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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Kahlil dragged Bianca through the front doors. He didn't stop in the foyer. He pulled her into the center of the brightly lit living room and shoved her forward.
Bianca lost her balance. She fell hard onto the leather sofa. Her spine cracked against the stiff cushions. A sharp jolt of pain shot up her back, clearing the last remnants of the whiskey from her brain. Her blood ran cold, quickly replaced by a boiling, violent humiliation.
Kahlil stood towering over her. His chest heaved. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides.
"Explain." He spat the word out.
Bianca pushed her hands against the leather cushions and forced herself to sit up. She rubbed her throbbing wrist. Her eyes met his, completely devoid of fear now. Only ice remained.
"Explain what?" she snapped. "That I went out for a drink? That I got drunk? That a friend drove me home?"
Kahlil let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-snarl. "Friend? A friend who holds you like a lover? Who looks at you with hunger? Who whispers in your ear while you lean on him like a wanton?"
Bianca's stomach lurched. She jumped to her feet. The sudden movement made her dizzy, and she swayed, grabbing the edge of the heavy glass coffee table to keep from falling. Her face was chalk-white.
"Don't you dare!" she yelled, her voice tearing through her throat. "Aydin was just being a decent human being, unlike you!"
"Decent?" Kahlil closed the distance between them in one stride. He pointed a shaking finger inches from her face. "Decent men don't touch married women! They don't offer 'personal rides' at midnight!"
Bianca backed away from his aggressive energy until her shoulder blades hit the cold, hard plaster of the wall. She was trapped.
A sharp cramp twisted her stomach. The alcohol and the adrenaline were warring inside her body, making her nauseous. She swallowed hard, refusing to break eye contact.
"You're sick, Kahlil," she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "Sick with jealousy and paranoia. You hate me, remember? So why do you care who I'm with?"
The words hit Kahlil like a physical blow. The muscles in his jaw locked. A dark, ugly red crept up his neck.
"I don't care!" he roared. The sound vibrated the crystal glasses on the bar cart. "I care about my dignity! My property! You are my wife in name, and you will not make a fool of me!"
The word property echoed in the silent room.
Bianca stopped breathing. A hot tear spilled over her lower lash line, tracking quickly down her cheek. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her shoulders shook.
"Property," she repeated. Her voice was hollow, stripped of all fight. "That's all I am to you. A piece of property. A means to an end."
Kahlil saw the tear. His hands twitched. A flash of intense, suffocating panic crossed his eyes, but he instantly buried it under a fresh layer of cruelty.
"Stop playing the victim!" he barked. "You brought this on yourself! Running away, drinking, whoring around-"
Smack.
The sharp, explosive sound of flesh hitting flesh stopped his words instantly.
Bianca's right hand hung in the air, stinging and trembling violently.
Kahlil's head was turned sharply to the left. A bright red handprint bloomed across his cheekbone. He stood completely frozen. He slowly turned his head back to look at her. The shock in his eyes was absolute.
Bianca didn't lower her hand. Her chest heaved. "Don't you ever... ever call me that again."
Her voice was low, vibrating with a deadly calm. "I have never been unfaithful to you. Not with Aydin, not with anyone. The only thing I'm guilty of is being trapped in this farce of a marriage with a man who despises me!"
Kahlil stared at her. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He opened his mouth, but his throat worked soundlessly. He let out a low, frustrated growl, spun on his heel, and marched toward the grand staircase.
"Where are you going?" Bianca called after him, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "To call your lawyer? To start the divorce papers you've been dreaming of?"
Kahlil stopped at the bottom step. He didn't turn around. His shoulders were rigid. "Divorce? You think it's that easy? You're not going anywhere until I say so."
He looked over his shoulder. His eyes were black voids. "And you will stay away from Aydin Lee. I won't warn you again."
He took the stairs two at a time. The heavy thud of his footsteps faded down the second-floor hallway. A door slammed shut.
Bianca stood alone in the massive living room. The adrenaline crashed.
A blinding, agonizing pain ripped through her stomach. She gasped, her hands flying to her abdomen. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the hardwood floor, curling into a tight ball. The cold sweat poured down her back. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to even scream as the agony tore her apart.
You may also like
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.