The Billionaire Heiress's Radical Comeback

My husband, Derek, once called me his princess. But when my parents died and I miscarried our child, he told me to be "radically independent" and handle my grief alone.

After I tried to end my own life, I woke up in the hospital to see him holding his crying assistant, Krystal.

He whispered to her, "You never have to be strong with me."

He told the doctors I was just seeking attention and hung up. Krystal later visited, blaming me for the miscarriage before destroying my mother's heirlooms. Derek believed her lies, throwing me out of our home and leaving me with nothing.

He thought I was a weak, dependent woman he could easily discard. He thought his tech empire was his own creation.

He never knew his "self-made" success was a gift, secretly funded by my billionaire family. Now, he's about to learn what happens when a princess decides to become a queen.

Chapter 1

Aspen Donaldson POV:

I watched Derek, my husband of three years, walk away from the wreckage of my car, the twisted metal still hissing from the impact. Three years ago, he' d called me his princess, promised to shield me from every storm. Now, he was walking into a phone call, muttering about his "radical independence" philosophy and how I needed to handle this myself. My left arm pulsed with pain, but the ache in my chest was worse.

"Aspen, you're a capable woman," he'd said earlier that morning, holding his coffee mug, not my hand. "A fender bender is hardly a catastrophe. Call the insurance. Handle it."

He didn't even look at me.

Later that week, the phone rang. My dad. A sudden heart attack. Gone. Just like that. I collapsed, the receiver clattering to the floor. Derek, ever the pragmatist, booked me a flight. "It's the fastest way there, Aspen," he said, handing me the itinerary. No offer to come with me. No hug. Just a piece of paper, a cold, printed ticket to my grief.

"He was your father-in-law," I whispered, tears blurring my vision.

Derek just shrugged, his eyes already back on his laptop screen. "And you are radically independent, my love. You don't need me to hold your hand through every life event."

I went alone. I buried my father alone. The world felt like it was ending, but Derek wasn't there. When I came back, hollowed out and barely functioning, he noticed nothing. He was busy building his tech empire, or at least that's what he said.

My mother, she couldn' t bear it. She followed my father three months later, dying of what the doctors called grief, but I knew was a broken heart. This time, Derek didn't even book a flight. "Aspen, this is becoming melodramatic," he told me flatly. "You're seeking attention. People die. It's a fact of life. You need to be strong."

Strong. The word was a hammer blow. He used it to dismiss every tear, every tremor in my voice. My therapist, a kind woman named Dr. Evans, diagnosed me with severe depression. Derek scoffed. "Depression is a luxury for those with nothing better to do. You have a beautiful home, a successful husband. What precisely are you depressed about?"

He made it sound like a personal insult, a flaw in his perfect life.

I was drowning. My parents were gone. My husband was a ghost. The world was cold and dark, and I was losing myself in it. I found out I was pregnant. A small flicker of hope. Maybe this. Maybe a baby would bring us back. Bring him back. He was thrilled, for a moment. He posted it on social media, tagged me, then went back to his meetings.

The miscarriage was silent, brutal. Just a dull ache that turned into a waterfall of blood. I was in the bathroom, alone, clutching my stomach, watching the last shred of my hope drain away. I called Derek. No answer. I called again. His assistant, Krystal, picked up. "Mr. Webb is in a very important board meeting, Mrs. Donaldson. Can I take a message?"

"I'm losing the baby," I choked out.

There was a pause. "Oh. I'll let him know when he's free." Her voice was flat, devoid of sympathy.

I hung up. There was no one. Just me and the blood. The quiet house. The empty nursery I' d started to plan in my head. The weight of everything crushed me. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted the pain to stop. The pills were easy to find. I swallowed them, one after another, until the world started to blur.

I woke up to the screech of sirens. Blurry faces, frantic voices. A sterile white room. The insistent beeping of machines. I was in an ER. They had saved me. They had saved me, but for what?

Then I saw him. Derek. But he wasn't looking at me. He was across the room, his strong arm around Krystal Berg, his assistant. Her face was tear-streaked, her breathing ragged. She was hyperventilating, a minor panic attack from a stressful meeting, I overheard a nurse whisper. Derek was stroking her hair, pulling her close. His voice, usually so clipped and demanding, was soft, tender.

"It's okay, Krystal," he murmured, his gaze full of an affection I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "You never have to be strong with me."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. You never have to be strong with me. My vision swam. All this time, his 'radical independence' for me wasn't a philosophy. It wasn't about principle. It was about her. It was about his profound lack of love for me. It was about a love he willingly offered to someone else, while demanding I be unbreakable.

A bitter, ironic laugh bubbled in my throat. He wanted me to be strong, because he wouldn't be strong for me. But for Krystal, for her minor breakdown, he was her rock. What a joke my life had become. What a cruel, twisted joke.

I felt a strange clarity then, a cold, sharp understanding. He would regret this. He would regret everything. But would he? Would he regret losing the "princess" he destroyed, when she finally decided to stop being a princess and become a queen? Would he even notice?

"Ms. Donaldson?" a nurse's voice cut through the fog. "Can you hear me?"

My eyelids felt heavy. The world was tilting.

"Her vitals are dropping again!" a different voice, agitated, yelled. "Where's her husband? We need to reach her husband!"

I heard the frantic attempts. The phone ringing. Ringing. And ringing. No answer.

"Keep trying his office line! His personal cell! This is critical!"

Finally, a tired-sounding doctor, Dr. Chen, took the phone. "Mr. Webb, this is Dr. Chen from St. Jude's. Your wife, Aspen Donaldson, was brought in several hours ago. She's in critical condition. We believe it was an attempted suicide. We also... she suffered a miscarriage."

A long pause on the other end. I strained to hear, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"A suicide attempt?" Derek's voice, distant and annoyed, crackled through the phone held near my ear by the nurse. "Honestly, Dr. Chen, Aspen is far too dramatic for her own good. Always seeking attention. And a miscarriage? She was barely showing. Are you sure?"

Beside him, I heard Krystal's faint, overly sweet voice. "Oh, Derek, honey, don't be so hard on her. She just needs you, you know? She's not as independent as I am."

Derek chuckled, a dry, dismissive sound. "Exactly, Krystal. Some people just thrive on being coddled. Aspen needs to learn to stand on her own two feet. This is precisely why I've been encouraging her 'radical independence.' Clearly, it's not sinking in."

Dr. Chen's face tightened, a flicker of outrage in her eyes. She pulled the phone away slightly, her voice barely a whisper to me. "I am absolutely sure, Mr. Webb. She lost the baby. And her life is still very much in danger."

"Look, Doctor, I'm in a very important meeting right now," Derek snapped. "I can't just drop everything for another one of Aspen's melodramatic episodes. Just tell her to be independent. Deal with it. She's a grown woman."

"Mr. Webb," the nurse interjected, her voice sharp with disbelief. "She tried to kill herself. She's lost her child. This isn't a 'melodramatic episode.' This is a cry for help!"

"A cry for attention, darling," Derek corrected, his voice dripping with condescension. "That's what it is. And I'm not playing into it. Tell her... tell her if she truly wants to be independent, she needs to prove it. She needs to survive without me. If she can't even manage that, then she's not worthy of being my wife. Tell her to show some strength. And frankly, if she's so desperate to leave this world, maybe she should just get on with it. Stop wasting everyone's time."

The line clicked. He hung up. Just like that.

Dr. Chen stared at the phone, then at me, her expression a mix of horror and pity. "Aspen, I'm so sorry."

His cruel words echoed in my head, carving themselves into my bones. Stop wasting everyone's time. Get on with it. The room started to spin faster. The beeping of the machines became a frantic, fading rhythm. My breath hitched. It was just as he wanted. I was wasting time.

"She's crashing!" someone yelled. A wave of darkness washed over me. I felt myself slipping, pulled under a dark current. But then, somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark ignited. A defiant spark. I will not give him the satisfaction. I will not die for him. I will not let him win.

I clutched at something, anything, willing myself to fight. My eyes squeezed shut.

"She's gone," a voice whispered.

But I wasn't. Not yet. I would live. I would live to make him regret every single word. I would live to show him what true independence looked like. And it wouldn't be without him, it would be despite him.

I felt a jolt, an electric shock. My body arched. I heard muffled shouts. But I was already gone, swallowed by the darkness, a new resolve hardening in my silent heart.