The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife My Sweet Revenge

After returning home from a business trip, I found a pregnancy test in the trash.

Once, even a trace of perfume on Ian Delgado's collar would have sent me spiralinginterrogating him, tracking his movements, demanding answers.

But this time, I simply called the housekeeper to change the sheets and reminded Ian of his promise.

"You said only my child would ever be your heir."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His arm tightened around my waist.

"Then let's make one now."

Hunger flickered in his eyesbut his phone buzzed, and just like that, the moment shattered. His mistress. Always her.

I watched him grab his keys and rush out the door.

Good. Relief loosened the knot in my chest. He hadn't noticed the red, swollen mark on my collarbonethe one that wasn't his.

Half an hour later, my phone lit up with a photo: an abortion consent form, signed and stamped.

Good baby, her child is gone. You owe me one now.

The screen glowed harsh in the darkness, but it was the chat background that twisted the knife.

A family portrait. The three of us.

Me. Ian. And our daughter, barely one year old, her cheeks round and flushed with life.

I don't know how long I lay there. Long enough for the tears to dry and leave salt trails on my skin.

The bedroom door creaked open. The mattress dipped as Ian slid in behind me, his chest warm against my back.

"Good baby," he murmured against my hair. "Let's make a child."

Before I could speak, his hands were already working at my nightgown, peeling it away with practiced ease. His lips traced down my spine. He reached for the lamp.

I caught his wrist. "Don't. Leave it off. This is... nice."

Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting everything silverincluding the lipstick smear on his collar. A shade I'd never worn.

Acid surged up my throat. I lurched to the edge of the bed, retching. And in the silence between heaves, I heard ita baby's wail, thin and desperate, echoing from somewhere I couldn't reach.

When our daughter turned one, Ian had been in a hurry. His mistress wanted to go shopping. So he'd fed the baby too fast, laid her down before she'd finished burping, and left.

While he tangled with his lover in some hotel room, my baby choked on her own milk.

By the time anyone found her, that pink, perfect face had turned blue.

A glass of water appeared at my side. Ian rubbed slow circles on my back, his voice dripping with patience.

"Grace. You're thinking about that again, aren't you?"

That. I almost laughed. To him, our daughter's death was just a thatan inconvenience, a hiccup in his schedule.

To me, it was a wound that refused to close.

He wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, but his tone hardened. "Don't let this become something we can never move past."

I nodded. Forced my legs to carry me to the bathroom. Rinsed the bile from my mouth.

When I came back, the room was empty.

My phone chimed.

Not Ian this time. His mistress.

He'd spoiled her rotten. She didn't even bother pretending to be subtle anymore.

You really think Ian would let me abort his baby?

He only faked the surgery form because he was scared you'd lose it and hurt me.

Once I give birth, he's kicking you out. No money. No nothing. Just your pathetic, dried-up self.

And thena photo.

She was naked, sprawled across silk sheets. Ian knelt beside her, pressing his lips to her still-flat stomach like it held something sacred.

I saved the image.

Then I dialed a number I'd memorized weeks ago.

"The medicine you gave me," I said. "You're certain it causes permanent sterility?"

A low chuckle crackled through the speaker. "Sterility? Sweetheart, I was worried that old dog might still come sniffing around you, so I doubled the dose. He won't just be sterilehe won't be able to perform at all."

My lips curved.

So Ian would be wearing two horns soon. His mistress's bastard child, and whatever grew inside me nowneither would carry his blood.

But none of that mattered yet. For now, we still had roles to play.

The devoted husband. The loving wife.

And I had always been an excellent actress.

I never expected him to actually bring his little mistress to the charity gala. It was a calculated move designed to humiliate me.

Harper Cooley swept into the hall in a custom haute couture fishtail gown, her arm affectionately looped through Ian Delgado's.

"Mrs. Delgado," Harper chirped, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Ian leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "Harper just lost the baby. I was afraid she'd spiral, so I brought her out for a change of scenery."

My grip on my wine glass tightened until my knuckles went white. I deliberately shifted my arm, exposing the jagged scars that marred my wrist.

"Then you really should take good care of her," I said, my voice brittle. "You wouldn't want her to go mad and make a scene like I did."

In the two years since my daughter died, I hadn't known a single night of peace.

The nightmares were always the same. She's crying, choking, gasping for air until her little heart gives out. I'm paralyzed, desperate, unable to move a single step closer to save her.

I can only watch, helpless, as she stops breathing.

Every time I woke from that terror, I reached for a blade. I slit my wrists not for attention, but because I wanted to die. I wanted to find my daughter, to apologize, to atone.

But Ian didn't let me die. He committed me to a psychiatric hospital instead. While I was locked away, he had his people erase every trace of my daughter's existenceas if she had never been born.

Around us, the whispers began. Countless mocking gazes bore into my back.

The wealthy socialites who once envied how Ian held me in the palm of his hand now sneered with open disdain.

"Mr. Delgado used to be willing to donate a kidney for her. Look at him nowflaunting a new love right in her face."

"How is she any different from the rest of us now? What's she pretending to be so aloof for?"

I bit down on the soft flesh inside my cheek until I tasted blood. My fingernails dug into my palm, and the fresh manicure snapped. A sharp pain shot through my hand, grounding me.

"With such a beauty by your side, I won't disturb you," I said coldly.

Harper covered her mouth and giggled, making no effort to conceal the provocation in her eyes. "Then thank you, Mrs. Delgado, for lending Ian to me tonight."

I retreated to a corner, my mind a chaotic mess.

Blood trickled from where my nail had broken skin, but I couldn't feel the pain. I was numb.

No medication in my clutch to calm my nerves. Frustrated, I unlocked my phone and sent a message to him.

Husband, I miss you

The chat box popped up instantly. A photo loadeda torso shot highlighting sculpted abs and a sharp V-line.

The restlessness in my chest began to settle. My fingers traced the cold screen.

This was the most important lesson Ian had taught me in our seven years of marriage: Vent your emotions through sex. Let the hormones drown out the intrusive thoughts. Play until you forget.

I never understood before why he was so obsessed with entangling himself with young girls.

Now I understood. And I'd developed a taste for it myself.

A blinding spotlight cut through the dim hall, stabbing into my eyes.

Warm applause erupted around me. Harper walked over, a triumphant smile plastered on her face as she grabbed my hand.

"Mrs. Delgado! You've been chosen as the lucky audience member! Come up on stageit's time for the interaction segment."

I looked up at Ian in a daze. He simply nodded.

The host gripped the microphone, feigning excitement. "Congratulations to this lady for winning tonight's exclusive interaction opportunity!"

He shook the raffle box and gestured for me to reach inside. My fingers brushed against a single slip of paper.

I pulled it out. When the words came into focus, my chest constricted with a violent spasm.

The host snatched the paper from my trembling hand, his eyes gleaming with ridicule.

"Congratulations! The prize you drew is... a pole dance performance for our guests!"

Silence fell over the room. Everyone looked in unison toward Ian.

Everyone in our circle knew that "pole dancing" was his absolute tabooa symbol of degradation he despised.

I met his gaze. A faint smirk played on his lips, though his eyes remained ice-cold. As I watched, he leaned down and pecked Harper on the lips.

The realization hit me like a blow. He wasn't just standing byhe had orchestrated this. He was punishing me for slapping Harper last week.

Harper leaned against his shoulder and clapped, her face a mask of innocence.

"You can do it, Mrs. Delgado! I've never seen a pole dance before."

Ian reached up and covered her eyes, his voice dripping with that sickly doting tone. "Don't look, sweetheart. That kind of wanton dance will only dirty your eyes."

I slowly bent down and took off my high heels. I straightened my back, a hollow smile forming on my lips.

"Sure."

Most of the rich wives here hated me.

They hated that the limited-edition luxury goods they waited months for were always delivered to my hands first. Now, they would get the show they'd been waiting for.

While others in our circle suffered through loveless unions, Ian Delgado and I were paraded as the golden couple. But tonight, the facade crumbled. The crowd waited with bated breath, phones raised, eager to capture my humiliation.

I arched my back against the steel pole, a reckless smile playing on my lips. The bass pounded through the floor, but my focus stayed locked on Ian. Through smoke and flashing lights, his expression was thunderous.

His misery was the only thing that brought me joy.

With a sharp tear, I ripped the hem of my skirt. Fabric gave way, exposing the long line of my legs. The room shifted. Men leaned forward, gazes predatory.

Ian snapped.

He stormed the stage, tore off his jacket, and wrapped it around my waist. He turned to the crowd, eyes sweeping the room like shards of ice.

"Unless you want to lose your eyes," he snarled, "look away. Now."

I leaned against him, chest heaving, and tilted my head to catch his eye. "Isn't this what you wanted? To see me humbled?"

Years ago, when the Delgado empire crumbled, the family shattered. Owen Delgado surrendered to despair. Everyone else fled like rats from a sinking ship.

Only I stayed.

I remembered the night Ian stood on the rooftop edge, staring into the abyss. Wind whipped at his clothes.

I screamed until my throat was raw, finally voicing the love I'd buried for years.

"Ian! Even if the whole world rejects you, I want you!" I sobbed. "Please, just come down."

But love didn't pay debts. My tutoring income was a drop against the ocean they owed. So I made a choice. I hid the truth and returned to the nightlife.

Pole dancing paid well. Twenty thousand a night.

That money kept the loan sharks away. It moved us out of the moldy basement. It was the capital Ian used to rebuild his empire.

I was careful. Scrubbed my skin raw every night to wash away smoke and cheap perfume before crawling into bed. But secrets rarely stay buried.

He caught me during a client meeting. Our eyes met across the crowded roommine filled with shame. I expected disgust. Instead, he knelt before me that night, kissing the bruises on my knees, swearing he'd spend his life making it up to me.

Promises are just pretty lies.

Back in the present, Ian's grip tightened until I thought my wrist might snap. He dragged me out of the hall, throwing me into the car.

"Grace!" he roared, veins bulging. "Why didn't you refuse? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

He leaned in, face inches from mine. "For years, people have whispered. They laugh that I married a nightclub girl. And now you drag those memories into the light?"

His hand clamped around my jaw, thumb grinding against my lip. "Or were you always this cheap?"

I stared at him, unblinking. He looked just as hysterical as the day I caught him cheating.

The nightmare didn't end at the banquet. Ian brought Harper home.

Right in front of me, he undressed her, pressing gentle kisses to her lipsintimacy he hadn't shown me in years. Harper pulled back, shooting me a triumphant smirk. She reached toward the bedside table.

There, on velvet, rested a delicate porcelain doll. It wasn't just an ornament. It had been fired from the ashes of our daughter.

Harper's fingers closed around it. With a casual flick, she shoved it off the edge.

Crash.

The sound shattered my world.

My heart seized. Air vanished. I dropped to the floor, scrambling toward the debris. Grey ash scattered across hardwood, mixing with jagged shards.

"Baby..." A guttural whimper escaped my throat.

I clawed at the mess, trying to gather the dust. Sharp ceramic sliced my palms, but I felt nothing except the screaming void in my chest.

Ian shoved Harper aside, panic breaking through. He grabbed my wrist, eyes wide. "Grace! Stop!"

I looked down, dazed. In my frenzy, I'd sliced my wrist on a large shard. Blood poured out, pattering onto the floor, turning grey ash into dark crimson.

The room spun. Darkness crept in, and I slumped into a familiar embrace.

When I opened my eyes, antiseptic filled my nose. Ian clutched my hand like a lifeline.

"Grace," he whispered, voice thick. He sounded relieved. Happy, even.

"We have another chance." He pressed my hand to his forehead. "You're pregnant. It has to be a girl. She came back to find us."

Bile rose in my throat. I shifted away, dodging Ian's hand before it could graze my skin.

How dare he speak my daughter's name?

A soft, pitiful sob broke the tension. Harper stood in the doorway, barefoot, her eyes rimmed with calculated redness. She didn't speakjust turned and fled down the hallway.

Ian didn't hesitate. He chased after her without a backward glance.

I cradled my swollen belly, letting a single tear trace my cheek. This baby is mine, I vowed silently. Yours alone. Nothing to do with Ian.

Once the pregnancy was confirmed, Ian played the doting husband to perfection. A cruel mimicry of the days when we were truly in love.

He showered me with limited-edition porcelain ornaments, oblivious to the ironythe porcelain doll I tended to day and night was the only vessel left for my daughter's soul.

My morning sickness was severe. Ian turned down projects worth over a hundred million to stay home and cook for me. Slowly, my flat stomach began to round with life.

He would stare at my belly, grinning like a fool. "Finally. I'm going to be a father."

If he hadn't caused my darling's death, if Harper's perfume didn't cling to his shirts, I might have been stupid enough to believe he still possessed a shred of sincerity.

As my due date neared, Ian brought a heavily pregnant Harper into our home. He settled her in the room right next to mine.

He frowned, feigning conflict. "Grace, the child she carries is also mine. I can't abandon my own flesh and blood."

He pushed a document toward me. "Don't worry. The lawyers drafted thisonly your child will be my heir."

I watched him sign, a hollow performance of loyalty. I didn't fight it.

"It's okay. I understand," I said flatly. "Let her stay. As long as she doesn't disturb me."

But peace was never part of Harper's plan.

That night, moments after finishing the soup I'd prepared, she doubled over in agony. Blood soaked through her white dress, stark against the fabric.

"If Sister Grace hates me for stealing Ian's love, let her kill me," Harper choked out, tears streaming. "I have no complaints... but the baby is innocent..."

I stood frozen by the performance. Before I could speak, Ian shoved me aside with brutal force.

"If anything happens to Harper's baby," he snarled, scooping her into his arms, "that bastard in your belly dies with it!"

My lower back collided with the table's sharp corner.

Agony exploded in my abdomen. Warmth gushed between my legs as amniotic fluid pattered onto the floor.

"Ian!" I screamed, but he didn't turn.

Another contraction seized me. My hands trembled as I dialed emergency services.

"Help me..." I gasped. "I'm in labor."

At the hospital, chaos reigned. Every available obstetrician was diverted to Harper's ward.

I lay alone on the icy operating table. It felt like a bulldozer grinding my bones to dust with every contraction.

Only after Harper's son was delivered did the staff remember the dying woman next door. My labor was difficult; the fetus was in distress. Countless needles pierced my skin to keep me alive.

Just before darkness took me, I glimpsed through the glassIan holding Harper's child, tears of joy streaming down his face.

The baby's one-month celebration was a joint affair.

Ian invited only his inner circlemen who clapped him on the back for securing both a son and a daughter, praising the "harmony" between his wife and his mistress.

Harper cradled her son, unable to mask her triumph as she approached me.

"Grace," she whispered, dripping venom. "What does that little bastard of yours have to compete with my son? Kneel and beg, and I might consider being a merciful stepmother."

I ignored her. Smiling, I adjusted my daughter's blanket and walked to Ian's side.

The room quieted for toasts. Amid applause and blessings, I pressed the remote in my hand.

The giant screen flared to life.

Harper's face drained of color.