The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife My Sweet Revenge

I never expected him to actually bring his little mistress to the charity gala. It was a calculated move designed to humiliate me.

Harper Cooley swept into the hall in a custom haute couture fishtail gown, her arm affectionately looped through Ian Delgado's.

"Mrs. Delgado," Harper chirped, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Ian leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "Harper just lost the baby. I was afraid she'd spiral, so I brought her out for a change of scenery."

My grip on my wine glass tightened until my knuckles went white. I deliberately shifted my arm, exposing the jagged scars that marred my wrist.

"Then you really should take good care of her," I said, my voice brittle. "You wouldn't want her to go mad and make a scene like I did."

In the two years since my daughter died, I hadn't known a single night of peace.

The nightmares were always the same. She's crying, choking, gasping for air until her little heart gives out. I'm paralyzed, desperate, unable to move a single step closer to save her.

I can only watch, helpless, as she stops breathing.

Every time I woke from that terror, I reached for a blade. I slit my wrists not for attention, but because I wanted to die. I wanted to find my daughter, to apologize, to atone.

But Ian didn't let me die. He committed me to a psychiatric hospital instead. While I was locked away, he had his people erase every trace of my daughter's existence—as if she had never been born.

Around us, the whispers began. Countless mocking gazes bore into my back.

The wealthy socialites who once envied how Ian held me in the palm of his hand now sneered with open disdain.

"Mr. Delgado used to be willing to donate a kidney for her. Look at him now—flaunting a new love right in her face."

"How is she any different from the rest of us now? What's she pretending to be so aloof for?"

I bit down on the soft flesh inside my cheek until I tasted blood. My fingernails dug into my palm, and the fresh manicure snapped. A sharp pain shot through my hand, grounding me.

"With such a beauty by your side, I won't disturb you," I said coldly.

Harper covered her mouth and giggled, making no effort to conceal the provocation in her eyes. "Then thank you, Mrs. Delgado, for lending Ian to me tonight."

I retreated to a corner, my mind a chaotic mess.

Blood trickled from where my nail had broken skin, but I couldn't feel the pain. I was numb.

No medication in my clutch to calm my nerves. Frustrated, I unlocked my phone and sent a message to him.

Husband, I miss you…

The chat box popped up instantly. A photo loaded—a torso shot highlighting sculpted abs and a sharp V-line.

The restlessness in my chest began to settle. My fingers traced the cold screen.

This was the most important lesson Ian had taught me in our seven years of marriage: Vent your emotions through sex. Let the hormones drown out the intrusive thoughts. Play until you forget.

I never understood before why he was so obsessed with entangling himself with young girls.

Now I understood. And I'd developed a taste for it myself.

A blinding spotlight cut through the dim hall, stabbing into my eyes.

Warm applause erupted around me. Harper walked over, a triumphant smile plastered on her face as she grabbed my hand.

"Mrs. Delgado! You've been chosen as the lucky audience member! Come up on stage—it's time for the interaction segment."

I looked up at Ian in a daze. He simply nodded.

The host gripped the microphone, feigning excitement. "Congratulations to this lady for winning tonight's exclusive interaction opportunity!"

He shook the raffle box and gestured for me to reach inside. My fingers brushed against a single slip of paper.

I pulled it out. When the words came into focus, my chest constricted with a violent spasm.

The host snatched the paper from my trembling hand, his eyes gleaming with ridicule.

"Congratulations! The prize you drew is... a pole dance performance for our guests!"

Silence fell over the room. Everyone looked in unison toward Ian.

Everyone in our circle knew that "pole dancing" was his absolute taboo—a symbol of degradation he despised.

I met his gaze. A faint smirk played on his lips, though his eyes remained ice-cold. As I watched, he leaned down and pecked Harper on the lips.

The realization hit me like a blow. He wasn't just standing by—he had orchestrated this. He was punishing me for slapping Harper last week.

Harper leaned against his shoulder and clapped, her face a mask of innocence.

"You can do it, Mrs. Delgado! I've never seen a pole dance before."

Ian reached up and covered her eyes, his voice dripping with that sickly doting tone. "Don't look, sweetheart. That kind of wanton dance will only dirty your eyes."

I slowly bent down and took off my high heels. I straightened my back, a hollow smile forming on my lips.

"Sure."

Most of the rich wives here hated me.

They hated that the limited-edition luxury goods they waited months for were always delivered to my hands first. Now, they would get the show they'd been waiting for.