.
7.5
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash.
Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive.
Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes.
"The Ruiz family sends their regards."
Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated.
My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends.
The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand.
Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her?
Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference.
I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel.
Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust.
Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in.
Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
7.6
I was once the untouchable heiress to the Schroeder empire, until a corporate fraud conviction stripped away my life and threw me into federal prison for five brutal years.
On the day of my release, I stepped out into the freezing rain only to realize I had been utterly abandoned by everyone I loved.
My family sent no one. My former best friends blocked my number, and high-society women took photos of my shivering, pathetic state for laughs. To survive, I made a desperate deal to act as the fake fiancée of Kayden Washington, a ruthless, disgraced billionaire fighting his own blood. But the moment we joined forces, the nightmare escalated. Our safehouse was ransacked, we were hunted by tactical hitmen in the dark, and my adoptive brother stole my dead mother's diary just to bribe me into leaving New York forever. Worse, the digital trail of my framing traced back to a top-tier operative manipulating both our families from the shadows.
I didn't understand why my own family had sacrificed me like a worthless pawn to ignite a massive, invisible war. What dark secret was I actually taking the fall for?
Just as Kayden and I prepared to burn both empires to the ground, a mysterious courier dropped a package at my door. Inside rested the Schroeder Patriarch's solid gold ring—the ultimate symbol of absolute power—sent directly to me, the disgraced exile.
"They took your past, but I will give you the power to forge a new future."
The game hadn't just changed. The board had been flipped, and I was going back to take the throne.
7.3
Ciel Miller opened her eyes to the blinding lights of a Manhattan ballroom, realizing she had been reborn on the exact night her life was ruined.
On the stage, the billionaire patriarch of the Chavez family was proudly announcing her engagement to his arrogant grandson, Harry.
In her past life, Ciel had blindly accepted his outstretched hand. That single step plunged her into a suffocating marriage filled with public humiliation and psychological torture, slowly draining her life away until she died. Harry had treated her like a pathetic stray dog, flaunting his absolute ownership while systematically destroying her.
Now, as the polite applause echoed, Harry extended his hand with a sickening smirk, waiting for her to lower her head and submit.
Instead, Ciel stood perfectly rigid and publicly rejected him in front of the entire New York elite.
Harry's face drained of color, while his family quickly mocked her.
"This is a cheap, embarrassing trick to get his attention," his sister sneered.
Harry's arrogant smirk crawled back. He fully believed she was just throwing a childish tantrum to make him jealous, convinced she was absolutely nothing without his wealth and status.
But Ciel looked at the man who had killed her in her past life with freezing disgust.
Then, she turned to the powerful patriarch and dropped a bombshell that left the entire ballroom gasping for air.
"If the family insists on taking care of me, I will marry into the Chavez family."
"But I want to marry the comatose war hero. I want to marry General Deacon Chavez."
She would rather spend the rest of her life with a "vegetable" than wake up next to a monster.
7.2
For ten years, Aurora was abandoned by her wealthy family to rot in the countryside.
When she finally returned, there was no warm welcome. The Lott family only brought her back to replace her adopted sister in an arranged marriage with Damian Yates, a notoriously violent, crippled billionaire, just to save their bankrupt company.
Her grandmother mocked her as uneducated trash. Her fake sister feigned disgust at her very presence.
When her biological father desperately tried to stop them from sending his daughter to her death, the family turned on him.
Her grandmother struck her father across the face, kicked the three of them out of the manor into the freezing rain, and arrogantly declared they would starve on the streets by nightfall.
They thought Aurora was just a helpless, pathetic hillbilly who would quietly accept being sold as livestock.
They had no idea that over the past decade, she had survived the darkest corners of the world, becoming a lethal operative with unimaginable power.
Standing in the cold rain, Aurora didn't shed a single tear.
She calmly pulled out her encrypted phone, personally canceled the billionaire's marriage contract, and ordered her hacker to completely freeze the Lott family's accounts.
"Total financial annihilation. Burn them to the ground."
But as she watched her abusers' legacy crumble, a classified file arrived on her phone, revealing that the very billionaire she just rejected was tied to her mother's unsolved murder.
The real hunt was just beginning.