Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge

Ava Miller POV

The Reed Innovate Tenth Anniversary Gala was supposed to be the social event of the season. In reality, it was just another stage Ethan had erected for his own glorification.

I stood backstage, picking nervously at the fabric of a dress I loathed. It was gold, sequined, and suffocatingly tight—pure Chloe, not me.

Ethan had been adamant. "You need to shine tonight, Ava."

Taking a breath that barely expanded my ribs, I walked out into the blinding glare of the spotlights. The applause hit me like a physical wave, a wall of noise that vibrated in my teeth.

Ethan stood center stage, looking every inch the king of his manufactured empire. He extended a hand to me.

I took it. His palm was damp.

"Ten years," Ethan announced to the crowd, his voice amplified and booming through the hall. "Ten years of innovation. And ten years with this incredible woman."

He dropped to one knee.

The crowd gasped in synchronized delight.

"Ava, we never had a proper engagement. We were young and broke. I want to do it right."

He pulled out a velvet box and snapped it open. Inside sat a massive pink diamond. It was ostentatious. It was vulgar. It was exactly the ring Chloe had circled in a magazine three months ago.

"Marry me again," he said.

I looked down at him. The man who had been slowly poisoning me. The man who wanted to harvest my very organs for profit.

Bile rose in my throat, acidic and burning.

Before I could force a lie past my lips, a shout rang out from the back of the room.

"Liar!"

A man in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit stormed down the center aisle. It was Julian, the lead engineer from the early days. The true architect of the tech Reed Innovate was built on.

"You stole it!" Julian screamed, waving a sheaf of papers like a weapon. "You stole my patent! And you," he pointed a shaking finger at Ethan, "you threw me out like trash!"

Security guards rushed forward, a dark tide moving to intercept, but Julian was fast. He scrambled onto the stage.

"He doesn't love you!" Julian yelled at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "He loves the money! He loves the power! And he loves *her*!"

He threw the papers into the air.

Photos rained down like confetti. They weren't patent designs. They were surveillance photos.

Ethan and Chloe. Kissing in the park. Entering a hotel. Holding hands at the hospital.

The crowd went silent. Then, the shutters began to click. The flashbulbs went crazy, a strobe light of humiliation blinding me.

I stood frozen. The photos lay at my feet like fallen leaves in a dead autumn.

Ethan stood up. He didn't look at me. He looked past me, scanning the crowd with predator's eyes. He locked onto someone in the front row.

Chloe.

"Get him out of here!" Ethan roared at security.

Julian lunged. Not at Ethan, but at the photos, trying to snatch back his proof.

I stepped back, tripping on the hem of the damned gold dress.

Ethan moved. But he didn't reach for me. He lunged toward the edge of the stage where Chloe had stood up in panic.

"Chloe, run!" he shouted.

Julian collided with me. It was an accident, a stumble in the chaos. But Ethan saw it.

He grabbed my arm, not to steady me, but to clear his path. He wrenched me aside.

"Get out of the way!" he snarled.

I flew backward. My high heel caught on the lip of the stage. Gravity took over.

I fell.

It was a six-foot drop to the concrete floor of the orchestra pit.

I hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded in my knee, white-hot and blinding, before radiating up my spine. The air was knocked out of me in a harsh whoosh.

I lay there, staring up at the stage lights. They were blurry halos now, distant stars in a black sky.

I saw Ethan’s face peer over the edge. For a second, a foolish, hopeful second, I thought he would jump down. I thought he would help.

Then I saw Chloe next to him. She was clutching his arm, fake tears streaming down her face.

"Ethan, I'm scared!" she cried.

Ethan looked at me. He saw me lying broken on the floor.

"Handle it," he barked at a security guard.

Then he turned his back on me. He wrapped his arm around Chloe and led her away from the chaos.

I tried to move, but my leg wouldn't respond. A sharp pain shot through my hand.

I looked down. Ethan, in his haste to turn around, had stepped on my hand. The imprint of his dress shoe was angry and red against my pale skin.

The crowd swarmed above me. Voices were loud, distorted, like listening underwater.

"Is she dead?"

"Did you see the photos?"

"He left her."

Chloe paused at the exit. She looked back over her shoulder. Our eyes met through the gap in the crowd.

She smiled. It was small, triumphant, and cruel.

Flashbulbs popped in my face. I was a spectacle. The discarded wife. The broken doll.

The room began to spin. The pain in my leg was a dull roar, but the pain in my chest was sharp, precise, and fatal.

I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to wake up.