The Jilted Ex-Wife's Lethal Comeback

The antique grandfather clock against the far wall ticked.

Eleven-thirty.

Audrey Chaney sat at the end of the three-meter mahogany dining table. The silence in the Manhattan penthouse was heavy enough to crush her lungs.

She stared at the plate in front of her. The beef Wellington was ice cold. The pastry had congealed into a sad, greasy shell.

A sharp ding echoed from the private elevator.

Audrey's pulse jumped. She immediately stood up, her hands smoothing down the sides of her silk dress. Her chest tightened with a desperate, pathetic flare of hope.

The polished metal doors slid open.

It wasn't her husband.

Genevieve Savage stepped out. Kingston's mother wore a tailored Chanel suit, her sharp heels clicking against the Italian marble floor in a slow, rhythmic threat. Right behind her was Brenda, the head maid, carrying a small silver tray.

Genevieve stopped at the edge of the dining room. Her cold eyes swept over the table. She looked at the two heart-shaped candles burning in the center.

She let out a harsh, scraping sneer.

Audrey swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She lowered her chin, forcing her hands to unclench at her sides.

"Mother," Audrey said softly.

Genevieve didn't acknowledge the greeting. She walked right up to Audrey, her gaze dragging up and down Audrey's body like she was inspecting a defective piece of machinery.

"Look at you," Genevieve said, her voice dripping with venom. "Sitting here like a useless ornament. You contribute absolutely nothing to this family."

Brenda stepped forward. She extended the silver tray.

On it sat a glass of warm water and two small, white pills.

"Take your premium vitamins," Genevieve ordered.

They weren't vitamins. Audrey knew exactly what they were. They were high-grade sedatives. Genevieve's personal prescription to ensure her lowborn daughter-in-law remained docile, quiet, and perfectly submissive.

Audrey's stomach violently cramped. Acid burned the back of her throat.

"My stomach hurts tonight," Audrey whispered, her fingers trembling as she gripped the edge of the table. "I don't think I should-"

"You will take them," Genevieve snapped. The air in the room dropped ten degrees. "Do not forget where you came from, Audrey. The only reason you are allowed to breathe the air in a Savage property is because you are obedient. Do not test me."

Brenda didn't wait for Audrey to reach out. The maid grabbed Audrey's wrist and shoved the glass into her hand.

Water sloshed over the rim. It soaked into the bodice of Audrey's carefully chosen silk dress, leaving a dark, ugly stain over her ribs.

Genevieve's eyes bored into her. Waiting.

Audrey's chest heaved. The humiliation burned hot behind her eyes, but the fear of being thrown back into the gutter was stronger. She picked up the two white pills. She placed them on her tongue.

She drank the water. The bitter chalk coated her throat as she forced them down.

Genevieve let out a satisfied hum.

"Don't flatter yourself, Audrey," Genevieve said, turning her back. "Cheap candles and a cold dinner won't keep my son in your bed."

Genevieve and the maid walked back to the elevator. The doors closed.

Audrey stood frozen. Her legs felt like lead. The sedative was already seeping into her bloodstream, making the edges of her vision blur.

She dragged her feet toward the foyer. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the glittering, freezing skyline of New York City. She had never felt so entirely alone.

The electronic lock on the front door beeped.

The heavy oak door swung open. A rush of cold night air hit Audrey's face.

Kingston stepped inside. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated an exhausting amount of power. He didn't even look at her. He stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the leather sofa.

Audrey forced the corners of her mouth up. She walked over to take his leather briefcase.

"Happy anniversary, Kingston," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kingston paused. His dark eyes flicked to her face for a fraction of a second.

"Mm," he grunted.

He walked right past her, heading straight for the crystal decanters on the wet bar. He immediately pulled a sanitizing wipe from a silver dispenser on the counter, aggressively scrubbing his hands to rid them of the city's grime before even touching the crystal.

Audrey turned and followed him. As she stepped up behind his broad back, a scent hit her face.

It wasn't the smell of the city. It wasn't his usual crisp cologne.

It was a heavy, intoxicating blend of crushed roses and warm sandalwood.

The scent was a physical blow to her chest. Her breath hitched. She knew that smell. Everyone in their elite circle knew that custom fragrance. It belonged to Celestine Perry. Kingston's first love. His untouchable white moonlight.

The sedative made the room spin, but the betrayal sliced right through the chemical haze.

"Where were you tonight?" Audrey asked.

Kingston's hand froze on the neck of the whiskey decanter. His knuckles turned white. He slowly turned around, his thick brows pulling together in deep annoyance.

"I had meetings at the company," he said flatly.

Audrey's eyes dropped to his collar. Right on the edge of the crisp white fabric was a faint, undeniable smudge of crimson lipstick.

Her eyes burned. A tear broke free and tracked down her cheek.

"You're lying," her voice shook, raw and broken.

Kingston's face turned to stone. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He despised being questioned. He despised weakness.

He slammed the decanter down on the marble counter.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His massive frame backed Audrey up until her spine hit the hard edge of the kitchen island.

He reached out, his face twisting in momentary distaste before he pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger. His grip was a vice, forcing her to look up into his pitch-black eyes.

"Play your role, Mrs. Savage," Kingston warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Do not ask for things that do not belong to you."

He lowered his head. He aimed for her lips, offering a kiss that felt more like a punishment than affection.

As his face neared hers, the overwhelming stench of Celestine's rose and sandalwood perfume invaded Audrey's lungs.

Her stomach violently heaved. Bile rose in her throat.

Audrey snapped her head to the side. She brought both hands up and shoved hard against his solid chest.

Kingston stumbled back a half-step.

Shock rippled across his face, quickly replaced by a dark, terrifying fury. In two years of marriage, his quiet, pathetic wife had never once denied him.

He let out a cruel, humorless laugh. He reached up and adjusted his cuffs, his eyes stripping away any remaining shred of her dignity.

"You're playing hard to get?" Kingston sneered, looking at her like she was a stranger on the street. "It's a pathetic look on you, Audrey."

He turned on his heel. He walked straight down the hall to the guest bedroom.

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed through the empty penthouse.

Audrey's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the cold marble floor, her hands covering her face as the illusion of her marriage shattered into a million jagged pieces.