The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife

She glanced at Victor, panic flickering in her eyes.

"Give it to me!" I roared.

I couldn't fathom the depths of their depravity. Their relationship had crossed the line as far back as her college entrance exams—when she was barely legal and I was her sponsor.

I snatched the photo. The moment it registered, my legs gave out. I slid to the floor.

In the image, they were naked. Georgia curled in Victor's arms, flushed with post-coital warmth. But it was the look in his eyes that gutted me—tender enough to melt ice.

Georgia fidgeted, pinching her fingers as she leaned into Victor's side, playing victim.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Grace. I didn't know you'd find out... I didn't mean to show off."

Her excuses became white noise. My focus narrowed to the man beside her. I forced myself up, staggering toward him step by step.

I slammed the photo into his chest. "Victor Weston, is this how you repay me?"

His expression stayed cold, unrepentant. "She's been by my side since high school. You watched her grow up. You know she relies on me."

"You're worse than an animal," I spat, voice trembling. "No—that insults animals. You should've spent your life in the gutter, scavenging rotting scraps."

His jaw tightened, but I wasn't done. I wanted to bleed him.

"Your parents must've known what a monster they raised. That's why they died early—to escape the shame. You don't deserve to eat trash, let alone stand here like a human being."

My words found their mark, piercing straight to the insecurity he'd harbored since childhood. Veins bulged on his neck. A red haze clouded his eyes.

He lunged, hand clamping around my throat. He threw me to the ground.

"Grace Sullivan, you've finally said it." He loomed over me like a shadow. "You've always looked down on me."

He straightened his cuffs, voice dropping to a terrifying calm. "Since you refuse to learn your place, you can go back and relearn it. I have plenty of time."

He pulled out his phone.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Cold sweat broke over my skin. I knew that tone. I knew where he was sending me.

I crawled forward, abandoning pride, and grabbed his pant leg. "Victor, no... please. I won't go back there. I can't go back to the asylum!"

He didn't even look at me.

Even as the bodyguards dragged me out and slammed the car door, his expression remained stone.

"Forgive me, Madam," the bodyguard muttered.

Just before he confiscated my phone, a text message flashed on the screen.

Alistair, I'm back.

For the next week, Victor took Georgia to Western Europe, but Grace's parting words circled his mind like vultures.

He felt irritable, constantly on edge. Yet whenever he thought of Grace, dark satisfaction mingled with his anger. She needed to be humbled.

When they were young, she was the heiress bestowing charity on him, the poor boy. Now the tables had turned. Time she tasted what it felt like to survive on someone else's mercy.

I'll bring her back once Georgia gives birth, he told himself. Those arrogant habits need breaking.

He maintained this delusion until the call came.

"Mr. Weston... it's Ms. Sullivan. She escaped. She's missing."