Death Of A Marriage, Birth Of Revenge

My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.

It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.

Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.

With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene's comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.

The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?

I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.

Chapter 1

Aurora POV:

I raised the crystal goblet, gently swirling the Burgundy wine, and looked across the flickering candlelight at my husband.

I kept my posture perfectly straight, suppressing the wildness of a Chicago mafia daughter beneath the elegant facade of a high-society wife. Today was our fifth anniversary. I expected him to acknowledge it.

Ethan kept his head down, staring at his phone screen. His brows were slightly furrowed as his fingers moved rapidly, replying to a message.

"Do you remember Chicago?" I asked softly, trying to break the suffocating silence. "Five years ago today. The rain was just as heavy."

Ethan didn't look up. He just let out a dismissive hum and placed his phone face down on the table.

He always avoided talking about Chicago. It was a reminder of the time his power was at its weakest, the time he desperately needed the protection of my family's syndicate to survive.

A waiter approached in a crisp uniform, pushing a silver cart toward our table, ready to serve the final main course.

Ethan raised his hand. With a single, cold gesture, he stopped the waiter in his tracks and signaled for everyone to leave the private dining room.

The heavy oak doors were pulled shut. The room fell into absolute silence, leaving only the faint, crackling sound of the burning candles.

My heart rate picked up slightly. A dark gleam of expectation flickered in my eyes.

Ethan reached into the inner pocket of his custom-tailored suit and pulled out a black velvet box.

He pushed it across the center of the table, the dark fabric pressing down on the pristine white Hermes tablecloth.

I took a deep breath. I reached out with my left hand, the five-carat diamond wedding ring catching the candlelight, and let my fingertips brush against the lid.

I pressed the metal clasp. With a soft click, the box popped open.

My pupils contracted violently. My gaze froze on the interior of the box.

There was no diamond necklace. There was no jewelry at all. Inside lay a cold Montblanc pen, resting on top of a neatly folded stack of legal documents.

My spine went rigid instantly. The alertness bred into me by my mafia family kicked in, bypassing blind panic and forcing my eyes to scan the header of the document.

At the very top, printed in bold black letters, were the words: **Separation and Property Division Agreement**.

I snapped my head up, staring in absolute disbelief at Ethan's face. There was not a single ripple of emotion in his eyes.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his stomach, and spoke in the exact same tone he used at a negotiation table. He told me to sign my name.

My lips trembled. "What exactly does our five-year marriage mean to you?"

Ethan avoided my eyes. He looked at the wall and stated coldly that Ilene's mental state had been deteriorating recently. She needed a title to give her a sense of security.

Hearing her name made my stomach churn violently. My fingers gripped the stem of my wine glass so tightly the crystal groaned.

Ethan continued talking, adding that he would transfer the Long Island villa and a twenty-million-dollar trust fund to my name as compensation.

He was so used to buying his way out of everything. It was the arrogance he had cultivated from slaughtering his way to the top of the capital markets.

I let out a harsh sneer. I grabbed the Montblanc pen and slammed it down viciously onto the documents. The tip broke, and black ink bled rapidly across the crisp white paper.

Ethan's face darkened instantly. He warned me not to lose my dignity and act like a street shrew.

I stood up, planting both hands firmly on the table. I looked down at him from above and flatly refused to sign.

Before he could respond, the frantic clicking of stiletto heels against the marble floor echoed from the hallway outside, followed by a waiter's panicked gasp.

Ethan's expression changed abruptly. He stood up and looked toward the entrance.

The heavy oak doors were shoved open with brute force, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.

Ilene stood in the doorway, panting heavily. She was wearing an extremely revealing, deep-V red evening gown.

Her eyes bypassed Ethan entirely. Like a viper locking onto its prey, her gaze fixed dead on my left hand.

"How dare you still wear his ring!"

Aurora POV:

Ilene didn't wait for a response. She charged into the room in her stilettos, making a direct line for me.

Ethan reacted instantly. He took a wide step forward, using his massive frame to physically block the space between Ilene and me.

Ilene didn't stop. She threw herself directly into Ethan's arms, her hands gripping his suit lapels in a death hold as tears immediately flooded her face.

I stood frozen in place. I watched my husband embrace another woman on our fifth anniversary. The spasms in my stomach twisted into a sickening knot.

Ethan's large hand moved to Ilene's back, rubbing it in soothing circles. His voice dropped to a level of softness I had never heard him use with me. He asked her why she wasn't resting in the hospital.

It was his subconscious double standard. To him, Ilene was fragile glass that needed protecting, while I was an unbreakable warrior who needed nothing.

Ilene turned her head slightly from his chest. With red-rimmed eyes, she pointed a shaking finger at me and shrilly accused me of occupying a position that didn't belong to me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. A mocking smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. I coldly reminded her that I was his legal wife.

The moment Ilene heard the words "legal wife," she acted as if she had been struck by lightning. She began to hyperventilate violently, pressing both hands over her ears.

Ethan whipped his head around and glared at me. He growled a harsh command, telling me to shut up and stop triggering her condition.

My heart sank completely to the bottom of my chest. I realized then that the truth meant absolutely nothing to this man.

Outside the open doors, a terrified waiter pushed a second serving cart to the threshold, too afraid to step inside.

Resting on top of the cart was a ceramic tureen of French lobster bisque, brought straight from the kitchen. It was still boiling.

Ilene's peripheral vision caught the cart. A flash of pure, calculated madness flickered in her eyes.

She had clawed her way up from the bottom of the underworld. She knew exactly how to use environmental chaos to her advantage.

Ilene suddenly shoved Ethan away. Feigning a complete emotional breakdown, she acted as if she were trying to flee the room and bolted toward the door.

Ethan immediately spun around to chase her, turning his back to me completely.

I frowned. My instincts flared, acutely aware that Ilene's trajectory wasn't aimed at the hallway. She was aiming directly for the cart.

Ilene crashed hard into the silver cart. The metal lid clattered to the floor, and a thick cloud of scalding steam instantly billowed into the air.

The waiter stumbled backward in horror, desperately trying to keep the cart from tipping over.

Ilene spun around. With her bare hands, she grabbed the sides of the ceramic tureen filled with boiling soup.

The extreme heat instantly turned her fingers a bright, angry red, but she gritted her teeth and refused to let go.

I registered the danger a second too late. I instinctively stepped backward, but the heel of my shoe caught on the thick edge of the rug.

Ethan reached Ilene's side. He stretched out his hands, trying to pry the burning tureen from her grip.

Ilene dodged his hands with surprising agility, her eyes locked dead onto mine.

She screamed at the top of her lungs that because I existed, Ethan refused to marry her.

I steadied my footing. I stared at her with ice in my veins and warned her to put the soup down, or she would face the consequences.

It was a mafia heiress's final ultimatum, dripping with the promise of blood.

Ilene didn't stop. Instead, an eerie smile stretched across her face, as if my threat was exactly what she had been waiting for.

She hoisted the heavy tureen and violently hurled the boiling lobster bisque straight at me.

The orange-red liquid formed a deadly arc in the air, radiating a pungent seafood aroma and a wave of searing heat.

My pupils shrank to pinpricks. I threw my left arm up to shield my face.

Ethan's eyes tracked the flying liquid, and his brain made a split-second, instinctual choice.

"Go to hell, you thief occupying his side!"

Aurora POV:

The boiling bisque slammed into my chest and left arm without an ounce of mercy.

The extreme heat instantly burned through the expensive silk of my dress. The fabric melted, fusing directly onto my tender skin.

A muffled groan of sheer agony tore from my throat. My body trembled violently as the force of the liquid drove me back several steps until my spine collided with the edge of the dining table.

I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, refusing to scream. It was the endurance training carved into my bones by my family.

A few stray drops of the splashing soup landed on the back of Ilene's hand. She immediately let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

In that exact moment, Ethan didn't rush toward his wife who had just taken the brunt of the boiling liquid. Instead, he spun around and pulled the screaming Ilene tightly into his protective embrace.

He frantically grabbed her hand, inspecting the minuscule red spots on her skin, and roared at the waiters to bring ice immediately.

I leaned heavily against the table. The excruciating pain made my vision blur, but the sight of them clinging to each other pierced my eyes with absolute clarity.

The literal burning of my flesh collided violently with the absolute, freezing coldness spreading through my soul.

I looked down at my chest. It was a mangled mess. The skin was already blistering, oozing clear fluid through the ruined silk.

The restaurant manager rushed into the room in a blind panic, flanked by security guards and carrying a first-aid kit.

When the manager saw the horrific state of my chest, all the color drained from his face. He rushed forward, reaching out to help me.

Ethan intercepted him. He snatched the ice pack straight out of the manager's hands and carefully, tenderly pressed it against Ilene's hand.

Then, Ethan turned his head. He looked at me with a gaze so full of impatience and coldness it felt like a physical blow.

He opened his mouth and blamed me. He demanded to know why I had to provoke a mentally fragile patient and cause such an accident.

He was a dictator. He was so accustomed to blaming others for his own lack of control.

My heart stopped beating for a full second. I opened my mouth, but I realized I didn't have a single ounce of strength left to argue with him.

I pushed away the waiter who was trying to support my weight. Using every bit of willpower I possessed, I stood up straight on my own.

The fused silk tore at my raw flesh with every millimeter I moved, sending drilling pain through my nervous system. But I kept my spine perfectly straight.

Ilene buried her face in Ethan's chest. A victorious smirk flashed across her lips before she forced out a sobbing, tearful apology in my direction.

I didn't even look at her. My eyes were locked entirely on Ethan's familiar, yet completely foreign face.

I raised my right hand. Slowly, deliberately, I slid the five-carat diamond ring off my left ring finger.

Ethan saw my movement. His brows slammed together, and he snapped at me, asking what crazy stunt I was pulling now.

I placed the ring down on top of the ink-stained separation agreement. The diamond hit the table with a sharp, final clink.

I didn't shed a single tear. The love that had burned in my eyes for five years turned into dead ash in that exact moment.

I turned my back to him. Dragging my severely injured body, I walked step by step toward the open doors.

Out in the hallway, the wealthy VIP guests from the other rooms were peeking out, whispering and pointing.

I ignored every single one of them. I kept my head held high, walking like a defeated but absolutely unyielding queen.

Ethan watched my resolute back. His heart suddenly gave a strange, inexplicable twinge, and he took half a step forward to follow me.

Ilene instantly sensed his hesitation. She let out a pathetic moan of pain and slumped heavily against him.

Ethan's footsteps halted abruptly. He bent down and scooped Ilene up into his arms.

I stepped into the elevator alone. I watched the metal doors slowly slide shut, completely severing me from that man's world.

"From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other."