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Nine Pregnancies, Nine Betrayals,The Billionaire Wife's Revenge Novel Cover

Nine Pregnancies, Nine Betrayals,The Billionaire Wife's Revenge

After eight years and eight tragic miscarriages, Beverly Gilbert is finally on the verge of delivering her ninth child. But on the eve of her birth, she overhears a horrific secret outside her husband Darrell’s office. He has been systematically destroying her pregnancies to keep a promise to another woman. Realizing the man she loved murdered all her unborn babies and is about to steal her final chance at motherhood, Beverly's grief instantly hardens into a deadly vow of revenge.
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Chapter 1

After marrying Darrell Farley, I dreamed of having a child with him. But in eight years, I'd been pregnant eight times and lost every single one.

By the ninth, my doctor warned me that if I couldn't carry this baby to term, I would never have another chance.

Thankfully, Darrell and I had been impossibly careful this time, guarding every fragile week of the pregnancy. The day before my scheduled delivery, the doctor confirmed that everything looked good.

I took the report and went to find Darrell, my heart brimming with joy.

But the moment I reached his office door, I heard a long, heavy sigh from inside.

"Darrell, the baby in Beverly Gilbert's womb is a fully formed human being by any medical definition. If you terminate this one, it's murder."

"Cut the nonsense. It has to go. I promised Becca I'd only ever be a father to her children."

"But Beverly's body is destroyed! If she loses this baby, she'll never be able to carry another child. You'd be taking away her last chance at motherhood!"

"Enough!"

Darrell's voice dropped to a furious snarl.

"Letting the kid survive this long was already a mercy."

"I'll perform the procedure myself. Keep pushing me, and you won't like what happens next."

My nails dug deep into my palms.

I clutched my cramping belly and crumpled to the floor outside his door.

So that was it. All those years of agony. All eight babies I'd lost.

It had been Darrell. Every single time.

If that's how it is, then you can follow them into the grave.

——

Shaking from head to toe, I dragged myself back to my hospital room and found a number I hadn't dialed in eight years. An overseas line.

Before I married Darrell Farley, I was more than the woman everyone knew as the wealthiest woman in the capital.

I was also The Crimson Rose, a name that made the entire criminal underworld tremble.

The call connected quickly. The man on the other end spoke in a voice as steady and cold as steel.

"I'll mobilize a team immediately. Eight hours."

Hearing that voice from a world I'd left behind, I finally felt a sliver of calm settle over me.

The moment I hung up, Darrell pushed through the door.

His eyes flicked to the phone screen, still glowing in my hand. He walked over, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me into his chest. His gaze never left the phone.

"Beverly, who were you calling? Being all secretive on me."

I held the screen up so he could see the string of foreign digits.

"Some random number. They said for a fee, they could pray for the baby's safety and bless a smooth delivery."

The suspicion in Darrell's eyes dissolved.

He gave me the same tender smile he always wore.

"Beverly."

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"You're too anxious."

"Relax. We've been so careful this time. I'll handle your surgery personally, just like always. Our baby is going to be born safe and sound."

Darrell's warm breath drifted across my neck.

That scent, the one that used to make me feel so safe, now turned my stomach.

I pulled free of his arms and locked my eyes onto his dark pupils.

"Will our baby really be born safely this time?"

His voice softened even further.

"Of course."

I studied the man in front of me, his eyes full of unwavering conviction.

A cold sweat crept down my spine.

If I hadn't heard those words with my own ears just moments ago, I would have fallen for that counterfeit tenderness all over again without a second thought.

Eight years. Eight trips to the operating room. Eight children ripped away from me. The memory of that pain pulled me back to the present.

I looked up at him.

"Darrell, for the surgery in three days, I want a different doctor."

He froze. Then he shot upright on the edge of the hospital bed, his voice climbing several notches.

"Beverly, what's that supposed to mean? You're saying you don't trust me? I'm the baby's father. If you can't even trust me at a time like this, who can you trust?"

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