Betrayed By My Ruthless Billionaire Husband

A strangled cry tore from Amelie Beaumont's throat as her back arched off the bed. The expensive Frette sheets twisted into a knot under her fingers.

Sweat plastered strands of her brown hair to her pale forehead.

"You're doing great, Mrs. Slater," a nurse said, her voice a calm drone against the storm inside Amelie. "Just breathe."

Another, younger nurse whispered to her colleague, "It's a shame. Mr. Slater still isn't here."

The words barely registered through the haze of pain. In the brief calm between contractions, Amelie forced her eyes open.

"Jonas..." she rasped, her voice thin and weak. "Is he here?"

Her lake-blue eyes were filled with a desperate hope, a reliance on the man she loved.

Outside the delivery room, in a lavishly appointed private lounge, Jonas Slater stood rigid. His tall frame was encased in a bespoke suit, but his face was as cold as marble. He wasn't looking toward the sounds of his wife's labor.

He was staring at an iPad.

Corie Reeves stood beside him, her washed-out dress a stark contrast to the room's opulence. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice trembling as she pointed a slender finger at the screen.

"Jonas, I really didn't want you to see this... My sister Cheryle asked me to look after you before she died. I can't just stand by while you're being deceived."

The iPad displayed a series of grainy, but damning, photos. Amelie, at the entrance of a boutique hotel. A strange man holding the car door for her.

Jonas's knuckles turned white. He swiped, revealing a fabricated text exchange. It showed "Amelie" complaining about their boring marriage.

Corie sobbed, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth. "Maybe... maybe my cousin was just confused... She's always so perfect, perhaps the pressure was too much..."

Jonas slammed the iPad onto the leather sofa with a dull thud.

"Pressure?" he sneered, his voice laced with venomous contempt.

Corie flinched back, a flicker of triumph in her eyes before it was drowned by a fresh wave of sorrow.

Jonas spun around and strode toward the delivery room. The cold fury radiating from him made nurses flatten themselves against the walls.

He kicked the door open.

The loud bang made everyone jump. Amelie, caught in another wave of agony, opened her eyes to see her husband's face, frozen in a mask of pure hatred.

"Jonas..." The joyful cry died in her throat.

He stalked to her bedside, looking down at her. There was no love, no concern. Only disgust.

"Whose is it?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but it cut through her like a shard of ice.

Amelie's mind went blank. Pain and shock warred within her. "What... what are you saying?"

"I said," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper, "the bastard in your belly. Whose is it?" He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Amelie Beaumont, you make me sick."

He shoved her face away and straightened up, addressing the stunned medical staff. "As of this moment, she is no longer my wife."

He pulled out his phone. "The Slater family will not tolerate this kind of scandal."

He dialed. "Simon, invoke the prenuptial agreement with the Beaumonts. Freeze all her assets."

Amelie stared in disbelief. A pain, sharper and more brutal than any contraction, ripped through her heart.

Corie appeared at the doorway, her face a mask of concern. She rushed to Jonas's side, steadying his arm. "Jonas, don't get too worked up. Amelie is still in labor..."

He shot a look of revulsion at the woman on the bed, as if she were something vile he'd found on his shoe.

Amelie's gaze shifted past him. She saw a fleeting, triumphant smile on Corie's lips.

In that instant, everything became terrifyingly clear.

"It was you..." Amelie gasped, pointing a trembling finger at her cousin. The pain mangled her words.

Corie's face immediately crumpled into a mask of hurt. Fresh tears welled. "Amelie, how can you say that? I know you hate me for exposing you, but..."

Jonas moved to shield Corie, his glare at Amelie turning arctic. "Still trying to blame Corie? Have you no shame?"

The doctor's urgent voice cut through the tension. "Mr. Slater, the patient is in distress! The fetal heart rate is dropping!"

Jonas was unmoved. He gave Amelie one last look, a look one gives to something already dead.

"Have the baby. Then get out of my life."

He turned his back on her and walked out, with Corie clinging to his arm, leaving the life-and-death struggle behind him as if it were nothing.

Darkness swarmed Amelie's vision. The crushing weight of betrayal and despair overwhelmed her. As her body gave one final, violent shudder, she lost consciousness.

The monitor screamed.

The smell of antiseptic pulled Amelie from the darkness.

She wasn't in the luxurious birthing suite. This room was small, stark, and simple. Sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She raised a hand to block it, her body feeling hollowed out, weak as a newborn kitten.

Her first thought was the baby.

She sat up abruptly, a sharp, pulling pain shooting from her abdomen. She threw back the thin blanket. Her stomach was flat, marked by an angry, red incision.

"My baby..." she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. The room was silent. No crib. No tiny blankets. Nothing.

She forced herself out of bed, each step a fresh agony. Leaning against the wall, she stumbled out of the room, searching for a nurse's station.

A nurse saw her and her eyes darted away. "You're awake. You should be in bed. You're still very weak."

Amelie grabbed her arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "My baby? Where is my baby? Is it a boy or a girl?"

The nurse pulled her arm free, her expression tinged with contempt. "We don't know. Mr. Slater handled everything."

Amelie's heart plummeted. She lurched toward the elevator. The Slater estate. Jonas must have taken the baby home.

Her thin hospital gown drew stares in the lobby. She flagged down a taxi, trading her only remaining valuable, her watch, for the fare to the famous Long Island estate.

An hour later, the taxi stopped before ornate iron gates. A guard blocked her way.

"I'm sorry. You can't enter without Mr. Slater's permission."

Amelie beat against the cold iron, screaming Jonas's name. The violent movement tore at her C-section wound. Blood seeped through the thin cotton of her gown, a spreading crimson stain.

Corie emerged from the mansion, dressed in an elegant Chanel suit. She looked at Amelie with a pitying expression, as if observing a lunatic in a cage.

"Cousin, please stop this. Jonas won't see you." Her voice was soft, but every word was a dagger.

Amelie gripped the bars, her eyes locked on Corie. "My baby, Corie. Where did you hide my baby?"

Corie sighed, her eyes filling with a carefully crafted sadness. "Amelie, I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you this..."

She paused, as if choosing her words with great care. "The baby... it was a stillbirth. It wasn't breathing when it was born."

"No... that's impossible... I heard him cry... I heard it!" Amelie was sure of it, in the last moments before she passed out.

Corie shook her head sadly. "You were hallucinating. The doctors said you were unstable from the blood loss. Jonas was devastated. He's already... taken care of the arrangements. He didn't want you to suffer any more."

"Arrangements?" Amelie repeated the word, a terrible dread seizing her. "What arrangements?"

Corie's eyes turned cold, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in their depths. "Jonas said that an unclean, unwanted child didn't deserve a place in the Slater family plot. He had the groundskeeper dispose of it."

The words struck Amelie like lightning, shattering her into a million pieces. The image of her newborn, discarded like trash, made her stomach heave.

A black Bentley pulled up. Jonas's executive assistant, Simon Hayes, stepped out. His face was a blank mask.

"Mrs. Beaumont," he said, his tone devoid of any emotion. "Mr. Slater asked me to inform you that the Beaumont family trust has been frozen and is under investigation by the SEC for regulatory violations."

Amelie stared at him, uncomprehending.

Simon continued, his voice flat. "Furthermore, your mother, Mrs. Cheryl Beaumont, suffered a massive heart attack upon hearing the news of the company's impending bankruptcy. She passed away this morning."

The baby was dead. The family was ruined. Her mother was gone.

No sound came from her open mouth.

Corie took a step forward, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Cousin, don't take it so hard..."

Amelie's head snapped up. Her eyes burned with a hatred so pure it was terrifying. She began to shake the gates, a wild, primal scream building in her chest, wanting to tear the woman before her to pieces.

Corie recoiled, genuinely frightened by the look in Amelie's eyes. She shrieked at the guards, "She's insane! Get her away from here!"

A guard pressed a button. Vicious barking erupted from within the estate grounds. Several Dobermans, trained for patrol, charged toward the gate, teeth bared, surrounding Amelie.

Her frail, postpartum body could take no more. Surrounded by snarling dogs and an ocean of despair, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving pavement.

A week later, the sky over Queens was a sheet of gray, weeping a cold, steady rain.

Amelie stood before her mother's grave. The headstone was new, the earth freshly turned. She wore a cheap black dress, the only thing she owned.

She didn't cry. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lake-blue eyes holding nothing but a dead, quiet hatred.

The dogs hadn't touched her. A passing car had called the police, and she'd been taken to a shelter like a piece of refuse. It was the old family butler, contacted from a payphone, who had told her about the funeral.

She placed a small bouquet of cheap, white daisies on the grave. Her fingers traced the cold, carved letters of her mother's name.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered.

"But I swear to you," she continued, her voice a low, venomous promise, "Jonas Slater, Corie Reeves, and everyone who hurt us... I will make them pay in blood."

She stood there for a long time, until the rain soaked her to the bone. Then she turned and walked away, her steps unnaturally firm.

She went to a pawn shop in the city and sold the last thing her mother had ever given her-a small, but meaningful, sapphire ring.

The few hundred dollars she got wasn't for food or shelter. It was for a weapon. She walked into an outdoor supply store.

She bought a small, sharp survival knife. The cold steel of the handle felt right in her palm.

Night fell. Amelie moved like a ghost, returning to the Slater estate. She knew Jonas's routine. He finished work late and always used the side entrance.

She hid in the dense shrubbery, the cold rain and the knife in her hand keeping her mind razor-sharp.

At ten o'clock, a Maybach pulled up to the side gate. Jonas got out. He didn't use an umbrella, letting the rain plaster his expensive suit to his powerful frame.

He loosened his tie, a flicker of exhaustion and irritation on his face. Even through the downpour, Amelie could feel the suffocating aura of power that clung to him.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. It was a rhythm of hatred and fear. She tightened her grip on the knife.

Just as Jonas reached for the gate, Amelie burst from the bushes.

"Jonas!" she screamed, pouring all her pain, her loss, her despair into that single, desperate thrust aimed at his heart.

His reflexes were lightning-fast. His body, honed by years of physical training, twisted instinctively. A flash of shock crossed his face; he clearly hadn't expected to see her here.

The blade missed his heart but sliced deeply into his left shoulder. Fabric tore. Blood bloomed instantly, staining his white shirt a dark crimson.

Jonas grunted in pain. His hand shot out, clamping around Amelie's wrist like a steel vise. The pressure was immense, threatening to crush the bone.

A cry of pain escaped her lips, and the knife clattered to the wet ground.

He slammed her against the stone wall, his large body trapping her completely. "Are you insane?" he roared, his ice-gray eyes blazing with fury and disbelief.

Amelie struggled, but it was useless. She threw her head back, rain and tears mixing on her pale face. "You made me insane! My baby! My mother! You're a monster, Jonas! A butcher!"

Her raw agony gave him a moment's pause, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper disgust. "Your baby? I don't care about that bastard's fate. As for your mother, she got what she deserved!"

His words ignited her. She stopped struggling against his grip and instead lunged, trying to claw his face, to headbutt his chest.

Her resistance was like that of a cornered, desperate animal-futile, but filled with a tragic fire.

Jonas lost his patience. He twisted her arms behind her back, pinning her against the cold, wet wall. "You still don't get it," he bit out.

The estate's alarms blared. Guards rushed out, surrounding them.

Jonas released her. She slid to the ground like a discarded doll. He glanced at his bleeding shoulder, then spoke to his men in a voice of ice.

"Tie her up. Throw her in the basement."

Amelie lay in the mud and water, watching as he was escorted through the gate, his back straight, his stride unwavering. He didn't look back once.

Her first act of rebellion had ended in complete and utter humiliation.

Two guards hauled her roughly to her feet and dragged her toward a separate, cellar-like structure deep within the grounds. Her fingernails scraped uselessly against the pavement.