Bridgett

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Modern Parenting Ex-wife Drama

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When Olivia White came to her senses, she found herself wrapped in a blanket naked.

Feeling parched and weak, she knew she had been drugged.

When she looked around, she spotted a surprisingly large mirror right in front of her and a camera at the bedside.

Her heart convulsing, Olivia vaguely understood what was going on here.

As the effect of the drug kicked in, Olivia gritted her teeth to remain conscious. No, if that kind of video was shot, her life would be ruined.

There was no time for her to figure out the plotter. She struggled to get off the bed. Fortunately, the other party didn't anticipate her remaining strength and left the door unlocked.

During her work, Olivia was knocked unconscious and sent to this floor. With no clothes on, she had to wrap herself in the thin blanket and escape on bare feet. In case people would recognize her, she deliberately ruffled her hair, messed up her heavy makeup, and walked in the dark.

This clubhouse boasted abundant female and male prostitutes. The signs hanging outside the rooms stood for availability tonight. Blue signs represented men and pink women.

Olivia didn't really have the time to go to the hospital. Gritting her teeth, she made up her mind and searched the rooms with blue signs one by one.

Unfortunately, not a single soul could be found.

In desperation, she pushed open the last room at the end of the corridor. To her surprise, she found a man sitting by the window.

He turned back at the sound.

Despite the dim light, Olivia could still feel the man's sculpted features and lean figure. A perfect target.

"100 yuan for one night. What do you say?" She got straight to the point in a hoarse voice.

Ignorant of the price, she could only offer that much.

The man frowned unhappily and darted a cold look at her. Regardless of that, Olivia had to make do at such a critical moment!

She strode to the man.

"Get out." Vincent Barton opened his lips, his voice icy cold.

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