The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife My Revenge Starts Now

Rage surged straight to my brain. That was my mother's—I had to get it back.

I rushed at Clementine and yanked the pendant from her neck.

She let out a soft cry of pain.

Dominic was on his feet instantly, shoving me aside, his brow furrowed in rebuke.

"Mildred, what do you think you're doing?"

I didn't want a confrontation with him. I clutched the pendant tight in my palm and turned to leave.

I could give up anything else.

But my mother's pendant—that, I had to take back.

Behind me came Clementine's faint sobbing. Then a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

I met Dominic's cold gaze.

He held out his hand toward me.

"Mildred, we don't take other people's things."

Hearing those shameless words, I laughed until tears spilled from my eyes. My voice cracked as I confronted him.

"Other people's things? Dominic, this was my mother's. Her keepsake."

Clementine tugged weakly at Dominic's arm, tears falling like broken strings of pearls, pattering against the floor.

"It's alright, don't make things hard for her. Without the pendant, I'll just have trouble sleeping, that's all. Consider it my gift to her—a little something for our first meeting."

I bit down so hard I tasted blood. My vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You're claiming this belongs to you? Do I need to remind you? This was my mother's keepsake. I only sold it because I had no choice—to support Dominic's startup—"

Dominic's eyes darkened like still water. He cut me off, his voice sharp with wounded pride.

"Enough! Mildred, how many times are you going to throw your contributions in my face?"

"And what about my efforts? Without me, do you think you'd have had those good years?"

I lowered my gaze, forcing back the tears.

Good years? Three months after Dominic and I married, his company declared bankruptcy.

All I knew was that during those years, when I got sick, I didn't dare go to the hospital. I worked odd jobs around the clock. I couldn't bring myself to buy new clothes, get my hair done, or eat anything but the cheapest food.

And Clementine? Designer labels head to toe. Sleek, glossy black hair. A face pampered to porcelain perfection.

A sharp pain shot through my palm. Dominic was prying my fingers open by force.

Blood dripped from between them, falling drop by drop.

The man who used to tear up if I so much as nicked my finger—that same man was now making me bleed with his own hands.

Dominic wrenched the pendant free. The momentum sent me crashing to the ground. A stabbing pain lanced through my lower abdomen.

He moved to help me up, a flicker of concern crossing his face—but Clementine caught his hand.

Dominic handed the pendant to her. The moment she took it, her fingers opened.

I watched the pendant fall, and a scream tore from my throat.

"No—"

But it shattered against the ground, splitting cleanly in two.

I crawled toward it, broken, gathering the pieces into my hands.

Dominic scooped Clementine into his arms, pressing his hand over the bleeding wound on her calf, and hurried away.

Just before they disappeared around the corner, he glanced back and said softly:

"Mildred, wait here for me. Once I get her to the hospital, I'll come back for you."

I tried desperately to piece the pendant back together, but no matter what I did, it wouldn't be whole again.

The sky opened up, and rain began to fall.

I sat slumped on the ground, sobbing.

At some point, an umbrella appeared over my head.

I looked up, crying so hard I could barely breathe.

"Uncle Raymond Fox, Mom's going to blame me. She's definitely going to blame me."

He simply took off his jacket and wrapped it around me, patting my back gently.

"No, she won't. She loved you so much. She would never blame you."

I buried my face against his chest, looking up at him pleadingly.

"There has to be a way to fix it, right?"

Uncle Raymond guided me into the car and drove straight to the airport.

I clutched the broken pendant, my heart gone completely cold, and sent Dominic a message.

"Dominic, I want a divorce."

The Restaurant Ownern I sent him a photo of the abortion record.

"Your lies killed your own child."

Once that was done, I snapped my SIM card in half and tossed it out the window.

At that same moment, Dominic had just dropped Clementine off at the hospital when an inexplicable unease gripped him.

He fumbled for his phone and opened it—just in time to see my messages.