Greyson

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

Download the Book on the App

ANASTASIA POV

"Happy birthday, Ana," Bianca says from across me. "Maybe this year you can finally get your hands on some hot man in finance." She giggles, drunk out of her mind.

I shake my head at her, my head spinning, my eyes moving across the crowd of club-goers. Today is my birthday, and by tomorrow my dad is finally allowing me to be his chief finance officer.

"A dream come true," I whisper, downing the last of my drink.

"What?" Bianca lifts a brow in my direction, slowly bobbing her head to the music, her eyes glazed over with champagne.

"I have to use the bathroom," I yell back at her, pushing the stool back unsteadily.

She nods, flinging out two fingers. She points them at me and then back at her eyes, making me laugh.

I nod back at her, moving through the string of people, when the music abruptly stops, and the lights turn into a deep blue, plunging the room into mid-darkness.

I turn around the crowd, and I pause, disoriented from the sudden interruption.

My eyes move to the ceiling. Suddenly, the crowd disperses from the door, and people pull away in awe and fear, disclosing only my form in the middle, the lights reflecting down at me.

I gasp, holding my breath, as a male figure moves toward my still form.

The strong scent of his perfume whiffs into my nose as he passes by.

His face is covered by an old, classy hat, and his eyes are turned away from me, but I can catch his side profile.

Strong jawline and lips that make me breathless. I stumble on the floor, the entire room erupting in a gasp, but the attention is quickly taken off me when the music turns back on, and the gap simply closes like I was never there.

I tumble on the floor as people surround me, but fingers grip mine, pulling me out from the crowd.

I look up, and my eyes settle on a blonde man who walked in with the mystery man.

"Are you good?" he lifts a brow at me, concern on his face.

I choke, breathless. "Yes, I'm fine," I whisper, shaking my head as his form turns slightly blurry, still drunk from the lines of champagne Bianca and I have been gouging on all night.

"Rafaelle!" I hear a sharp voice to the right. He calls out his name swiftly, and his head rises.

My eyes meet with his bright blue eyes. His hair falls over his forehead as he fixes his hat on his head properly.

My heart pounds in my chest at the look in his eyes. He narrows his blue eyes at me, and they move across my form, sliding across my heels, down to my oil-glowing legs, which are covered slightly by the short golden dress Bianca fixed me in for my birthday celebration.

His eyes land on my face, but he swiftly pulls them away and turns to the man he called Rafaelle.

"I will be inside," he says, fixing his hands in his pockets. His long legs cross the floorboards, and he disappears into a back room.

Read Now