Betrayed by Scumbag Husband, l Returned for Revenge

“Allison, are you really sure you want a divorce? To marry that cripple? Back then, you had two marriage offers—one from Joaquin Davies, the rising star in finance, and the other from Bradley Jensen, a violent, disabled wreck. Marrying Joaquin was the most logical and beneficial choice for you. Are you really going to throw that away now?” my best friend asked.

My pen paused mid-signature as I stared at the divorce papers in front of me. My hand trembled slightly. I let out a bitter smile.

Three years ago, I married Joaquin to pay off my family’s debt. But I quickly learned he had an obsessive cleanliness disorder. He refused to share a bed with me for three whole years—until the night his first love got married. That night, he touched me for the first and only time, venting all his frustration and aggression on me. After that, he never laid a finger on me again.

A week ago, I found out I was pregnant.

The very same day, I was hit by a cargo truck. Both my legs were crushed under its massive wheels.

While I lay on the brink of death in the operating room, hemorrhaging profusely, I called Joaquin ninety eight times.

But he didn’t answer even once.

All I got was a single voice message.

“I’m on a business trip. I’ll be back soon.”

When he did return and saw me just barely recovering, there wasn’t a single word of concern. No questions, no care. Only orders. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a live-in maid.

That night, as I washed his tailored suit in ice-cold water, I found two flight tickets to Las Vegas tucked in the pocket—along with a family photo.

In the picture, my stepsister Cassidy was in Joaquin’s arms, smiling radiantly. They were each holding one of the twin boys, about seven years old.

Then I received a video, sent via an anonymous email. The voice in it was unmistakable—Joaquin’s.

“Brother-in-law, do you think this will hurt my sister?”

“Your sister made mistakes first. I’ll find a way to make it up to her,” Joaquin replied indifferently,

“What about me? And the kids?”

“Don’t worry. The only heirs to my fortune will be my children with you.”

So this whole time, the people I trusted and loved most had been plotting behind my back...

I wiped away my tears and tossed his expensive suit into the dog’s bed.

Taking a deep breath, I made a call.

“Send the helicopter to pick me up in a week.”

I won’t allow anyone to trample me again.

I’ll make sure Joaquin learns who those twins really belong to.

—

I looked down at the divorce agreement again, the paper trembling slightly in my hands. Thinking back on the past three years, it all felt like a cruel joke.

To outsiders, I was Joaquin’s elegant and supportive wife. In reality, I was forced to endure his twisted personality while playing the role of his “perfect assistant.” No one knew that the secretary always by Joaquin’s side was actually his wife of three years.

One week ago, the doctor told me I was pregnant.

The moment I heard those words, tears streamed down my face.

To discover I was carrying a child on our wedding anniversary—it should have been the most beautiful gift.

I rushed out of the hospital and texted Joaquin. Before I could hit send, a truck slammed into me. I collapsed to the ground, and four massive wheels slowly crushed my legs.

The pain was unbearable. I blacked out immediately. When I woke up, I was in surgery. The doctor told me my legs had sustained complex fractures and needed immediate operation.

I couldn’t even think about the baby. I kept calling Joaquin, over and over, until I finally gave up and signed the surgical consent myself.

After the surgery, the doctor quietly informed me: the baby didn’t make it.

I clenched my fists, refusing to cry. The pain in my legs was nothing compared to the one spreading from my chest.

I had waited three long years for this child... and just like that, it was gone.

One week later, I was discharged from the hospital.

The moment I stepped into the house, I received an anonymous email—with a video.

My husband... had been cheating.

I barely had time to finish the footage when Joaquin walked in.

He strode in with long, powerful steps, his handsome face was shadowed with irritation.

“Why are there so many clothes piled up? My suit is custom-made—it has to be hand-washed. Go clean it. I’ve got a client meeting tomorrow.”

Without even glancing at me, he shoved the suit into my arms.

I was still using crutches. Caught off balance, I collapsed onto the icy floor, pain shooting up from my abdomen.

I tilted my head back, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. The overwhelming scent of gardenia from his body made me nauseous.

There were still faint red marks on his neck. Through the open collar, I could see the scratches trailing across his toned back.

He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore, did he?

I said nothing. I silently took the suit and turned to leave. It didn’t matter. I would be gone in seven days.

But then something fell out of his pocket—two Las Vegas flight tickets, and that photo.

Joaquin, with my stepsister. Arms wrapped around each other, and a pair of twin boys between them.

So while I was crushed under the wheels of a truck, he was on a luxury trip with Cassidy.

While I was fighting for my life in surgery, they were popping champagne.

While I was mourning the child I lost... they were living like a perfect happy family.

My child died without ever being known. And the people who betrayed me flaunted their happiness in my face.

I gritted my teeth and stuffed the suit into the dog’s bed.

Upstairs, I found Joaquin just stepping out of the shower.

I turned my back to him, pretending to tidy up. He suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind, and whispered in my ear, “Arch your back. Stick out your ass.”

I struggled to escape his grip. He raised his brow and sighed.

“You’ve been working hard lately. From now on, let the maid handle the chores.”

“I brought you some perfume from my business trip. Want to try it?”

He casually pulled a bottle from his bag. The red marks on his back were even more obvious now, flushed from the hot water.

He shoved the perfume into my hand and pushed me onto the bed.

My injured leg hit the edge of the mattress. I cried out in pain, frowning as I tried to push him away.

He looked at me, puzzled.

“I... I’m not feeling well today,” I said, trying to steady my trembling voice.

He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he handed me a glass of milk.

For a moment, I almost believed he could play the role of a loving husband forever.

At 3 a.m., his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He got dressed quickly and left without a word.

Sometimes the quietest goodbyes were the real ones.

The next day, I reviewed every line of the divorce agreement and resignation letter one more time.

Suddenly, I heard Joaquin’s voice from behind me.

“Allison, what are you looking at?”