Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeance

I married Edwardo Steele out of a debt of honor, secretly loving the man who treated me like a contaminant. For three years, he weaponized his severe OCD against me, recoiling from my touch while I walked on eggshells in our cold, sterile mansion. My foolish hope for love died the night I saw him at a hotel fire, holding his mistress, Cassie, with a tenderness I had never known.

He didn't just cheat; he destroyed me. He framed my brother, leaving him permanently disabled, all to protect her. Then, at Cassie's birthday party, he played our private video for everyone to see, a final, public humiliation.

The man I sacrificed everything for had chosen a liar over me, and I was left with nothing but shame and a broken family.

But in the depths of my despair, I discovered two things.

First, I was pregnant with his child. Second, my brother had found a secret that could bring Edwardo's empire to its knees.

I made an appointment to end the pregnancy. Then, I planned to use that secret to end my marriage.

Chapter 1

The day I married Edwardo Steele, I wasn't just walking down the aisle towards a man I secretly loved, but towards a life sentence, sealed by my father's dying wish and a debt of honor. I signed away my future, hoping my heart would somehow find its way through the contract, only to have it ripped to shreds before the ink even dried on our marriage certificate.

My father, a brilliant but financially reckless man, had once saved the Steele empire. He developed a security algorithm that was revolutionary. Now, he was terminally ill. His medical bills were astronomical, and the Moreno family was sinking. Grafton McDonald, Edwardo' s grandfather, held the key to our survival. He proposed the marriage. A strategic alliance, he called it. A sacrifice, I knew it was. But deep down, a foolish part of me, the part that had harbored a secret crush on Edwardo since we were teenagers, dared to hope. He was always so distant, so focused, but even from afar, his brilliance, his sharp mind, captivated me. I thought, maybe, if I was close enough, he would finally see me. He would finally feel something.

The wedding night was a bitter prelude to the three years that followed. Our sprawling mansion, usually a beacon of cold, sterile perfection, felt colder that night. I stood at the threshold of his bedroom, a room I would rarely enter without an invitation, my heart hammering against my ribs. I wore a silk robe, the delicate fabric doing little to hide my trembling. He was already there, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me. His silhouette was sharp against the city lights.

"Don't come any closer," His voice was a low, precise command, slicing through the quiet.

I froze. My breath hitched.

He turned then. His eyes, usually a piercing blue, were flat, devoid of any warmth. "You are not to touch anything in this room without my explicit permission. Especially not me."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My cheeks burned. "Edwardo, it's our wedding night." I tried to inject some softness into my voice, some appeal.

He looked at me as if I were a particularly unpleasant scientific specimen. "This marriage is a transaction, Blair. Nothing more. We have an agreement. You uphold your end, and your family remains solvent. Do you understand?"

"I... I understand." The air was sucked out of the room. My foolish hope shriveled and died.

"Good." He walked to a glass cabinet, pulled out a small, sterilized bottle of hand sanitizer. He squeezed a generous amount onto his palm, rubbing his hands together with a meticulous, almost violent intensity. "My OCD is severe. My contamination phobia, even more so. You will respect it."

He didn't just respect it. He weaponized it.

For three years, I walked on eggshells in my own home. Every surface was a potential threat. Every touch, a violation. He set rules, strict and unyielding. The bedrooms were separate, of course. My bathroom was not to share a single towel, a single bar of soap, with his. Our meals were served by staff who wore gloves, and only after he had meticulously inspected his cutlery and plate. He never ate anything I had prepared, even if I swore it was untouched.

I tried, in the beginning. I truly did. I left small, thoughtful notes on his desk. They went unread, or, perhaps worse, were found crumpled in the waste bin. I cooked his favorite dishes, leaving them for the staff to serve, hoping the gesture might soften him. The dishes would often return untouched.

Once, I saw him struggling with a complex code, frustration etched on his face. He' d been up for days. I brought him a cup of coffee, just placed it gently on his desk, a safe distance away.

He looked up, his eyes narrowed. "Did you touch the rim of the cup?"

"No, I was careful."

He picked it up with a tissue, carried it to the sink, and poured it down the drain. "Don't bother me with trivialities."

The rejection was a cold, constant companion.

One night, desperate for any flicker of human connection, I wore a new, low-cut silk nightgown. I stood in the doorway of his study, where he worked late, as always. The soft light from the desk lamp illuminated me. My heart thumped.

He didn't look up from his screen for a full minute. When he did, his gaze swept over me, then quickly away, a flicker of something that looked like disgust. "What are you doing?"

"I just thought... maybe tonight..." My voice trailed off, embarrassingly hopeful.

He pushed his chair back, the screech of metal on wood jarring. He stood, his expression utterly repulsed. "Get out. Now. I can't work with... that." He gestured vaguely at me, as if I were an unsightly stain.

I stumbled back, tears stinging my eyes. He immediately went to the dispenser and aggressively sanitized his hands, rubbing them raw. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, choking me. That was the night I stopped trying. I retreated, a ghost in my own marriage, adhering to his rigid rules, my heart hardening with each passing day. My only comfort was the misguided belief that at least he was loyal. Cold, yes, but loyal.

My sister-in-law, a well-meaning but gossipy socialite, once mentioned over coffee, "Have you seen Edwardo with that Cassie Shields? The influencer? They're everywhere these days."

I laughed, a hollow, brittle sound. "Darling, Edwardo barely tolerates my presence. He'd never be caught dead with anyone. You know his... quirks."

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Well, he doesn't seem to have any quirks around her."

I dismissed it, telling myself it was just gossip. Edwardo was a public figure. People talked. He was too meticulous, too sterile for a casual affair. He couldn' t even stand my touch.

Then came the fire. It was a five-star hotel downtown, a massive blaze, sirens wailing through the night. Edwardo was supposed to be at a conference there. Panic clawed at my throat. For all his cruelty, he was still my husband. I rushed to the scene, pushing through the throngs of onlookers and emergency services. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic. My phone buzzed with news alerts, showing the hotel's upper floors engulfed in flames.

I saw him then, emerging from the chaos, soot smudged on his usually immaculate face, his expensive suit rumpled. Relief washed over me, so potent it made my knees weak. I started towards him, my name on my lips.

But he wasn't alone.

A woman was with him. Cassie Shields. The influencer. Her hair was disheveled, her face streaked with tears and dirt, but she was clinging to his arm. He didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to notice the grime. Instead, his hand was gently stroking her back, murmuring soothing words I couldn't quite hear over the din. His eyes, usually so cold, were filled with a tenderness, a protective warmth I had never, ever, seen directed at me.

He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My world tilted. My vision blurred, not from the smoke, but from the sudden, agonizing pain that exploded behind my eyes. He held her tight, his cheek pressed against her hair, his body completely relaxed against hers. No flinching. No disinfecting. No walls. The man who recoiled from my touch, who saw me as a contaminant, was holding another woman as if she were the most precious thing in his life.

I felt like an invisible specter, watching my own heart being ripped out. My husband. My Edwardo. He treated her with the affection I had craved for years. He saw her as worthy of his warmth. The true reason for his disdain, his phobia, his untouchable facade, slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just OCD. It was that he never loved me. He loved her.

Through the haze of smoke and my own agony, I saw him pull back slightly. He scanned the ground frantically. "Where is it? My lucky charm. The bracelet I gave you." His voice was laced with genuine concern, a stark contrast to the utter indifference he'd always shown to my feelings.

Cassie sniffled, pointing to a dark, smoky corner. "I think it fell off there."

"Stay here," he commanded, his tenderness unwavering. "I'll get it." He was about to rush back into the smoldering building for a piece of jewelry, for her jewelry. For me, he wouldn't even drink a coffee I'd touched.

"No, Edwardo, don't!" Cassie cried, pulling him back. "It's not worth it! Just promise me..." She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes wide and wet. "Promise me we'll be together. Always."

He covered her hands with his own, his gaze locked on hers, utterly devoted. "Always, Cassie. I promise."

The words echoed in the raw chamber of my chest. Always. He promised her always.

I turned away, the crowd's murmuring indistinguishable from the roaring in my ears. Three years. Three years of enduring his cruelty, his coldness, his contempt, all for a man who kept his tenderness for someone else. Three years of hoping against all odds, believing my love would eventually break through his walls. It wasn't his OCD that was the barrier. It was his heart, already given away.

Later that week, a different kind of nausea started to churn in my stomach. Not the emotional kind, but a persistent, physical queasiness. I took the test in secret, my hands shaking. Two lines.

Pregnant. With Edwardo's child.

The irony was a cruel joke. A child conceived in a loveless marriage, with a man who had sworn his "always" to another. The thought of bringing a child into this desolate mockery of a family, a child who would be repulsed by its own father, was unbearable. I couldn't. I wouldn't. The marriage was over. The child, too, would have to be.

I made the appointment, my decision cold and firm. I would get a divorce. I would end the pregnancy. I would reclaim my life, whatever was left of it. I wouldn't tell Edwardo. He didn't deserve to know. He wouldn' t even care.

I drove out of the city, intending to spend a few days clearing my head before returning to execute my plan. But I never made it to my destination. A black SUV swerved in front of my car, forcing me to stop. Two hulking men in dark suits yanked me out of the car, roughly shoving me into the back of their vehicle. My phone clattered to the ground, out of reach.

"Let me go!" I screamed, struggling against their iron grips.

"Ms. Moreno, a word from your husband." The driver's voice was flat, emotionless.

My heart plummeted. Edwardo. He knew. How?

The SUV sped off, leaving my car abandoned on the roadside. We drove for what felt like hours, deeper and deeper into unfamiliar territory, until we reached a secluded, dilapidated warehouse. The smell of dust and decay filled the air. They pushed me inside.

And there he was. Edwardo. Standing in the center of the vast, empty space, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury I had never witnessed before. Next to him, my step-brother, Ben, was slumped against a stack of crates, his face bruised and swollen, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Edwardo! What is this? What have you done to Ben?" I lunged forward, but the men held me back.

He merely looked at me, his gaze colder than any winter. "You know exactly what this is, Blair." He took a step closer, his voice a low growl. "Where is she? Where is Cassie?"

"Cassie? I don't know what you're talking about!" My mind raced, trying to connect the dots, but his accusations made no sense.

He scoffed, a humorless sound. "Don't play innocent. She disappeared right after the hotel fire. And you, my dear wife, were conveniently there, watching us." He pointed a finger at me, accusingly. "You orchestrated this, didn't you? You made her disappear."

My blood ran cold. He thought I was behind Cassie's disappearance? He thought I was capable of something so malicious? The absurdity of it was suffocating. My brother, beaten because of his lover. And he dared to accuse me.

"I swear, I have no idea where Cassie is!" I pleaded, struggling to break free. "I was there because I was worried about you! Ben, tell him!"

Ben lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine, a silent message of reassurance passing between us. He tried to speak, but a cough racked his body, bringing up more blood.

Edwardo ignored him, his eyes fixed on me. "I believe you're lying." He walked over to a table, picking up a small, metallic object. It looked like a remote control. "You have exactly sixty seconds to tell me where Cassie is, or I send your dear brother to a federal prison. I have enough evidence to frame him for corporate espionage, a crime he's utterly innocent of, but one that will guarantee him a life behind bars. And if you still refuse, I have something else for you to consider." He gestured to a small, red blinking light attached to Ben's chest. My heart skipped a beat. A timer. A bomb.

My eyes darted from the timer to Edwardo's cold, merciless face. This was not the man I had secretly loved. This was a monster.

"Edwardo, please! You have to believe me! I don't know where she is! I would never hurt Ben!" I cried, tears streaming down my face.

He simply stared at me, his face a mask of stone. "Fifteen seconds, Blair."