My Husband's Deadly Double Life

Duwu Qingyang

Modern | Completed

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I was the top financial analyst on the network, my predictions legendary. But one morning, my husband, Augustus, and his intern mistress, Baylee, orchestrated a live-on-air sabotage that vaporized my career. I was forced onto a leave of absence, only to be called back to prep Baylee-the very woman replacing me. That night, an anonymous text arrived. It was an audio file from years ago: Baylee' s panicked voice confessing to a hit-and-run, and Augustus' s calm voice promising to cover it up. The victim was my mother. The accident that left her crippled wasn't an accident at all. My husband, the man who comforted me, had protected her attacker all along. He thought he had broken me. But as I listened to their lies, I knew my old life was over. I picked up the phone and called my old mentor. "Eliot," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I'm ready to sue. I'm taking everything from them."

Crime Betrayal Revenge Rebirth Revenge

Chapter 10

01-06 22:32

Chapter 1

I was forced onto a leave of absence, only to be called back to prep Baylee-the very woman replacing me.

That night, an anonymous text arrived. It was an audio file from years ago: Baylee' s panicked voice confessing to a hit-and-run, and Augustus' s calm voice promising to cover it up.

The victim was my mother. The accident that left her crippled wasn't an accident at all. My husband, the man who comforted me, had protected her attacker all along.

He thought he had broken me. But as I listened to their lies, I knew my old life was over. I picked up the phone and called my old mentor.

"Eliot," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I'm ready to sue. I'm taking everything from them."

Chapter 1

Chloe POV:

My world had always spun on the axis of numbers, of predictions and precise calculations. For ten years, I' d been the unwavering oracle of finance at the network, my forecasts rarely missing their mark. But this morning, live on air, my reputation wasn' t just shattered; it was vaporized. The market, a beast I thought I had tamed, roared back with a vengeance, tearing through every prediction I' d made, every piece of carefully constructed analysis.

The red lines on the stock tickers bled across the screen, a violent contrast to the cool, confident blue I usually presented. My voice, usually steady, cracked. My hands, trained to calm, trembled slightly as I gestured to the plummeting figures. It wasn' t just a bad day; it was an impossible one. It felt like the very laws of economics had been rewritten overnight, just to spite me. As the broadcast ended, the director' s stony face was all the critique I needed. My segment was a disaster. A public, humiliating, unmitigated disaster.

The whispers started before I even reached my dressing room. They were like tiny, sharp needles, pricking at the raw edges of my composure. "Did you see that? Chloe O'Connor, off by a mile." "She used to be so sharp. What happened?" "Augustus Clark's wife, right? Maybe she's losing her touch, living the high life." The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air: my marriage to Augustus, the titan of hedge funds, made me soft, incompetent. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.

Later that day, the official email landed in my inbox: a mandatory leave of absence. "For the well-being of the network and to allow you time to recuperate," it read. Recuperate from what? From the expertly orchestrated sabotage of my career? I knew who was behind it. I always knew. Augustus. He enjoyed these little displays of power. He loved watching me squirm, then swooping in with a lavish gift, a hollow apology, making me feel indebted, controlled.

I found him in his home office, bathed in the cool glow of multiple monitors displaying cryptic market data. He didn't look up from his screen as I entered, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a subtle smirk that twisted my gut.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

He finally looked at me, his eyes, the color of glacial ice, devoid of warmth. "About what, Chloe? Your little on-air hiccup? Don't worry, darling, I'll smooth things over. A new car? A trip to Paris? Anything you want." He leaned back, crossing his arms, a picture of insufferable arrogance.

"About a divorce," I clarified, each word a stone dropping into a silent well.

His smirk vanished. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He laughed, a short, sharp bark that held no humor. "A divorce? Don't be ridiculous. You're upset, I get it. Your pride is bruised. But you'll get over it, you always do."

My eyes met his, unwavering. "No. Not this time. I'm done, Augustus. I want a divorce."

The air in the room thickened, suddenly heavy. The hum of the computers seemed to amplify, filling the silence. The usually bustling household outside the office door went eerily quiet, as if even the staff held their breath, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Augustus stood up slowly, deliberately, his height suddenly oppressive. He walked towards me, his gaze piercing. "You think you can just walk away?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous. "After everything? After I salvaged your reputation when your mother' s accident almost destroyed you? When that hit-and-run made you so distraught you nearly threw your career away? I was there, Chloe. I cleaned up the mess. Don't forget that."

His words hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched. The memory was a cold, sharp shard, buried deep but instantly inflamed. It was years ago, but the pain was as fresh as yesterday. That chaotic night... My mother, vibrant and full of life, reduced to a fragile shadow. The injustice of it, the unanswered questions, the way my world had crumbled. Augustus had been there, yes. He'd been the strong, steady hand, the one who navigated the legal maze, the one who helped me set up my mother's long-term care. He' d made me feel indebted, forever in his debt for his supposed kindness. Now, he wielded that debt like a weapon.

I remembered the early days of my career at the network, before I became a household name. Augustus, then just an ambitious fund manager with growing influence, had introduced me to his rising star intern, Baylee Villarreal. She was young, fresh out of college, eager. I' d seen the way he looked at her, the thinly veiled admiration. It stung, even then. He began showering Baylee with opportunities, pushing her into the spotlight, often at my expense. One particular incident still burned. I was supposed to moderate a high-profile economic debate. Augustus, as a surprise, announced Baylee would be co-moderating with me, positioned directly beside him. He made it clear, with a public peck on her cheek and a dismissive wave to me, that she was his new favorite.

That night, consumed by a rage I rarely allowed myself to feel, I drove home too fast, too recklessly. I slammed my fist into the dashboard, again and again, until my knuckles bled. It was a dumb, futile act of rebellion. The next morning, I woke with a throbbing hand and a searing headache, the guilt of my uncontrolled anger a heavy weight. Later that day, my mother, trying to comfort me over the public humiliation, tripped down the stairs of our old family home, breaking her hip and exacerbating an existing neurological condition. The doctors said it was stress-induced. Augustus, ever the rescuer, had blamed me. "Your melodrama, Chloe. It always comes back to hurt the people around you." He' d made me feel like my anger, my pain, was a toxic force.

He was still talking, his voice a low growl. "You think you can just leave? After all the sacrifices I've made? The opportunities I' ve given you? The wealth you enjoy?" He gestured around the opulent office, as if it were a gilded cage he'd personally built for me. "You want to throw it all away for some bruised ego? For a few bad stock calls?" He reached for his desk, picked up a heavy velvet box. He snapped it open. Inside, a diamond necklace, glittering under the recessed lights. "Here. A peace offering. Forget the divorce. We'll forget this morning ever happened."

My gaze remained fixed on the necklace. It was blindingly beautiful, impossibly expensive. A bribe. A leash. I snatched the box from his hand, the velvet warm against my palm. Then, with a sudden, violent twist of my wrist, I hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a dull thud, the diamonds scattering like frozen tears across the polished marble floor.

Augustus stared at the scattered jewels, then slowly turned his head to me, his face a mask of pure fury. "You BITCH!" he roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the room. He lunged forward, closing the distance between us in two furious strides. His hand shot out, grabbing my jaw, his fingers digging in painfully. "You ungrateful, spoiled CUNT! Do you know what I can do to you? I can destroy you, Chloe. Not just your career. Your entire life." He twisted my face roughly, forcing my head back. I gasped, the pain a sharp, blinding white.

"Don't you dare forget who you are," he spat, his breath hot against my face. "You're Chloe O'Connor-Clark. And if you leave me, you'll be nothing. Less than nothing. I will make sure of it." He released me with a shove, and I stumbled back, my jaw aching, a bruise already forming. I tasted blood in my mouth.

Just then, his phone vibrated, a gentle chime that cut through the charged silence. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. The fury melted away, replaced by a soft, almost tender expression. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Baylee?" he murmured into the phone, his voice suddenly smooth, charming. A complete transformation. "Yes, darling. Just wrapping up. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hung up, gave me one last cold glance, then walked out, leaving me alone in the shattered silence, the scattered diamonds a mocking testament to my shattered life.

My jaw throbbed. My heart hammered against my ribs. But beneath the pain, a new feeling was taking root: icy resolve. He thought he could break me. He thought he could control me. But he had just given me my freedom. My fingers fumbled for my own phone. My thumb hovered over a contact. Eliot Moses. My old partner. My mentor. The man who had made me promise, five years ago, that if I ever wanted out, he would be there.

"Eliot," I whispered into the receiver, my voice raw, broken, but firm. "It's Chloe. I need you. I'm ready."