The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife

When college entrance exams came, Victor abandoned mathematics for computer science.

"Math Olympiad is fine," he'd said, "but I want to make money. A lot of it."

I remembered my promise. "If you want to be an academic titan like your uncle, I'll fund you. If you want to coast, I'll give you enough to spend however you please."

He achieved his dream—tech mogul, billions in the bank. But he betrayed the boy he used to be. The man who once vowed to shield me from the storm became the one plotting against me for Georgia's sake.

In my previous life, Georgia achieved a breakthrough in high-throughput DNA synthesis during her second year of graduate school. It fast-tracked her graduation.

I called a press conference with irrefutable evidence of her plagiarism. Victor intervened. The proof meant to hang Georgia became the noose around my own neck.

His PR team spun the narrative with terrifying efficiency. Recordings meant to expose Georgia were doctored to frame me—soliciting bribes, forcing students to entertain clients. My research notes were twisted into a petition detailing my "obscene tyranny."

Overnight, I went from respected scholar to pariah. The public bayed for my blood.

I gambled everything on one final press conference. Victor responded with a single medical report. He had me committed.

"I failed her as a husband," he told the cameras. "My wife is suffering from severe delusional disorder."

Five years later, when Victor finally remembered I existed, I truly had lost my mind. Georgia had tampered with my medication to secure her position. Clarity returned only in the final moments before death.

Victor, I had thought as darkness took me, you have nothing left to threaten me with.

My diary from that time was written in blood and tears. Even across two lifetimes, the resentment burned fresh. I loved my research, but I craved freedom more.

Back in the present, I walked into the bedroom to find history repeating itself.

Victor and Georgia, entangled in our marital bed. Stark naked.

I didn't scream. I raised my phone and snapped a photo.

"Enjoying yourselves?" My voice dripped ice. "Aren't you worried all that vigorous activity might dislodge the baby?"

Victor froze.

"We aren't even divorced yet, and you're dragging her back here?" I continued. "Or does defiling your wife's bed give you an extra thrill?"

I tapped my chin. "I suppose that makes sense. Animals don't need logic to rut."

He scrambled to shield Georgia, face twisting. "Get out!"

I stepped closer. "You used to call me Gracie, remember?"

His chest heaved.

"You swore on my father's grave—and your grandmother's—that you would only ever love me. That you'd never hurt me." I tilted my head. "Have you forgotten? Or are you waiting for lightning to strike her tombstone?"

I smiled. "My father wouldn't care, of course. To him, you were always just an outsider."

His grandmother was his only weakness. At her name, the veins in his neck bulged.

He lunged.

His hand clamped around my throat, slamming me to the floor. "Grace, you've gone too far!"

I didn't struggle. Just stared up at him, eyes void of fear. Perhaps my cold detachment terrified him more than screaming would have. He released me as if burned.

Then the switch flipped. He scooped me from the floor, trembling violently.

He carried me to the guest room, kicked the door shut, and crushed me into a suffocating embrace.

"Gracie, I told you! Once the baby is a month old, I'll remarry you. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

He seized my hand and forced me to slap his face. Over and over.

"Hit me. Punish me. I couldn't control myself, okay? But I need this child." His voice broke. "Gracie, I'll give you money. Whatever you want. Go anywhere—just tell me where you are. Don't leave me."