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The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 849 | Released on: 13/01/2026

ugh the wire mesh as the cemetery disappeared into the gray distance. She saw Isaiah on hi

hetic. It

spered to the glass. "I ho

rt of the deal. Five years for First Degree Manslaughter. In exchange, the state wouldn't pursue lif

at the back of Isaiah's head in the fron

me the

d of gray concrete and fluorescent l

ed. She was a large wom

ezing water blasted her, stinging her skin, washing a

Lift your tongue

name. They gave her orange scrubs t

nut locks, leaving jagged ends that prickled her neck. Karen watched h

shut. Clang. The sou

YEARS

ke up wi

her stomach. It

a bird beating its wings against her ribs.

sn't

e of yellow that was now stained with damp. The air smelled of m

e had been out

row mattress. Her left hand throbbed. A phant

ack leather glove. She slept with it on. Sh

was smal

the room, on a mattress on the floo

ey were dark, intelligent, and terrifyingly familiar

?" Hoke asked. He sat up, his mes

uscle memory she was relearning.

esser. He was small for his age, malnourished from a diet of cheap pasta and g

and pulled out a

said, handi

ive-year-old son shouldn't know which pills his mother neede

e." She swallow

ll hand over her black-gloved one. He didn't ask about the glove. He ne

y," Karen said softly.

. "For the

the draw

e said fiercely. "If they don

ad. "We need the money, Hoke.

d, just a split second, the childish softness vanished, replac

big, I'm going to make them pay.

oulders. "Hoke, no.

, an innocent, gap-toothed grin. "I just mean

errified. Not of the world, but of the seed of hatred she could see

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife

Rum Runner Romance

“My husband stood by the window of his Manhattan office, his silhouette cutting through the storm like a blade. He didn't even look at me as he tossed the divorce papers onto the desk, his voice a cold baritone. "Sign it," Isaiah commanded, "or your brother's dialysis treatment ends today." He believed the lie that I had pushed his pregnant mistress down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage. To save my dying brother, I signed the confession and accepted the role of a murderer, trading my freedom for a life of disgrace. At the funeral, Isaiah forced me to crawl on my knees through the freezing mud to the grave while a mob of mourners spat on me and cursed my name. When I went to prison, his influence followed me into the showers, where inmates told me the King wanted me to "remember my crime" before they used rusty shears to hack off my finger. Five years later, I was a ghost living in a damp basement with the son Isaiah never knew I had, hiding my mangled hand under a leather glove. When he eventually tracked us down, he didn't show mercy; he tore my son from my arms, calling me an unfit monster and swearing I would rot in a cage. I couldn't understand how the man I once loved could look at my broken body and see only a criminal, never realizing that every scar I carried was a gift from his own hatred. As he walked away with my child, I swallowed a bottle of pills to end the nightmare, leaving Isaiah to rip the glove from my hand and discover the mangled truth just as my eyes finally closed.”