Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge

"Her blood type is a match. It's the only option."

I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs.

I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband's best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world.

"Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."

For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love.

Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts.

"She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop."

"She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this."

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I'd been feeling wasn't stress.

I was pregnant.

And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor.

He was killing his own child to save his mistress.

To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts.

I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream.

I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach.

He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up?

I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave.

I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Ava Miller POV

"Her blood type is a match, Ethan. It's the only option."

The words slithered through the slightly ajar door of the executive conference room, freezing my hand on the brass handle.

I knew that voice. It was Ben Carter, my husband's oldest friend and personal physician. But the hesitation in his tone was new. It was heavy, laden with a guilt I could almost taste in the air.

"Then we do it," Ethan's voice followed, crisp and devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for public appearances. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."

I stopped breathing. The folder of quarterly reports I was holding dug its sharp corners into my ribs.

*Kidney match. Solution.*

The words bounced around my skull like marbles in a tin can.

For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health. He insisted on comprehensive checkups, blood draws, and endless tests. He called it love. He called it taking care of our future.

I had believed him. I had let him play the doting husband while he was actually shopping for spare parts.

"She isn't just a donor, Ethan," Ben argued, his voice dropping lower. "She is your wife. You can't just harvest her like a crop."

"She became my wife because she was useful when I needed to rebuild Reed Innovate," Ethan replied. The indifference in his tone cut deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this. Chloe is the priority. She always has been."

I backed away from the door.

My legs felt like they were made of lead, but I forced them to move. I walked backward until I hit the opposite wall of the corridor. My heart battered against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape a cage.

*Rare blood type.*

That was what the doctors kept saying about me. That was what Ethan had asked about over dinner three nights ago, swirling his wine while dissecting my medical history with the precision of a surgeon.

I didn't go into the meeting.

I turned around and walked to the elevator, pressing the down button with a trembling finger. I needed air. I needed to think.

*

That evening, the Reed Innovate charity gala was in full swing.

The ballroom was a sea of black ties and designer gowns. I stood by Ethan's side, a prop in a silk dress, numbly playing the part I had been cast in.

"To my beautiful wife, Ava," Ethan said into the microphone, flashing that million-dollar smile that had once made my knees weak. "My rock. My inspiration."

The crowd applauded.

He turned to me, fastening a diamond necklace around my throat. The metal was cold against my skin. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a collar.

"Smile," he whispered in my ear, his lips grazing my lobe. "Everyone is watching."

I stretched my lips into a shape that resembled happiness. But my eyes drifted across the room.

I saw her.

Chloe. She was standing near the champagne tower, looking pale and fragile in a silver dress.

Ethan's gaze followed mine. For a split second, his mask slipped. The adoration in his eyes when he looked at her was raw, terrified, and genuine.

It was a look he had never, not once in ten years, given to me.

I felt a wave of nausea roll through me. The applause sounded like static. The compliments from the guests-"You two are perfect," "So lucky"-felt like slaps to the face.

"I need to use the restroom," I muttered, pulling away from his touch.

I didn't go to the restroom. I went straight to the valet, got into my car, and drove home.

The villa was dark and silent. I sat on the cold floor of the living room, staring out at the city lights.

Ten years. I had given him ten years.

When he shattered his leg in that ski accident, I dropped out of my PhD program to nurse him. When his company was failing, I used my inheritance to float him.

I remembered the first time he thanked me after his recovery. I thought it was the beginning of a love story. Now I realized it was just a transaction.

I was an asset. And now that the asset was depreciating, he was ready to salvage the parts.

"You are an indispensable part of my life, Ava." He said that often.

Indispensable. Like a kidney.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Mrs. Davies, our housekeeper.

*Mr. Reed asked me to pack a bag for the hospital again. He is visiting Room 402. Is everything okay?*

Room 402.

That was the room number Ben had mentioned on the phone last week when discussing a "VIP patient."

I stood up. My knees cracked. The numbness was fading, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. I wasn't going to wait for them to wheel me into an operating room.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled to a number I hadn't used since high school.

"Ben," I typed, my fingers shaking. "We need to talk. I know about the kidney."

Ava Miller POV

I didn't wait for Ben's reply. I ended the call and marched into the master bedroom.

The air was thick with sandalwood and expensive cologne-Ethan's signature. Once, that scent had been my anchor. Now, it was a cloying vapor that made my stomach turn.

I yanked open the walk-in closet. It was a shrine to his preferences-filled with dresses he had chosen, shoes he liked, jewelry he had bought to show off his success on my body.

I dragged a large plastic storage bin from the top shelf and let it crash onto the floor.

Then, I unleashed the chaos.

I started ripping things off hangers. The red dress from last Christmas. The silk blouse from his promotion party. I didn't fold them. I shoved them into the bin with a violence that surprised me.

I wanted to purge him from my space. I wanted to scrub my life clean of his influence.

On the dresser sat the engagement ring. A three-carat solitaire. It caught the light from the hallway, winking at me mockingly. It was heavy, expensive, and utterly hollow.

I picked it up. It felt like a branding iron against my palm.

I tossed it into the bin on top of the clothes.

My phone rang. The screen lit up with his name.

I let it ring. It stopped, then rang again. I finally answered, putting it on speaker as I continued to strip the room of his presence.

"Ava? Where the hell are you?" Ethan's voice was tight, impatient. "People are asking questions."

"I wasn't feeling well," I said, my voice dead flat. "I came home."

"Well, you picked a terrible time to be sick. Listen, I can't come home tonight. Something came up at the office. Urgent merger talks."

"Is that so?" I asked, looking at the empty side of the bed.

"Yes. Don't wait up."

Before he hung up, I heard a voice in the background. It was faint, weak, and unmistakably female.

*"Ethan, it hurts..."*

The line went dead.

He wasn't at the office. He was with her.

I walked into his study. The walls were lined with awards and photos of us. I took down the framed photo of our wedding day. We looked so young. I looked so hopeful.

I placed it face down on the desk.

Thirty minutes later, the front door opened.

I froze. He said he wasn't coming home.

Ethan walked in, looking flustered. He wasn't wearing his tie.

"I forgot some files," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. He rushed past me into the study.

I followed him. He wasn't grabbing files. He was grabbing his checkbook.

"I thought you had merger talks," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

He didn't pause. "I do. This is for... incidental expenses." He ripped a check out and scribbled on it. He walked over and pressed it into my hand.

"Go buy yourself something nice. For leaving the party early. Rest up."

I looked down at the check. Fifty thousand dollars.

"Is this a hush payment?" I asked.

"Don't be dramatic, Ava. It's a gift. I have to go."

He brushed past me. He didn't touch me. He didn't kiss my cheek. He treated me like a vending machine he had just kicked to get a stuck candy bar.

"Ethan," I called out.

He stopped at the front door, his hand on the knob. "What?"

"You forgot your laptop. If you have a meeting."

He stiffened. He patted his empty side. "Right. It's... it's fine. I have everything on my phone."

He left. The door clicked shut.

I looked at the check again. He was buying his conscience. He was paying me off in advance for the organ he planned to steal.

A wave of dizziness hit me so hard I had to grab the hallway table to stay upright. Saliva flooded my mouth. I dropped the check and ran to the guest bathroom.

I retched into the sink until there was nothing left but bile. My body was shaking. This wasn't just stress.

The realization hit me before I even opened the cabinet. I had been feeling off for weeks-tired, sensitive to smells, nauseous in the mornings.

I opened the cabinet under the sink. I had bought a box of pregnancy tests months ago, back when I still thought we were trying for a family. Back when I thought his lack of interest was just stress.

I took the test. I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the white tile floor, counting the seconds.

Three minutes later, I looked at the stick.

Two pink lines.

The air left my lungs.

Pregnant.

I touched my stomach. It was flat, unassuming. But inside, cells were dividing. A life was forming. A life created with a man who viewed me as a spare part for his mistress.

I stood up and looked in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes dark and hollow. I was alone. Completely, terrifyingly alone.

Ethan didn't come home that night. His phone went straight to voicemail.

I walked back to the bin of clothes. I dug through the silk and cashmere until I found the ring. I held it over the trash can in the kitchen.

This child couldn't be born into this. Not into a house built on lies. Not to a father who was currently holding another woman's hand while plotting to carve up its mother.

I dropped the ring.

It hit the bottom of the metal can with a final, hollow clatter.

Ava Miller POV

The next morning, the house was suffocatingly silent.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air, mocking me with their lightness. The world outside was bright and carrying on, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire life had just imploded.

I sat at the kitchen island, the positive pregnancy test wrapped in a tissue inside my pocket. It felt heavy against my thigh, like a stone dragging me down into deep water.

I needed to tell Ethan.

No. I couldn't tell Ethan.

If he knew, what would he choose? The baby? Or Chloe? Or would he simply wait until I delivered to harvest what he needed, discarding the rest of me like a husk?

I walked into the study, my mind racing. I needed a pen. I needed a list. I needed a plan.

Ethan's desk drawer was slightly ajar. I tugged the handle to shut it, but a flash of color caught my eye. It was tucked way in the back, wedged behind a stack of invoices.

*Herbal Supplements. All Natural.*

I picked it up. The packaging looked generic, innocent enough. But there was a yellow sticky note attached to the side.

*For Ava. Two a day. - C*

C. Chloe.

My blood ran cold, the sensation spreading through my veins like ice water. Ethan had been feeding me these vitamins for the last two months. He claimed they were for my energy levels. He had watched me swallow them every single morning with a smile that I had foolishly interpreted as love.

My hands trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the bottle. It went straight to a prerecorded line for a holistic wellness center. I hung up and typed the name of the supplement into a search engine.

The first result was a forum post, the text glaring back at me in bold letters.

*Warning: Contains Pennyroyal and Black Cohosh. Abortifacients. High risk of uterine contractions. Not safe for pregnancy.*

I dropped the box. It hit the mahogany desk with a soft, damning thud.

He wasn't just checking my health. He was ensuring I didn't get pregnant. Or, if I did, that I wouldn't stay that way. A pregnant woman couldn't donate a kidney. I was livestock to him, nothing more.

The sound of the front door opening froze the air in my lungs.

"I just need to grab a change of clothes," Ethan's voice drifted from the hallway. He was on the phone, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Yes, Chloe. I know. I gave them to her. She's been taking them faithfully."

I pressed myself flat against the wall of the study, holding my breath until my chest burned.

"No, she doesn't suspect a thing," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Her cycle is irregular anyway. If it happens, she'll just think it's nature taking its course. We need her body ready for the surgery next month. No complications."

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. He was discussing the murder of his own potential child with the woman he was killing it for.

"I love you too," he said.

Footsteps retreated. The front door clicked shut.

I slid down the wall until I hit the floorboards. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked back and forth, a silent keen building in my throat. The betrayal was so absolute it felt physical, like a blunt force trauma. My chest ached. My bones ached.

He had promised me a family. He had promised to protect me.

I stood up. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. The tears were gone. In their place was a cold, hard resolve.

I couldn't keep this baby.

The thought made me want to scream, but I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. If I stayed pregnant, he would find out. He would force a miscarriage, or worse, wait until the birth and then take what he wanted, leaving me and the child in a living hell.

I drove to a clinic two towns over. I didn't use my insurance. I paid cash.

The waiting room was beige, sterile, and quiet. I filled out the forms with a hand so steady it scared me.

*Reason for termination: Personal.*

It was the most personal thing I had ever done.

When I woke up from the anesthesia, I felt gutted. A hollow space had opened up inside me, vast and echoing. I lay in the recovery room, staring at the acoustic ceiling tiles, counting the dots to keep from screaming.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was Ethan.

"Hey," his voice was casual, light. "I haven't seen you all day. Everything okay? You've been seeming stressed lately. Maybe you should take another one of those vitamins."

I closed my eyes. The cruelty was breathtaking.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice sounded raspy, like I had been screaming for hours. "Just tired."

"Well, get some rest. I bought you that bracelet you liked. The emerald one. I'll leave it on the counter."

Buying me off again. Emeralds for a kidney. Diamonds for my silence.

"Thanks," I said.

"See? I take care of you."

I hung up. I blocked the number for a moment, just to stop the violent urge to throw the phone against the wall.

I sat up. The nurse came in with a paper cup of water. She looked at me with kind, sad eyes.

"Do you have someone to drive you home?" she asked.

"No," I said, swinging my legs off the bed. "I'm driving myself."

I left the clinic. I sat in my car in the baking parking lot and opened my laptop. I pulled up my resume. I had a degree in molecular biology that had gathered dust for ten years while I played the perfect wife.

I updated my profile on LinkedIn.

*Open to work.*

I drove to a coffee shop near the hospital where Ethan was practically living. I needed to see the building. I needed to fuel the hate so I wouldn't collapse from the grief.

Two nurses were sitting at the table directly behind me.

"That guy in 402 is devoted," one said, stirring her latte. "Mr. Reed. He hasn't left her side."

"Yeah, but did you hear what he said to the patient?" the other replied, lowering her voice to a scandalized whisper. "She told him she felt bad about his wife. And he laughed. He actually laughed."

I gripped my cup.

"He said, 'Don't worry about Ava. She's just the vessel. You're the prize.'"

I stared down into my black coffee. The reflection showed a woman I didn't recognize. Her eyes were dead. Her mouth was a thin, unforgiving line.

I took a sip. It was bitter.

Good. I needed bitter. Sweetness was what got me killed.