The Billionaire's Abandoned Wife Her Revenge Rebirth

Thanks to my IQ of 140, Richard Gilbert hand-picked me himself. He had me sign a contract with one purpose: marry his son, produce an heir. So I became Ethan Gilbert's wife in name.

Seven years of marriage. My belly never showed a thing.

Ethan, on the other hand? In those same seven years, he got eighteen different women pregnant.

Every single day, I watched the nanny carry in abortion notices—stacks of them, thick as snowflakes.

I couldn't take it anymore. I went to find Ethan myself.

"Let's get a divorce."

He looked at me, utterly bored. "What game are you playing now?"

I met his calm, indifferent gaze. This time, I didn't cry. Didn't scream. I just shook my head.

"No game."

After seven years of trying to earn that bride price Richard paid for me, I'd already crushed my own pride into dust.

I once clung to Ethan's leg, sobbing, begging him to stop sleeping around. Begging him to care about me—even just a little.

Every single time, he looked down at me from above and said three words:

"Are you worthy?"

Then walked out the door.

So really—shouldn't I just admit defeat already?

——

When yet another pregnant woman showed up at our doorstep, something in me just... gave out.

Not anger. Not sadness. Just bone-deep exhaustion.

Seven years of the same scene on repeat. When pain hits its limit, all that's left is numbness.

Ethan arrived fast. He didn't look at the woman standing off to the side—didn't let her linger. Just told his assistant to see her out. Never spared her a second glance.

He walked straight to me, took a velvet box from his assistant, and held it out. His voice was almost soft.

"Alex. Don't be upset."

"Look—so many women can carry my child, but you're still the young madam of the Gilbert family. No one can take that from you."

His words were like needles, pricking into my chest one by one.

I glanced at the velvet box. Didn't need to open it. Another gemstone worth a fortune.

His signature move. Every time he knocked someone up, he bought my silence with compensation.

The jokes about me had spread through every circle we ran in. Shrewd, they called me. The real winner in this marriage.

All those mistresses scheming to get pregnant, ending up with nothing—while I just sat back and reaped the benefits.

But they didn't know I was done. Completely done.

I said it quietly:

"Ethan. Let's get a divorce."

The word divorce made him pause. Then he laughed, low and mocking.

"Divorce? Alex Simmons, what tantrum is this? You're the one who took a million-dollar contract and sold yourself to the Gilbert family. And now you want out? Could you really walk away from all this?"

His fingertips traced down my cheek.

"High IQ. Pretty face. You were always the perfect match for me. So why not just behave and stay Mrs. Gilbert?"

His words dragged me back seven years.

Grandma had collapsed. The medical bills were astronomical. I'd just graduated—I had nothing.

Right when I was about to break, I scrolled past a video. Richard Gilbert, publicly advertising for a daughter-in-law.

The posting spelled out every requirement: IQ, appearance. Promised generous compensation.

I had no other options. So I went to him.

Maybe I checked all the boxes. The moment Richard saw me, his face lit up. Without a word, he handed over one million dollars and solved my crisis on the spot.