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The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife

Chapter 9 No.9

Word Count: 810    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

ung in the dead,

s if to dislodge the words. "I didn't... I

d no humor, only agony. She held up her maimed han

ustice, Isaiah! Is it enough? Does this finally pay for Clementi

e filthy mattress on the floor. He felt

words were a prayer and a plea. "I

ou just had to put me in the cage. You threw me to the animals, Isaiah. Your name,

the warden, his voice thick with whiskey and grief

or. Solitary confine

ly devoid of emotion. "Protection money that Danny couldn't pay. So they took a

stump, a grotesq

No anesthetic. They lau

urned an

the reality of what he was hearing. He collapsed to his knees, gaspi

ompanies. He had ruined lives. But he wasn't a bu

with his name and his hatred, had he loaded the

-streaked face and bleeding soul, she looked like a v

ut," s

, at the ruin he had made. He saw past the anger to the terror beneat

s. His son had watched his mothe

tand. His legs were shak

ney. Not with words. The finger w

ned an

rds in the hallway, their questions dying on their lips when they saw h

ctoria was there, holding a struggling Ho

ned? You look like

answer. He sla

amed at the driv

basement door remained a dark, accu

His hands were shaking so

ped when his ass

ir

nes. I want the real ones. The infirmary logs, incident reports, visit

s are sealed at th

raw and unhinged. "I don't care who you have to bribe or threat

, his eyes closing. He could still

s eyes and l

longer fighting. He was watching his f

oke said. It wa

ded, unabl

his small voice cutting through

he darkness, and the truth of th

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The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife
The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife
“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.”