The Barren Wife's Cold Hearted Revenge

Joshua POV:

A cold knot tightened in my gut. Eleanor's absence was a gaping hole in the meticulously planned gala. My annual Charity Gala. My moment to shine. And she wasn't here. Even after our "reconciliation" at the water prison, after her seemingly docile agreement to play her part, she was nowhere to be found.

I strode through the gleaming ballroom, forcing a smile, but my mind was a whirlwind of unease. My publicist had been frantic, whispering about the optics of my wife's absence after her "recent health issues." I had waved her off, feigning calm. But inside, a growing flicker of panic ignited.

I felt a familiar weight in my pocket. My phone. I pulled it out, scrolling through my photo gallery. A picture of Eleanor from years ago, laughing, her arm linked through mine, her eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated love. A pang of something akin to regret twisted in my chest. When had she stopped looking at me like that?

I almost called her. Almost. But then, a surge of pride, of irritation, washed over me. She was being difficult. Stubborn. This was just another one of her dramatic bids for attention. I put the phone back, my thumb hovering over Eleanor's contact. Then, I deleted the contact, burying the image and the fleeting emotion. She'll come around. She always does.

Instead, I sent her a curt text: Don't be late. This is important. Your absence reflects poorly on us both.

No reply. My jaw tightened.

A chill snaked down my spine. A vague, unsettling sense of unease. It was unlike Eleanor to be this unresponsive. She was always so predictable, so desperate for my approval. This cold silence… it was unsettling.

I pushed the feeling away. I had an image to maintain. A company to protect. I forced a brilliant smile, plastering it on my face as I turned to greet a major investor.

The ballroom was a dazzling spectacle of wealth and influence. Chandeliers glittered, champagne flutes clinked, and the air buzzed with the low murmur of power brokers. This was my world. My stage.

I made a grand entrance with Harlow on my arm, her maternity dress shimmering under the spotlights. She clung to me, a picture of delicate beauty, her baby bump a silent promise of my future heir. The cameras flashed, capturing the image of the devoted husband and his beautiful, expectant companion.

My adoptive mother, Sarah Hunt, approached us, her lips thinned into a barely perceptible line. "Joshua. Harlow. Where is Eleanor?" Her voice was laced with disapproval, her gaze fixed pointedly on Harlow's stomach.

"Mother, please. Eleanor is recovering from a delicate procedure," I said, my voice strained. "She's not feeling well. Harlow is just here to support me." I shot Harlow a warning glance.

Harlow, ever the actress, lowered her eyes, a fragile tear escaping. "I told him I shouldn't come, Mrs. Hunt. But Joshua needed me."

My mother sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "Well, I hope Eleanor is alright. The rumors about your marital discord are already circulating, Joshua. It's not good for the company's image." She still blamed me for the whole debacle, for not "keeping Eleanor happy."

"She's fine, Mother. She's just being… Eleanor," I said dismissively. A pang of something unwelcome twisted in my gut. I tried to call Eleanor's phone again, but it went straight to voicemail. The cold dread intensified. This wasn't like her.

A sudden hush fell over the room. All eyes turned to the grand double doors. My driver, a nervous young man, entered, carrying a large, exquisitely wrapped gift box. He walked purposefully towards the stage, a determined look on his face.

"What's he doing?" I muttered, a prickle of annoyance turning into something colder. He was supposed to be waiting outside.

The driver reached the stage, placing the box on the podium. He then turned to the microphone, his voice amplified across the silent ballroom. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Joshua Hunt has received a special delivery tonight. A gift from… a very special someone. He insisted it be opened here, tonight, in front of all of you."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. My mother looked at me, her brow furrowed. Harlow clutched my arm, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. This wasn't right. This wasn't part of my plan. I had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

"What is this, Joshua?" my mother whispered, her voice tight.

"I have no idea," I muttered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The driver, emboldened by the spotlight, reached for the first gift. It was a smaller, elegantly wrapped box nestled inside the larger one. He opened it carefully. Inside, a shimmering diamond necklace, intricately designed, reflecting the light of the chandeliers.

A collective gasp swept through the room. "The Constellation Necklace!" someone whispered. "It's a genuine antique! Worth millions!"

My mother gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "That's… that's my family's heirloom! The real one! How did…?"

Harlow's face, beside me, was a mask of furious envy. Her eyes narrowed into slits, her jaw tight. That cheap replica I had given Eleanor… this was the real deal.

The driver then opened the second box. Inside, a simple, framed photograph. It was a picture of Eleanor, radiant and smiling, holding a small, hand-knitted baby blanket. The same blanket Harlow had tossed into the fire.

A ripple of confusion, then recognition, spread through the room. Many had heard the rumors of my wife's repeated miscarriages. The photo was a stark, painful reminder of her lost dreams.

My mother's face paled. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the image. Her gaze then snapped to mine, filled with a dawning horror.

I felt a cold dread seep into my bones. This was Eleanor's doing. This was her message.

"And finally," the driver announced, his voice surprisingly steady, "the last gift." He pulled out a thick, legal-sized folder. He opened it, revealing several signed documents.

My mother let out a strangled cry. "No… it can't be."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a terrifying premonition gripping me. I stared at the papers, a dizzying sense of vertigo washing over me. I recognized my signature. My real signature. On a document I had never intended to be real.

"This is a divorce agreement," the driver announced, his voice ringing through the silent ballroom. "Signed by both parties. And a declaration of dissolution of all shared assets, with all intellectual property and patents pertaining to the founding technology of Hunt Technologies reverting solely to Eleanor Wheeler."

A collective gasp. Then, a roar of shock and outrage. The murmurs erupted into a cacophony of whispers and exclamations.

My world shattered. Divorce. Patents. My company. All gone?

I stood there, frozen, the blood draining from my face. My knees buckled. I couldn't breathe. My entire empire, reduced to a few sheets of paper. Signed by my own hand.

The only thing I felt was a cold, absolute terror. Eleanor. What had she done? What had I done? My company, my future, my very identity… it was all being ripped away. And she was nowhere to be found.