Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge

Ava Miller POV

The next morning, the house was suffocatingly silent.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air, mocking me with their lightness. The world outside was bright and carrying on, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire life had just imploded.

I sat at the kitchen island, the positive pregnancy test wrapped in a tissue inside my pocket. It felt heavy against my thigh, like a stone dragging me down into deep water.

I needed to tell Ethan.

No. I couldn't tell Ethan.

If he knew, what would he choose? The baby? Or Chloe? Or would he simply wait until I delivered to harvest what he needed, discarding the rest of me like a husk?

I walked into the study, my mind racing. I needed a pen. I needed a list. I needed a plan.

Ethan’s desk drawer was slightly ajar. I tugged the handle to shut it, but a flash of color caught my eye. It was tucked way in the back, wedged behind a stack of invoices.

*Herbal Supplements. All Natural.*

I picked it up. The packaging looked generic, innocent enough. But there was a yellow sticky note attached to the side.

*For Ava. Two a day. - C*

C. Chloe.

My blood ran cold, the sensation spreading through my veins like ice water. Ethan had been feeding me these vitamins for the last two months. He claimed they were for my energy levels. He had watched me swallow them every single morning with a smile that I had foolishly interpreted as love.

My hands trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the bottle. It went straight to a prerecorded line for a holistic wellness center. I hung up and typed the name of the supplement into a search engine.

The first result was a forum post, the text glaring back at me in bold letters.

*Warning: Contains Pennyroyal and Black Cohosh. Abortifacients. High risk of uterine contractions. Not safe for pregnancy.*

I dropped the box. It hit the mahogany desk with a soft, damning thud.

He wasn't just checking my health. He was ensuring I didn't get pregnant. Or, if I did, that I wouldn't stay that way. A pregnant woman couldn't donate a kidney. I was livestock to him, nothing more.

The sound of the front door opening froze the air in my lungs.

"I just need to grab a change of clothes," Ethan’s voice drifted from the hallway. He was on the phone, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Yes, Chloe. I know. I gave them to her. She's been taking them faithfully."

I pressed myself flat against the wall of the study, holding my breath until my chest burned.

"No, she doesn't suspect a thing," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Her cycle is irregular anyway. If it happens, she'll just think it's nature taking its course. We need her body ready for the surgery next month. No complications."

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. He was discussing the murder of his own potential child with the woman he was killing it for.

"I love you too," he said.

Footsteps retreated. The front door clicked shut.

I slid down the wall until I hit the floorboards. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked back and forth, a silent keen building in my throat. The betrayal was so absolute it felt physical, like a blunt force trauma. My chest ached. My bones ached.

He had promised me a family. He had promised to protect me.

I stood up. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. The tears were gone. In their place was a cold, hard resolve.

I couldn't keep this baby.

The thought made me want to scream, but I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. If I stayed pregnant, he would find out. He would force a miscarriage, or worse, wait until the birth and then take what he wanted, leaving me and the child in a living hell.

I drove to a clinic two towns over. I didn't use my insurance. I paid cash.

The waiting room was beige, sterile, and quiet. I filled out the forms with a hand so steady it scared me.

*Reason for termination: Personal.*

It was the most personal thing I had ever done.

When I woke up from the anesthesia, I felt gutted. A hollow space had opened up inside me, vast and echoing. I lay in the recovery room, staring at the acoustic ceiling tiles, counting the dots to keep from screaming.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was Ethan.

"Hey," his voice was casual, light. "I haven't seen you all day. Everything okay? You've been seeming stressed lately. Maybe you should take another one of those vitamins."

I closed my eyes. The cruelty was breathtaking.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice sounded raspy, like I had been screaming for hours. "Just tired."

"Well, get some rest. I bought you that bracelet you liked. The emerald one. I'll leave it on the counter."

Buying me off again. Emeralds for a kidney. Diamonds for my silence.

"Thanks," I said.

"See? I take care of you."

I hung up. I blocked the number for a moment, just to stop the violent urge to throw the phone against the wall.

I sat up. The nurse came in with a paper cup of water. She looked at me with kind, sad eyes.

"Do you have someone to drive you home?" she asked.

"No," I said, swinging my legs off the bed. "I'm driving myself."

I left the clinic. I sat in my car in the baking parking lot and opened my laptop. I pulled up my resume. I had a degree in molecular biology that had gathered dust for ten years while I played the perfect wife.

I updated my profile on LinkedIn.

*Open to work.*

I drove to a coffee shop near the hospital where Ethan was practically living. I needed to see the building. I needed to fuel the hate so I wouldn't collapse from the grief.

Two nurses were sitting at the table directly behind me.

"That guy in 402 is devoted," one said, stirring her latte. "Mr. Reed. He hasn't left her side."

"Yeah, but did you hear what he said to the patient?" the other replied, lowering her voice to a scandalized whisper. "She told him she felt bad about his wife. And he laughed. He actually laughed."

I gripped my cup.

"He said, 'Don't worry about Ava. She's just the vessel. You're the prize.'"

I stared down into my black coffee. The reflection showed a woman I didn't recognize. Her eyes were dead. Her mouth was a thin, unforgiving line.

I took a sip. It was bitter.

Good. I needed bitter. Sweetness was what got me killed.