Betrayal's Echo: A Wife's Revenge
img img Betrayal's Echo: A Wife's Revenge img Chapter 2
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Chapter 5 img
Chapter 6 img
Chapter 7 img
Chapter 8 img
Chapter 9 img
Chapter 10 img
Chapter 11 img
Chapter 12 img
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Chapter 2

The sterile white of the laboratory was a comfort. It was logical, predictable. Unlike the chaos that had ripped her life apart. Two weeks had passed since that night at the chateau. Two weeks of silence. Evelyn had thrown herself back into her work, but the purpose was gone. The cure was complete, the data published under the project's name, her own contribution buried in a list of team members. She had made sure of that. She wanted no credit for what she had done for Ethan.

Her mentor, Dr. Ben Carter, head of the government agency funding the research, had called her. He was a kind, perceptive man who had seen the strain she was under for years.

"Evelyn," he had said, his voice gentle over the phone. "I've read the final report. It's revolutionary. But I also know you've been through a lot. There's a new project. Top-secret. A deep-sea research facility in the Atlantic. It's about neural regeneration, a different application. It's a chance to start fresh, on your own terms. The position is yours if you want it."

"I'll take it," she had said without hesitation. It was an escape. A place where Ethan couldn't find her. A way to build a new life, one defined by her work, not by a man.

She was packing up her small apartment, methodically placing books into boxes, when the sound of the key in the lock made her freeze. Only one other person had a key.

The door swung open, and there he was. Ethan.

He looked exactly as she had seen him at the wedding, healthy and vibrant. He was wearing an expensive suit, his hair perfectly styled. The sight of him, whole and standing before her, sent a jolt of ice through her veins.

"Evelyn," he said, his voice a low, possessive hum. "You've been ignoring my calls."

She didn't answer. She simply continued placing a book into a box, her movements deliberate and slow.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The small space immediately felt suffocating. "What is all this? You're packing?"

"I'm leaving," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

He let out a soft, condescending chuckle. "Leaving? Don't be dramatic, Ev. I know you're upset. I should have told you about Tiffany and me. It was a mistake to do it the way we did."

"A mistake," she repeated, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "You call a two-year affair and a secret wedding a mistake?"

"It was complicated," he said, taking a step toward her. "I was in a dark place after the accident. Tiffany... she was a comfort. But it never meant anything. Not really. You are my wife. You are the one who cured me. We can move past this."

His words were smooth, practiced. The same charisma that had once charmed her now felt slimy, manipulative. He was trying to manage her, to control the narrative.

"We are not moving past this," she said. "We are over. I want a divorce."

Just then, the apartment door opened again. Tiffany fluttered in, her eyes wide and innocent. She was carrying a shopping bag from a designer boutique.

"Ethan, honey, I got the macarons you love," she chirped, before her eyes landed on Evelyn. She feigned surprise. "Oh! Evelyn! I didn't know you were here."

She walked over to Ethan and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, a pointedly intimate gesture. "I missed you," she whispered, loud enough for Evelyn to hear.

Evelyn's eyes went to the box of macarons in Tiffany's hand. They were from a specific Parisian bakery, a place Evelyn and Ethan had discovered on their honeymoon. They had been their special treat. Seeing them in Tiffany's hands, a casual offering to the man they both claimed, felt like a violation. It was a small thing, but it symbolized the complete erosion of her life with him.

Ethan didn't pull away from Tiffany. He just kept his eyes on Evelyn, a strange sort of challenge in his gaze.

"Tiffany, maybe you should wait in the car," he said, his tone soft but his message clear. He was choosing, right here, right now, who to placate.

"But I just got here," Tiffany pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly. "And my feet hurt from shopping all day for our new house." She looked at Evelyn, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. "Ethan is buying us a beautiful villa near Lake Geneva. You should see it."

The blatant cruelty of it was breathtaking. Ethan saw the flicker of pain on Evelyn's face, a barely perceptible tightening of her jaw. And he did nothing. He just watched, allowing his new bride to twist the knife.

That was the moment the last, lingering ember of hope inside Evelyn died. He wasn't just a man who had made a mistake. He was a man who enjoyed her pain, who allowed it, who used it to assert his control.

She looked from Ethan's placid face to Tiffany's smug one. She thought of the life they had planned together, the villa near the lake. It was all a lie, built on the foundation of her sacrifice.

"No, thank you," Evelyn said, her voice suddenly clear and strong. She picked up a framed photo from the mantelpiece – a picture of her and Ethan on their wedding day. She looked at it for a long moment, then calmly walked over to the trash can and dropped it in. The sound of the glass cracking was loud in the tense silence.

"I'm not interested in your new life," she said, looking directly at Ethan. "And I refuse to be a part of this... arrangement. I am not something you can share or set aside when it's convenient. I want you out of my apartment. Both of you."

Her resolve was absolute. She wasn't the weeping, heartbroken wife he had expected. She was a scientist who had just identified a cancer. And she was ready to cut it out.

            
            

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