Discarded Wife Builds Her Own World

My husband' s mistress pushed me overboard while I was pregnant. I lost our baby and had an emergency hysterectomy, leaving me barren. When my husband finally visited the hospital, it wasn't to comfort me, but to tell me to get ready for a party.

"You'll need your strength to face the cameras," he said, annoyed that I hadn't touched my food.

His grandmother was even worse. She slapped me, calling me a "shameless hussy" for failing to keep my husband in line.

"You failed to produce a male heir," she spat. "You're useless, Elisa. Utterly, completely useless!"

They thought I was the same woman who would silently absorb their cruelty. But the woman who loved him died with our child. I was just a tool they were ready to discard.

So I stopped her hand mid-air. "We're done," I said, pushing the divorce papers and a small voice recorder across the bed. "A man who lets his mistress murder his unborn child... that's not a good look for your 'legacy,' is it?"

Chapter 1

Elisa POV:

The cold water swallowed me whole that New Year's Eve, a final, cruel gift from my husband and his mistress. I felt the sharp thrust, the icy shock, and then the searing pain as my unborn child slipped away, all while Kiyoshi watched from the yacht railing, his face a mask of indifference. Heidi Ray, Kiyoshi' s latest conquest and a social media darling, had pushed me. Her red dress, identical to the one Kiyoshi had bought me for our first anniversary, had shimmered under the moonlight as she laughed.

I clawed at the churning water. Heidi leaned over the railing, her voice dripping with venom. "Did you really think Kiyoshi would choose you? A charity case? You're nothing but a placeholder, Elisa." Her words were like daggers, twisted inside the wound she had already inflicted. I saw Kiyoshi then, standing beside her, his hand resting casually on her back. He just watched, a silent accomplice to the murder of our child.

The chaos on the yacht was a distant buzz. All I heard was the blood pounding in my ears. I felt the first gush, warm and sticky, staining the icy water around me. I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that it was over. My baby, our baby, was gone.

Days later, in a sterile hospital room, Kiyoshi visited. He didn't ask about the miscarriage. He didn't ask about the emergency hysterectomy, the doctors' grim faces, or the fact I could never carry a child again. Instead, he frowned at my untouched meal. "Are you going to starve yourself, Elisa? Grandmother said you need to eat to recover. There' s a party next week, and you' ll need your strength to face the cameras."

His words were flat, devoid of warmth. He spoke as if I had merely caught a common cold, not lost a child and my ability to have more. The party, the cameras-that was all that mattered. My pain