The Billionaire's Revenge Bride

Four weeks earlier, I had nearly been killed at the lavish party my husband hosted to celebrate my pregnancy.

I had been standing at the top of the sweeping staircase, barely two months along, waiting for George to share our happy news with everyone gathered below.

Then the chandelier came crashing down.

I never even managed to scream.

One second I was smiling, and the next I was crushed beneath glass and twisted metal before everything faded into black.

When awareness slowly returned, my body refused to respond. It felt unbearably heavy, as though I had been buried beneath tons of sand. My eyelids wouldn't open, my limbs wouldn't move.

But I could hear.

"Why is she still stable?"

George.

My heart gave the faintest flutter. He was here. He hadn't left me.

"I wasn't paying you to keep her alive," he said through clenched teeth, every word coated in frost. "I paid you to make sure she never opened her eyes again."

Every part of me went rigid.

The only thing breaking the silence was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

"M-Mr. Caldwell," the doctor stuttered nervously. "The fact that she survived is extraordinary. The swelling—"

"It's a complete disaster," George cut in sharply. "Do you have any idea what this ruins? The board is waiting for me, the insurance claim is still processing, and Donna is sitting downstairs in the car."

Donna.

My stepsister.

My closest friend.

The same woman who had hugged me and cried with happiness after I told her I was expecting.

"She signed up to become a widow," George continued with obvious annoyance, "not the wife of a woman lying here like a vegetable. Fix it. Sedate her again. Give her too much medication. I don't care how you do it."

"The dosage..." the doctor said uneasily. "It could be fatal."

"I. Said. I. Don't. Care."

Everything inside me cracked apart.

The man I had loved wasn't simply wishing for my death.

He was making sure it happened.

"What about... the other issue?" George asked, sounding almost bored.

"The pregnancy?" the doctor replied with a tired sigh.

No...

Please.

Not my baby.

I begged silently as panic clawed at my chest.

"It couldn't be saved," the doctor answered without emotion. "The impact caused devastating injuries. We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. The baby is gone, Mr. Caldwell... and she'll never be able to have children again."

Gone.

My child was gone.

And so was every chance I'd ever have to become a mother again.

The pain was far more crushing than the falling chandelier had ever been. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out, to rip apart everything around me.

Instead, I lay trapped inside my own body.

"Excellent."

George laughed.

The sound was cruel enough to freeze my blood.

"I never wanted that kid in the first place," he said with a chuckle. "The pregnancy was only useful because it convinced my grandfather to loosen up the trust fund. Now that the baby's dead and she's infertile, she's worthless."

I heard the faint click of his watch as he checked the time.

"Finish it, Doctor. Make it look like heart failure. Donna and I have dinner reservations, and I'm not missing them."

"I... I just need ten minutes to prepare the injection," the doctor whispered.

Footsteps echoed across the room.

Then the door closed.

Now it was just me...

...and my husband.

He approached the bed.

A gentle brush of fingers swept a loose strand of hair away from my forehead.

"You've always made everything harder than it needed to be, Eliza," he murmured beside my ear, his warm breath making my skin crawl. "If you'd died when that chandelier hit you, none of this would've been necessary."

A low, satisfied laugh escaped him.

"But don't worry. Donna's already carrying my child. She'll make a far better Mrs. Caldwell than you ever did."

He gave my cheek a patronizing pat that stung more than it should have.

"Goodbye, Eliza."

Moments later, I heard him stroll away, casually whistling as he left the room.

Pure terror exploded through me.

Ten minutes.

That was all I had before the doctor returned with a syringe that would end my life.

I had to wake up.

I had to move.

Come on...

Move!

I poured every ounce of hatred, heartbreak, and determination into my right hand.

Move.

Please.

A tiny twitch.

My index finger shifted.

Barely.

Then my eyelids trembled.

Bright fluorescent light stabbed into my eyes, forcing them open with blinding pain.

Air scraped painfully through my throat as I gasped, the sound dry and broken.

The door swung open.

The doctor stepped inside with a syringe already prepared.

The instant he saw my open eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Mrs. Caldwell?" he breathed, all the color draining from his face.

Speaking felt impossible.

My throat burned.

Still, I forced the words out.

"P-please..."

I swallowed painfully.

"Don't... kill me."

He instinctively stepped backward, the syringe shaking in his grip.

"I... I was given orders," he said hoarsely. "George will destroy me if I don't."

"I'll pay you," I whispered, tears spilling from my eyes. "Twice what he offered. Three times. Whatever you want... just let me live."

His gaze darted nervously toward the door before returning to me.

"George wants you dead, Eliza. If he learns you're awake—"

"He won't," I interrupted desperately. "Tell him I'm still unconscious. Tell him I'm brain-dead. Say anything... just don't do this. Please."

The doctor wiped the sweat forming across his brow and shook his head.

"I can't. George practically owns this hospital. He owns everyone in it. If you survive... I won't."

Slowly, he lifted the syringe.

His eyes were filled with guilt.

His hand wasn't.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Caldwell," he whispered. "You won't feel a thing."

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the needle.

Crash!

The door burst open so violently it slammed into the wall.

"Get away from her."

The calm authority in that voice was somehow even more frightening than shouting.

The doctor flinched.

The syringe slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor.

I forced my eyes open.

A tall man stood in the doorway, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, his commanding presence overwhelming the entire room.

Nico Thorne.

George's greatest rival.

The billionaire whose proposal I had turned down three years ago because I had chosen George instead.

The man whose heart I had broken...

...for the monster who had just signed my death warrant.

"M-Mr. Thorne?" the doctor stammered as he stumbled backward. "What are you doing here? This area is restricted—"

"Leave."

Nico's voice remained frighteningly calm.

"Unless you'd rather I introduce you to one of those broken glass shards."

The doctor didn't argue.

He rushed past Nico and disappeared down the hallway.

Nico shut the door behind him and turned the lock.

His gaze swept over the IV lines attached to me, the bruises covering my body, and the emptiness in my eyes where hope had once lived.

"So this is what he's done to you," he murmured quietly. "I warned you George was poisonous, Eliza. You chose not to believe me."

Humiliation burned hotter than my injuries.

I turned my face away.

"Are you here..." I whispered weakly, "...to tell me you were right?"

"No."

His fingers gently brushed away a tear rolling down my cheek.

Unlike everything else around me, his touch carried warmth.

"I came because I have an offer."

I looked at him in confusion.

"An offer?"

"George believes you'll be dead before morning," Nico said. "He's probably planning your funeral while celebrating with your sister."

Fresh anger ignited inside me, so fierce it stole my breath.

"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly.

A slow, dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"You turned me down once, Eliza."

He extended his hand toward me.

"I'm not giving you the chance to do it twice."

His eyes locked onto mine.

"Marry me. Become my wife... and I'll hand you everything you need to bring George crashing to the ground."