The Wife He Left For Dead

Tentu, saya akan menambahkan POV (Point of View) ke setiap bab sesuai dengan permintaan Anda, tanpa mengubah format atau konten lainnya.

On our fifth anniversary, I lay dying on the bathroom floor while my husband ignored my calls to celebrate with his "best friend."

When my neighbor finally rushed me to the ER for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, my husband arrived hours later, annoyed that I' d ruined his night.

But the real betrayal came when he forced me to drink tequila days after surgery, watching me bleed out just to please his mistress.

At Elsa's launch party, Gideon snatched the shot glass and shoved the alcohol down my throat, mocking my pain as "drama."

As a fresh pool of crimson soaked my dress, he didn't call 911.

He turned to comfort Elsa, who was "shaken" by the scene.

I survived only because of Alva, the reclusive billionaire next door, who shielded my dignity with his jacket while my husband stepped over me.

Recovering in Alva' s care, I discovered the "award-winning" designs Gideon had gifted Elsa were actually mine-stolen from my college archives years ago.

They thought I was the fragile, obedient wife who would die quietly in the background.

They were wrong.

I wiped the blood from my legs, accepted Alva's offer, and prepared to burn their stolen empire to the ground.

Chapter 1

Dahlia POV

My fifth wedding anniversary was supposed to be a night of quiet celebration, not a silent plea for help echoing in an empty house while my husband ignored my calls, choosing his 'best friend' over my life.

I had spent hours on the meal. Braised short ribs, a bottle of the Cabernet Gideon loved, and a chocolate lava cake from that fancy patisserie downtown. The dining table sparkled with candlelight, reflecting off the crystal glasses I' d polished myself. I even wore the silk slip dress Gideon bought me for our first anniversary, the one he said made me look like an old Hollywood star. I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted him to remember us.

The clock on the mantel ticked louder with each passing minute. Seven o'clock came and went. Then eight. I sent a text, "Dinner's ready, love. Missing you." No reply. I tried calling. It went straight to voicemail. Again. And again.

My fingers trembled as I picked up my phone for the tenth time. A message finally popped up, not from Gideon, but from our mutual friend, Elsa Rodgers. It was a selfie of her and Gideon, both beaming, champagne flutes in hand. The caption read: "So proud of my amazing mentor and friend, Gideon Knight, for supporting me at the 'Designer of the Year' launch party! What a night!"

My stomach dropped, a cold, hard knot forming where my hopes had been. Designer of the Year? Launch party? He had told me he had a "client emergency" that couldn't wait. He'd said it with such a serious voice, such convincing urgency. I had bought it,