Awakening From A Toxic Billionaire Marriage

Chapter 7

Word Count: 738 | Released on: Today at 10:37

ough the floor-to-ceiling w

mirror. She had showered and washed away

ress. It hugged every curve of her body perfectly. It was a color Dawson had strictly forbidden, clai

of matte crimson lipstick. She stared at her re

t into a pair of bl

e grand staircase. The sharp clack-clack of he

sat at the head of the table. He was sipping b

sive footsteps, he

d. A flash of undeniable lust sparked in his dark eye

cup down onto the saucer. The

you're going dressed like

table. She picked up a piece of

," she replied, not bo

iolently. The wooden legs scre

his tall frame directly in front of her, blocking her path to the doo

s this amnesia real? Or was this an elab

to test t

aist, his fingers digging painfully into her ri

s. It wasn't a kiss; it was a brutal interrogation. He was trying to force h

cles locked up, turning as rigid

his chest, trying to break h

, Charlene opened her jaw and clamped

tasted the sharp, met

d groan of pain. His gr

d to his mouth. He looked down at his knuck

to her, turning pi

ved him hard in the chest, grabbed her handbag f

the driveway. The Uber she had ordered on her

e backseat. "Drive! Now!"

ay, leaving the

chest heaved with ragged breaths. The tas

He kicked the guest room door open.

vanity. Her skincare bottles were gone. Her jewelry boxes were

y no trace of Charl

ic crashed over him. The control

from his pocket, di

n roared into the receiver. "Find

Chapter End

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Awakening From A Toxic Billionaire Marriage

AtengKadiwa Romance

“I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash. But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love. When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages. "Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting." Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance. "The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!" My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost. And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead. The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt. When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare. "Who are you?" I whispered. Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.”