Revenge on Deceitful Spouse

The men moved with terrifying efficiency. One grabbed my wrists, binding them with zip ties before I could even cry out. Another lifted Ezra, who struggled weakly against his grip, blood trickling from his split lip.

"Marley wants them both visible," the taller one muttered, checking something on his phone. "The boss says make it public."

I felt myself being dragged across the boutique floor, leaving a dark trail of blood behind me. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through my abdomen. My baby was gone—I could feel the emptiness spreading through me like cold water.

"Adriana!" Ezra's voice was strained, desperate. "Stay with me, sis!"

But his words seemed to come from far away. The world tilted and swayed as they pulled us through the store and into the main atrium of the shopping mall.

The space was vast—all gleaming marble and glass, with balconies circling the upper levels. Shoppers scattered as we appeared, their faces blurring into a frightened crowd. Some screamed. Others froze, phones already in hand, recording everything.

"Look at the whore and her brother," one of the men announced, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "This is what happens when you mess with the wrong people."

They worked quickly, attaching climbing ropes to our bound wrists and securing them to the upper balcony railing. With a rough shove, they pushed us over the edge.

I gasped as I fell, then jerked to a stop as the rope caught me. Forty feet below, the marble floor gleamed like ice. My stomach lurched as I swung gently back and forth, my blood dripping in slow, steady drops.

"Ezra!" I cried out, turning my head to see him suspended a few feet away. His face was pale, one eye already swelling shut, but his eyes burned with fierce determination.

"I'm here," he grunted, pulling against his restraints. "I'm right here, Adriana. Just hold on."

But holding on seemed impossible. The pain in my abdomen had become a hollow ache, and darkness crept at the edges of my vision. I could hear sirens in the distance, but they seemed to be coming from another world.

A new commotion drew my attention upward. Marley appeared on the opposite balcony, her designer dress a splash of color against the neutral tones of the mall. In her hands, she carried something that caught the light—a compound bow, its carbon frame gleaming.

"Oh, look at this," she called out, her voice carrying across the atrium. "The mistress and her brother, dangling like puppets!"

She notched an arrow, drawing the string back with practiced ease. I recognized the movements—she'd mentioned her college archery team during one of her taunts in the store.

"Let me explain something to everyone watching," Marley announced, her voice rising. "This woman tried to steal my husband with her bastard child!"

The first arrow whistled past my ear, embedding itself in the wall with a sharp crack. I flinched, feeling the vibration through my body.

"And this," she said, notching another arrow, "is justice!"

The second arrow grazed Ezra's arm, drawing fresh blood. He gritted his teeth but didn't cry out.

"You should have stayed away from him!" Marley screamed, her face contorted with rage. "You should have known he was mine!"

Another arrow thudded into the wall beside me. Then another. Each one came closer than the last, but none were fatal—this was torture, not execution.

"Your baby is dead!" she called out, her voice breaking with manic energy. "Just like your pathetic fantasy of being Mrs. Henderson!"

The crowd below had grown larger. Some people screamed in horror, others filmed with their phones. Security guards appeared at the edges, but they seemed frozen, unsure how to handle the situation.

"Luke!" Marley's voice suddenly shifted, becoming desperate. "Luke, where are you? Tell them! Tell them I did this for us!"

I turned my head with effort, following her gaze to the boutique entrance. There, standing frozen in the doorway, was my husband.

Luke's face was ashen, his eyes darting wildly between Marley and me. When our eyes met, I saw something that broke what was left of my heart—relief. Not concern for me or our child, but relief that someone else was taking the blame.

"Mr. Henderson!" A mall security guard approached him, hand extended. "What's going on here? We need you to come with us immediately!"

Luke stepped backward, shaking his head frantically. "I don't know," he stammered. "This isn't... I didn't..."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, then quickly pulled it out, his fingers flying across the screen.

"Are you calling the police?" the guard demanded.

But Luke wasn't dialing emergency services. His face was a mask of panic as he typed furiously, no doubt texting his parents or lawyers about damage control.

"Luke!" Marley's voice cut through the air again, high and desperate. "Tell them! Tell them what we planned!"

He flinched at the sound of her voice, his hands trembling so badly he nearly dropped the phone. Then he looked up at me again, and in that moment, I saw the truth—he had never loved me at all.