Jilted Wife, Billionaire's Daughter Rises

My husband, Dalton, publicly humiliated me for the tenth time, flaunting his pregnant mistress, Justine, at a conference for the company I built. I was trapped, paying for my mother' s endless medical bills.

But then Justine took it a step further. She went to my mother' s hospital and cruelly told her everything-all the affairs, all my sacrifices. My mother, in her despair, jumped from the rooftop.

At the funeral, Justine crashed the service with a brass band, showering my mother' s casket with confetti.

"She's just trying to be thoughtful!" Dalton yelled, shielding her as I lunged forward in a blind rage.

He shoved me back, his eyes blazing. "Don't you dare touch her! She's carrying my child!"

He raised his hand to strike me, and I braced for the impact, my world completely shattered.

But the blow never landed.

A chillingly calm, powerful voice cut through the chaos.

"I wouldn't advise that, Dalton."

My estranged, billionaire father had just arrived.

Chapter 1

Blake Gibson POV:

Dalton Anderson' s voice, smug and dripping with false concern, sliced through the air. It was the tenth time this year I' d been publicly humiliated by his affairs, but this time felt different.

"Blake, darling, you look a little... tired," he said, loud enough for the entire tech conference to hear. He draped an arm around Justine Farley, his VP of Marketing, who was beaming beside him. Her hand rested possessively on her visibly pregnant belly.

My jaw clenched. I could feel every eye in the room on me.

"Perhaps the long hours are finally catching up," Justine purred, her eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. She was holding a mock-up of the new product, the one I had designed, and casually gesturing to it as if it were her own.

Dalton chuckled, a sound that always grated on my nerves. "She does work hard. But someone has to keep the company afloat, wouldn't you agree, Justine?"

A hush fell over the crowd. They all knew I was the real architect of Elysian Dynamics. They also knew about Dalton' s endless parade of mistresses.

I just smiled, a thin, brittle thing that didn't reach my eyes. "Indeed, Dalton. Someone always has to clean up the messes."

My words hung in the air, a subtle barb that only Dalton seemed to catch. His smile faltered for a second, then he recovered.

"Well, speaking of cleaning up, why don't you head home, Blake? Get some rest. Justine and I can handle the rest of the presentation." He waved a dismissive hand, as if I were a bothersome fly.

The dismissal cut deeper than any insult. This was my company. My creation.

But I simply nodded. "As you wish, Dalton." I turned, my heels clicking loudly on the polished floor, a deliberate, defiant rhythm.

My mind raced. This was it. The breaking point. My mother' s medical bills had been a cage, but that cage was about to shatter.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. A single, encrypted message sent. Operation Phoenix was initiated.

Later that evening, as I walked into our penthouse apartment, Dalton was already there. He sat on the sofa, a small, brightly wrapped box on the coffee table.

"Blake, you're home," he said, a forced cheerfulness in his voice. "I bought you something."

He pushed the box towards me. It was a necklace. A delicate silver chain with a small, generic heart pendant.

I picked it up, my fingers cold around the metal. It was the same necklace he' d given his last three mistresses. I recognized the cheap design.

"Always so thoughtful," I said, my voice flat. My other hand reached into my briefcase, pulling out a thick manila envelope.

He frowned. "What's that?"

I tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a soft thud. "Divorce papers."

His eyes widened, then narrowed. He stared at the documents, then back at me, a flicker of something close to panic in his gaze.

"What is this, Blake?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Some kind of joke?"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Dalton?" I asked, my voice as steady as stone.

He slammed his hand on the table, making the necklace jump. "After everything? After all I' ve done for you? For your mother?"

"You mean, after all I' ve done for you?" I countered, my voice rising slightly. "After I built your empire, sacrificed my career, my sanity, to keep your name respectable while you paraded your conquests around like trophies?"

He stood up, his face reddening. "Don't you dare talk to me like that! You wouldn't be anything without me! Your mother would be dead in a ditch without my money!"

A cold laugh escaped me. "My mother is not your bargaining chip anymore, Dalton. She's recovering. Better than ever, in fact." Lies. All lies. But he didn't need to know that. Not yet.

"Sign the papers, Dalton. It's over."

His eyes were blazing now. "You think you can just walk away? You think I'll let you take half of my company?"

"It's our company, Dalton. And you won't be getting half. You'll be getting what I decide you deserve. Which, currently, is very little."

He lunged for me, grabbing my arm. His grip was bruising. "You manipulative bitch! You think I don't know what you're doing? Setting up your sick mother as an excuse, then trying to steal everything!"

I didn't flinch. My gaze was steady, piercing his. "Let go of me, Dalton. Or you'll regret it."

"Oh, I'll regret it?" he sneered. "What are you going to do? Tell your rich daddy? The one who abandoned you and your mother when you needed him most?"

My breath hitched. He knew exactly where to strike. The wound was still raw.

"You won't get a dime, Blake. Not a single penny if you try to leave me. And your mother? She'll be back in that hospital bed faster than you can blink." His words were venom, aimed directly at my greatest vulnerability.

My hand still clutched the cheap necklace. I looked at the heart pendant, then at him. He truly believed he had me trapped. He had no idea the trap was actually for him.

"You really think you still have that kind of power over me, Dalton?" I asked, a dangerous calm settling over me. "You think you know all my secrets?"

He scoffed. "Every single one, Blake. You're an open book."

I smiled, a genuine, chilling smile this time. "Then you clearly haven't been reading carefully enough, Dalton. Because you just missed the most important chapter."

Blake Gibson POV:

Dalton stared at me, his eyes flickering with confusion, then suspicion. My smile remained, unwavering, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his face. He hated not being in control.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice tight. His grip on my arm tightened further, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"My mother, Dalton," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. "She's not just recovering. She's been discharged. She's at home, living a perfectly normal life. No more hospital bills. No more need for your 'generosity'."

His jaw dropped. He released my arm as if I had burned him. "That's a lie! You told me just last week she was still... you said she needed constant care!"

"And you believed me," I said with a shrug. "Your mistake, not mine. Turns out, some miracles do happen. Especially when a certain powerful relative decides to step in, unnoticed, to ensure her well-being."

His face paled, remembering our conversation from weeks ago. Garrison Perry. He knew my father was a force to be reckoned with, even if we were estranged. Dalton had always believed my refusal to join my father's firm meant I had no recourse. He was wrong.

Flashback

"Blake, my dear," Garrison Perry's voice had been gruff but laced with an unusual tenderness over the phone. "I've heard about Hertha. Don't worry. I've arranged for the best care money can buy. No more draining your accounts for that man."

My throat had tightened. "Father... why now?"

"Some things are best done quietly, Blake. And some men need a harder lesson than others. You just focus on yourself. When you're ready, I'll be here. And so will everything you need to take back what's yours."

End Flashback

Dalton's eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape. "No, you're lying. You're trying to manipulate me."

"Am I?" I raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead, call the hospital. See what they tell you."

He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly. But before he could dial, a frantic ring pierced the silence of our apartment. It was his assistant.

Dalton put the call on speaker, his face etched with worry. "What is it?"

"Mr. Anderson! It's... it's Ms. Farley! She's at St. Jude's, and she's not well! She was saying something about Blake's mother..."

My blood ran cold. Justine.

Dalton looked at me, a mixture of rage and terror in his eyes. "What did you do?!"

"Me? I didn't do anything, Dalton. But it seems your pregnant mistress just couldn't resist a final, cruel jab at my ailing mother." My voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death knell.

He grabbed my arm again, this time with desperate force. "We're going to the hospital. Now."

He practically dragged me out of the apartment, shoving me into his car. The air inside was thick with Justine's cloying perfume and the faint scent of stale cigarettes. I recognized her scarf on the passenger seat. My stomach churned.

The drive was a blur of flashing lights and Dalton's frantic calls. My heart hammered against my ribs, a terrible premonition gripping me.

When we pulled up to St. Jude's, the parking lot was swarming with emergency vehicles. A chaotic scene. My mother's hospital.

"This can't be happening," I whispered, scrambling out of the car.

I saw the flashing lights at the top of the building. The rooftop. No.

My legs moved on their own, carrying me through the automatic doors. My mind screamed at me to run faster, to reach her before it was too late.

Then I saw her. Justine. Standing near the reception desk, her face streaked with tears, her hands on her swollen belly. A doctor was trying to calm her.

"What happened?" I demanded, my voice hoarse.

Justine looked up, her eyes wide and innocent, but a flicker of triumph danced within them. "Oh, Blake. It's awful. Your mother... she just... she just jumped."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My mother. Jumped.

No. Not possible.

"You," I snarled, my hand already flying. The sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the silent lobby.

Justine reeled back, clutching her face. "How dare you! I was just trying to help!"

"Help?" My voice was a raw scream. "You told her, didn't you? You told her everything! All the years of humiliation, the sacrifices I made for her sake, because of her condition!"

Her eyes widened. "She deserved to know the truth! You were trapped because of her! You hated her!"

That was it. The final, unforgivable lie.

Dalton rushed forward, pushing me away from Justine. "Blake, stop! She's pregnant!"

"And she just murdered my mother!" I shrieked, tears streaming down my face.

He put himself between us, shielding Justine. "Get out of here, Blake! You're insane!"

"I'm insane?" I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. "Look at her, Dalton! She's gloating! She told my mother everything, hoping to break me, and she succeeded!"

Justine, still crying, looked at Dalton. "She hit me, Dalton! She attacked me! And the baby... oh, the baby!"

Dalton's face hardened, his focus entirely on Justine. He turned back to me, his eyes filled with a cold fury. "You bitch! You put my child at risk! Get out of my sight!"

He shoved me hard. I stumbled, falling backward onto the cold, hard floor. My head hit with a dull thud.

Justine watched me, a smirk momentarily replacing her tears. "Dalton, please. Make her leave. She's unstable."

"Don't worry, Justine," Dalton said, pulling her close. "I'll handle her. And I'll make sure you and our baby are safe. I'll take care of everything. You won't have to worry about a thing ever again."

His words, meant to soothe her, were a fresh stab to my heart. He had never spoken to me like that. Never offered such unconditional assurance.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in my head. My mother. I had to reach her.

"Mother!" I screamed, pushing past Dalton, running towards the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing an empty shaft. My heart plummeted.

"Blake, wait!" Dalton yelled, but I was already gone, scaling the emergency stairs, fueled by a frantic, desperate hope that it wasn't true. That she was still there.

Blake Gibson POV:

The stairwell was a blur of white walls and pounding footsteps. Each step was a prayer, a desperate plea to a God I wasn't sure existed anymore. Please, let her be okay. Please, let it be a lie.

I burst onto the rooftop access landing. The door was ajar. A cold gust of wind hit me, carrying with it the scent of rain and something metallic.

My eyes scanned the desolate rooftop. And then I saw her. My mother. Hertha.

She stood at the very edge, her back to me, silhouetted against the unforgiving city skyline. The wind whipped her thin hospital gown around her.

"Mother!" I screamed, my voice tearing through the air.

She turned slowly, her eyes, once clouded by illness, now clear and tragically serene. A faint smile touched her lips. "Blake, my darling."

I rushed towards her, my arms outstretched. "Mother, no! Don't do this! Please!"

She raised a trembling hand, stopping me. "It's okay, my love. It's truly okay now." Her voice was soft, fragile, but firm.

"It's not okay! What about me? What about us?" My tears were hot on my cheeks.

"You've sacrificed enough, my child. Too much. For too long." A single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "Justine... she made me see. You deserve to be free."

"No! She's a monster! Don't listen to her!" I pleaded, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

Her gaze was distant, yet filled with an unbearable tenderness as she looked at me. "Live, Blake. Live for yourself. Be happy. Don't let them win."

"Mother, please! Come back! I need you!" I was sobbing uncontrollably now, my desperate cries swallowed by the wind.

She shook her head, her smile unwavering. "My beautiful girl. My brave Blake."

And then, in a single, fluid motion, she leaned forward. Time stretched, agonizingly slow. Her body arced against the grey sky.

"NO!" My scream was ripped from my soul.

The sound of her body hitting the pavement below was a sickening thud, even from that height. It echoed in the hollowness of my chest.

I collapsed to my knees, the concrete biting into my flesh. The world spun. The air was sucked from my lungs. My mother was gone. Gone.

Below, the sirens wailed, growing louder. Distant shouts. The world was a cacophony of horror.

Justine. Dalton. Their faces flashed before my eyes-smug, cruel, indifferent.

A cold, hard resolve crystallized in my heart, replacing the searing pain. They would pay. They would all pay.

The funeral was a blur. Dalton made a perfunctory appearance, his face a mask of false sympathy. He even had the audacity to whisper to me, "Look what you've done, Blake. She couldn't handle the truth."

I didn't dignify him with a response. My grief had transformed into a chilling numbness, a quiet rage that hummed beneath my skin.

As the casket was being lowered, a sudden, jarring sound pierced the solemn silence. A car radio blast, then the blare of a cheap brass band.

Everyone turned. My blood ran cold as I saw her. Justine. Standing at the entrance of the cemetery, a hired band playing a jaunty tune behind her. She smirked, a cruel glint in her eyes.

"Oh, Blake!" she called out, her voice unnaturally loud. "I'm so sorry for your loss! Dalton said your mother loved music, so I thought I'd bring some cheer!"

A gasp rippled through the mourners.

"Get out!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "Get out of here, you monster!"

Dalton rushed to Justine's side, putting a protective arm around her. "Blake, behave yourself! She's just trying to be thoughtful!"

"Thoughtful?" I spat, my eyes locked on Justine. "You desecrated my mother's memory!"

Justine laughed, a high-pitched, mocking sound. "Oh, cheer up, Blake. At least you're free now, right? No more sick mother to chain you down." She winked at Dalton.

Dalton chuckled, a low, ugly sound. "She's got a point, Blake. Maybe it's for the best."

My vision tunneled. This was too much. The pain, the betrayal, the utter disrespect.

Then, Justine raised a hand. "And for the grand finale!" she announced, her voice dripping with malice. She pulled a party popper from her bag and aimed it at the memorial.

A shower of glitter and confetti exploded, raining down on my mother's casket, on her framed photograph, on the wreaths of flowers. It was a grotesque, deliberate act of defilement.

A primal scream ripped from my throat. I lunged at Justine, a blur of pure, unadulterated fury. My hands found her neck, my fingers tightening.

"You bitch! You evil, twisted bitch!" I screamed, shaking her. "You will pay for this! You will pay for everything!"

Dalton tore me away, his face contorted with rage. He shoved me back, hard. I stumbled, but this time, I didn't fall.

"Don't you dare touch her!" he roared, shielding Justine with his body. "She's carrying my child!"

"And my mother is dead because of her!" I screamed back, my voice raw. "You let her do this, Dalton! You let her kill my mother!"

He raised his hand, his eyes blazing. I saw the blow coming. I braced for impact.

But it never landed.

Instead, a chillingly calm, powerful voice cut through the chaos. "I wouldn't advise that, Dalton."