Billionaire Husband Begged “Slut” Ex-Wife Back

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain.

The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire.

My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars.

Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York.

The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door.

That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment."

She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel:

"It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act."

Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive:

"If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?"

What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.

I leaned against the hospital bed, my face drained of color, every breath laced with pain.

The night before, he'd humiliated me deliberately—not only injecting me with a muscle relaxant, but ordering the curtains removed beforehand.

All night long, the clicking of camera shutters outside the window never stopped.

Seeing how weak I was, Dahlia held up her phone and aimed it right at my face, her smile pretty and poisonous:

"Oh my, you're truly famous now. 'Billionaire's new wife turns out to be the ultimate slut'—how do you like that headline trending on social media?"

Something inside me snapped.

I clenched my teeth, pushed myself upright, and swung my hand at her face.

But Alexander was faster. He pulled Dahlia behind him and caught my wrist in midair.

"Wren, haven't you caused enough trouble? You clawed your way into this family, and now you want sympathy? Deal with the consequences."

"Is this what your parents raised? Because they'd be ashamed."

I let out a muffled cry of pain, gripping the sheets beneath me, and screamed until my voice cracked:

"I married you! I'm your wife—I'm a Sterling!"

Alexander's expression didn't waver. His voice didn't waver:

"It's just a piece of paper. You'll never be a real Sterling. I could replace you in a heartbeat."

With that, he shoved my hand away, wrapped his arm around Dahlia, and walked out.

The moment they left, a searing pain tore through my abdomen, and blood began pouring from between my legs.

That violent yank from Alexander had ripped my unhealed surgical wound wide open.

I fumbled for the call button in a panic. After a rushed examination, the doctor looked at me with an agonized expression.

"Ms. Alderton—I'm sorry, Mrs. Sterling—the repair surgery carries extreme risk.