Too Late, Mr. Don: Your Wife Erased You

Chapter 2

Word Count: 674 | Released on: 23/12/2025

ifty thousand dollars worth of designer clothes that fe

an. All selected to drape his property in

shelf and retrieved the encrypted satellite phone hidden inside.

that didn't exist

e answered. Dis

Architec

r to call unless you were

eady,

t who operated in the shadows, offering a service so illegal and

Rasa. The B

I don't just take the bad days. I take everything. Episodic memory. Your name. Your history. The face o

, picking at a loose thread on the c

he pay

accounts. The Alpha Node. You'll have acce

d. I was handing him the keys to the kingdom. I wa

acking District. Come alone. Bring nothi

w the

needle goes in, there is no antidote. You

e point,"

oved the phone b

oom door

kly, grabbing a silk sca

he weight of the crown was heavy tonight. He walked over to me, his

doing in her

ganizing

pulling me flush against him. I smelled expensive sc

s per

my body to yield. I had practic

murmured into my

there in

to me, Ellery. You know that, right

ow,"

ck-a wet, claim

back. He didn't love me. He loved owning me. He loved that

neck where his lips had b

to remember the way he held my hand in the hospital, the

ee was the video.

very memory of Brendan Wiggins behind it. The laughter, the se

t wife. Three days to say goodbye t

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Too Late, Mr. Don: Your Wife Erased You

Isis Beutler Mafia

“My husband sat at the head of the table, cutting into his medium-rare steak like a king. To the world, Brendan Wiggins was a legitimate businessman. To me, he was the Mafia Don whose empire I had built brick by digital brick. Then my burner phone vibrated against my thigh. It wasn't a threat from a rival gang. It was a photo of a positive pregnancy test sent by his mistress. I watched a video of him in her apartment-a place he visited while I thought he was working. I heard him tell her, "Ellery is functional. She handles the books. But you're giving me the legacy. She's just the furniture I keep to impress guests." He had taken the trauma of the car crash that left me infertile-the crash he caused-and used it to mock me with another woman. He thought I was his broken doll. He thought I was safe because I was dependent on him. He forgot that I was the Architect. I designed the encrypted channels that kept him out of prison. I controlled the offshore accounts. I didn't cry. I simply applied a coat of blood-red lipstick and tapped a dormant script on my smartwatch. While he poured me a glass of wine and called me his "sanctuary," I drained fifty million dollars from his shell companies. I wasn't just leaving. I had an appointment with a black-market neuroscientist to chemically erase my memories. By tomorrow, Brendan wouldn't just be bankrupt; to me, he wouldn't even exist.”