The Neglected Wife's Bloody Revenge Pact

Little Arthur froze. The heavy perfume bottle hovered in the air. The sheer, freezing intensity in his mother's eyes made his breath hitch.

But his hesitation only lasted a second. He was used to ruling this house. He puffed out his chest and screamed.

"Make my breakfast or I will smash this on the rug!"

Jenna didn't flinch. She didn't drop to her knees to coax him like she used to. Her hand shot out like a striking snake. She clamped her fingers around his raised wrist with a crushing grip.

Arthur's eyes went wide. He had never been physically stopped before.

He immediately let out an ear-piercing shriek. He thrashed his body, trying to pull away. When that failed, he lifted his leather shoe and kicked Jenna hard in the shin.

The sharp pain radiated up her leg.

That sudden jolt of physical pain acted like a spark in a powder keg. It instantly ignited the towering hatred she felt when the adult Arthur had pulled her ventilator plug. Her last shred of restraint snapped.

Her free hand snatched the perfume bottle from his grip. She slammed it down onto the marble nightstand. The heavy glass hit the stone with a deafening thud.

Arthur shrieked at the noise. "You stupid, cheap woman!" he spat.

Jenna's eyes narrowed. She grabbed him by the collar of his tailored suit, dragged him forward, and forced him face-down over her knee. She raised her hand high and brought it down hard on his backside.

A sharp, explosive smack echoed through the massive bedroom. The air in the room instantly froze.

On the sofa, Clio stopped rolling. She scrambled backward, pressing her small body into the corner of the cushions, letting out a terrified whimper.

Arthur lay over Jenna's knee, completely stunned for three full seconds. Then, he erupted into a hysterical, throat-tearing wail.

The bedroom door, which had been left ajar, pushed open. Maria, the head nanny, rushed in with a panicked look on her face.

When Maria saw the usually submissive, timid Mrs. Knight actually striking the young master, she gasped loudly and slapped both hands over her mouth.

Jenna released her grip. She shoved the red-faced, sobbing Arthur toward the nanny.

"Get out," Jenna said. The words were quiet, but they cut through the crying like a razor blade.

The murderous aura radiating from Jenna made Maria shudder. The nanny didn't dare ask a single question. She scooped Arthur up, grabbed Clio by the hand, and practically ran out of the room.

The bedroom fell into a dead silence. Jenna looked down at her own palm. It was stinging and red. She took a deep, slow breath, forcing her heart rate to steady.

She walked out of the bathroom and back into the main bedroom. She crossed the room to the bedside nightstand—a different one, in the bedroom itself—where the lamp glowed softly. Her latest model smartphone, the one she used for daily communication, lay right beside it. She picked it up and pulled up the number burned into her memory—her husband, Alonzo Knight. She pressed call.

It rang three times before the line connected. Alonzo's deep, cold, and heavily irritated voice came through the speaker.

"What kind of tantrum are you throwing this early in the morning?" Alonzo demanded.

In the background, barely muffled by the phone's microphone, Jenna heard the soft, breathy laugh of a woman.

That laugh pierced her eardrum. It was Audra. In her past life, Jenna had been stupid enough to believe they were just business partners.

Jenna felt no anger. Her voice was as flat and still as a stagnant pool of water. She spoke directly into the receiver.

"We are getting a divorce."

The line went completely silent for a moment. Then, Alonzo let out a short, mocking scoff.

"Did you forget to take your antidepressants again?" Alonzo sneered. "Don't use these cheap, pathetic tactics to get my attention, Jenna. It's embarrassing."

Jenna didn't bother defending herself. She didn't raise her voice.

"My lawyer will contact you," she stated coldly.

Before Alonzo could say another word, Jenna pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the red button. The call died.

She tossed the phone onto the unmade bed. She turned her back to it and walked straight toward the massive walk-in closet.

She bypassed the rows of designer dresses. She walked to the very back, crouched down, and pulled out an old, scuffed black suitcase from the bottom shelf. She dragged it out and threw it heavily onto the hardwood floor.