Betrayed Wife, Unstoppable Rise

My adopted daughter, Lily, was my whole world.

We were playing hide-and-seek in our penthouse when I heard a shriek, cut short, followed by a sickening thud.

I raced to the balcony, only to find my husband' s stepsister, Haylee Walls, standing there, and the railing empty.

On the pavement five floors below, Lily lay still in a pink dress, surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of red.

My husband, Brighton Castro, rushed out, pulling me into an embrace that felt like a cage. Then, a sharp prick in my neck, and darkness.

When I woke, my eyes were sewn shut.

I was in a cold, damp, derelict building.

Brighton' s mocking chuckle echoed, followed by Haylee' s soft voice. "She can't hurt you anymore," Brighton said. He accused me of insulting Haylee, of throwing her childhood blindness in her face.

"So now," he continued, his voice devoid of warmth, "you can experience it for yourself. Feel what it's like to be blind." His friends laughed as I stumbled, blood trickling from my eyelids.

I didn't understand. My daughter was dead, and my husband, the man who promised to protect us, had done this to me. Why? What kind of monster was he?

But their mockery fueled something else. I stood straight, my hand finding the diamond earring I wore. I pressed it.

"I need a new husband," I said, my voice steady and clear. "Send a helicopter for me in an hour."

Chapter 1

The game of hide-and-seek was Lily' s favorite. Her giggles echoed through the spacious penthouse as she hid behind a large potted plant.

"Ready or not, here I come!" I called out, my heart full. At five years old, my adopted daughter was my entire world.

I found her peeking out from behind a fern, and we both laughed. "Okay, Mommy's turn to hide!"

I closed my eyes and counted. When I reached fifty, I heard a sound that wasn't part of the game. A shriek, cut short. Then a sickening thud from far below.

My blood ran cold. I raced to the fifth-floor balcony. My husband' s stepsister, Haylee Walls, stood there, her hands covering her mouth in mock horror.

The balcony railing was empty.

"Lily?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

I looked down. On the pavement five floors below, a small, still form in a pink dress lay surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of red.

"No," I breathed. The world tilted. "NO!"

I turned on Haylee, my vision blurring with tears and rage. "What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?"

She recoiled, tears instantly streaming down her face. "Joslyn, I... I didn't see her! It was dark, I thought it was a stray dog climbing the railing! I just... I just nudged it off!"

A stray dog? My daughter? The lie was so absurd, so insulting, it stole my breath.

My husband, Brighton Castro, rushed onto the balcony. He saw the scene below, then looked at me and his weeping stepsister.

"Joslyn, calm down," he said, pulling me into an embrace that felt like a cage. He stroked my hair. "I' m here. We' ll get through this. I swear, whoever is responsible will pay."

His voice was a soothing balm on a gaping wound, and for a split second, I leaned into him, desperate for comfort. It was then that I felt a sharp prick in my neck.

My muscles went slack. My vision swam. The last thing I saw was Brighton' s face, not filled with grief, but with cold, hard resolve.

When I woke, the world was gone. There was only darkness, and a searing, agonizing pain in my eyelids. I tried to open them, but they wouldn't move. I reached up a shaky hand and felt the rough, deliberate stitches.

They had sewn my eyes shut.

Panic clawed at my throat. I was in a cold, damp space. The smell of mold and decay filled my lungs. I was abandoned.

"Brighton?" I called out, my voice a raw croak.

I heard his familiar, mocking chuckle from across the room. Then, Haylee' s soft voice. "Brighton, is she awake? I'm scared."

"Don't be, Haylee," Brighton's voice was close to her, intimate. "She can't hurt you anymore."

I heard the rustle of clothing, the sound of an embrace. My stomach twisted.

"Why?" I choked out. "Brighton, why?"

His voice was like ice. "Haylee told me what you said to her. How you insulted her. You know she suffered from temporary blindness as a child. You know how kids bullied her for it. You shouldn't have thrown that in her face."

He was defending her. He was justifying this.

"So now," he continued, his voice devoid of any warmth, "you can experience it for yourself. Feel what it's like to be blind. This is a derelict building on the edge of town. If you can find your way out, you're free to go."

I stumbled to my feet, my bare legs scraping against rubble. The threads in my eyelids pulled, and I felt warm blood trickle down my cheeks.

Laughter erupted from the shadows around me. Brighton's friends. The wealthy, cruel sycophants who orbited him.

"Look at her, crawling like an animal," one of them sneered.

But their mockery fueled something other than despair. A cold, hard calm settled over me. I stopped stumbling. I stood straight, turning my head towards the sound of Brighton's voice.

Ignoring the debris, I began to climb a collapsed section of the wall, my hands finding holds in the broken concrete, my feet seeking purchase on the rebar.

I was going up. Towards the roof.

My fingers brushed against the single diamond earring I wore. It felt cool against my skin.

I pressed it.

"I need a new husband," I said, my voice steady and clear, ringing through the derelict space. "Send a helicopter for me in an hour."

The laughter stopped. There was only stunned silence.