Auctioned Daughter, Shattered Wife

Chapter 8

Word Count: 676 | Released on: 14/08/2025

of self-congratulation. She saw doctors she had worked with for years, people she had

. Everett stood by her side, a proud king. They were a pow

someone gushed. "And fr

ext month," another whis

rself from the fawning crowd. She gli

?" Charlotte aske

Charlotte could react, Kaylynn grabbed her arm and dragged her into

room, "has been spreading vicious lies about

f photos-Charlotte and Everett in happier times, now tw

my fiancé?" Kaylynn demanded, her vo

from curiosity to judgment. They were

hand clenched into a tight fist

Charlotte and, to her utter shock, wrapped an arm around her waist. It wa

This woman has... an unfortunate fixation on

d Kaylynn into a de

ted in applaus

e, his eyes full of contempt. "I was nev

otte' s face. Encouraged by this, others in the crowd started th

just stood there, enduring

brief, quickly suppressed flash of... discomfort

re," he commanded

she recognized as Everett' s personal assistant

B dr

, his voice low. "It's the original, unedited video of..

The word

lling whisper, "that I regret the day I saved hi

alked away witho

ke. They held each other, a silent pa

She helped Barbara into a wheelchair. She pushed her mother, not to the

starting to whir. Men in dark, unmarked uniforms helped

otte took out her phone. She deleted Everett' s number. She sna

was

Chapter End

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Auctioned Daughter, Shattered Wife

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“My husband, the tech billionaire I adored, sent his men to take me to an undisclosed location. When we arrived, I found our sixteen-year-old daughter, Julianne, on a stage, being auctioned off like a piece of art to a crowd of sick elites. My husband, Everett, used this to blackmail me into resigning from my career. But after Julianne's subsequent suicide attempt, he let his mistress-an unqualified researcher-perform the surgery, leaving our daughter in a permanent vegetative state. He publicly humiliated me, claiming our marriage was a lie and that I was a stalker. He forced me to kneel and beg for my daughter's life, only to let his mistress shatter my surgeon's hand with a trophy. After they pulled the plug on Julianne, they tricked my mother and me into drinking her ashes. They left my mother for dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs. As I knelt over her broken body, my grief finally turned into a cold, hard resolve. When Everett texted, demanding my presence at his celebration party, I replied with two words. "I'll be there."”