The Ex-Wife's Revenge: Billionaire Regrets Everything

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the soles of Aubree's heels. She turned away from the crowded patio, heading for the stone steps that led to the changing rooms. The wet marble beneath her shoes was slick. Her ankle wobbled. She caught her balance, her chest tight with the need to escape the noise.

Dayna stepped out from the blind spot behind a massive Roman column. She held a crystal champagne flute. She blocked the narrow path.

"Leaving so soon?" Dayna kept her voice low. The music drowned out her words to anyone else. "It must be exhausting, warming a bed for a man who only sees someone else when he looks at you."

Aubree's stomach dropped. The coldness spread from her chest to her fingertips. She clamped her jaw shut and stepped to the side, trying to walk around Dayna. She did not want to do this. Not tonight.

Dayna's hand shot out. Her fingers clamped around Aubree's wrist like a vice. Her manicured acrylic nails dug sharply into Aubree's skin.

Pain flared in Aubree's arm. Instinct took over. She yanked her arm back hard to break the grip. Her movement was wide and forceful.

Dayna's lips curved into a sharp, calculated smirk. She didn't resist the pull. Instead, she threw her own weight backward, riding the momentum of Aubree's yank.

A piercing scream ripped from Dayna's throat. Her body tipped over the edge of the deep end. She hit the water with a massive, violent splash.

The music seemed to stop. Heads snapped toward the pool. Guests rushed to the edge.

Eli pushed through the crowd. His broad shoulders shoved people aside. He stopped at the edge of the water. His eyes locked onto Dayna thrashing in the pool, and then snapped up to Aubree standing on the wet marble.

His eyes turned black. The muscle in his jaw ticked so hard it looked like the bone would snap. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at the red half-moon indentations on Aubree's wrist.

He lunged forward. He raised his arm and slammed his open palms into Aubree's shoulders.

The force lifted her off her feet. The air rushed out of her lungs. She tipped backward into the empty air.

The freezing water swallowed her whole. It rushed into her nose and mouth. She kicked her legs, but her body was too weak. The missing kidney on her left side made her core muscles spasm in the freezing temperature. She thrashed, her lungs burning for oxygen.

Through the distorted, bubbling water, she saw Eli dive in. He swam straight past her sinking body. He grabbed Dayna by the waist and pulled her toward the surface. He didn't even turn his head.

Aubree's vision darkened at the edges. The last shred of hope in her chest snapped like a dry twig.

Strong hands grabbed her under the armpits. A security guard hauled her up. She broke the surface, gasping violently.

She collapsed onto the rough concrete edge of the pool. She coughed up water, her throat burning with stomach acid. Her wet dress clung to her shivering skin.

Eli walked right past her. He carried Dayna in his arms. Dayna's eyes were closed, playing dead. Eli didn't look down.

The guests stared at Aubree. Their eyes were full of disgust. Aubree pressed her palms flat against the concrete and forced her shaking legs to stand.

An hour later, Aubree pushed open the heavy door to the Manhattan penthouse. She dragged her soaked body inside. The lights were off. The massive living room was dead silent.

The sharp click of leather dress shoes echoed in the dark. Eli stepped out from the shadows near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Aubree opened her mouth to speak.

Eli lunged. His large hand clamped around her throat.

He slammed her backward. Her spine hit the freezing marble wall of the entryway. His grip tightened. Her toes barely brushed the floor.

"If anything happens to the heir in her stomach," Eli hissed, his face inches from hers, "you will pay with your life."

Aubree's hands flew up. She clawed at his thick fingers. Her face burned hot, turning a deep shade of red. Her lungs screamed. No sound came out of her mouth.

The panic in her eyes slowly died. Her hands dropped to her sides. She stopped fighting. She stared at him with dead, empty eyes.

The deadness in her stare made Eli flinch. He ripped his hand away. He threw her to the floor like a bag of trash.

Aubree hit the hardwood. She gasped, sucking in huge gulps of air.

Eli stood over her. He adjusted his wrinkled suit cuffs with sharp, rigid movements. "My lawyers will be here tomorrow," he said.

He turned and walked out. The front door slammed shut.

Aubree curled her knees to her chest. She touched the swelling bruises on her neck. A single, hot tear slid down her freezing cheek.

Aubree pressed her hand against the wall. Her legs shook as she pushed herself up from the floor. Every time she swallowed, it felt like she was swallowing crushed glass.

She walked into the master bathroom. She peeled the ruined, wet dress off her shivering body. She turned the shower handle to warm. The water hit the dark purple bruises forming on her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She dried off and pulled on a conservative, high-necked silk pajama set. She buttoned it all the way to the top to hide the marks.

Her throat was painfully dry. She opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway to get a glass of warm water from the kitchen.

She picked up her smart-home tablet from the marble counter to check if Eli had returned. The screen flickered, displaying the live security feed from the private underground lobby. The audio icon was unmuted. On the screen, Eleonora and Camilla were waiting for the private elevator.

Camilla's sharp voice echoed from the tablet's speaker. "Did you see her face when she fell in?" Camilla laughed. "She looked like a drowned rat."

Eleonora sneered. "We cannot let that commoner take a single cent from the Wolfe family."

"What about the prenup?" Camilla asked. "Are there loopholes? She might try to claim the Manhattan properties."

Eleonora checked her diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch. "It is already handled. I had the lawyers move the majority of Eli's liquid assets into an offshore trust in the Cayman Islands."

In the kitchen, Aubree's fingernails dug into her own palms.

"Once Dayna's doctor fakes the miscarriage report," Eleonora continued, "we will leave Aubree with nothing. She will walk out of here with debt."

Ice flooded Aubree's veins. This wasn't just Eli being blind. This was a coordinated slaughter by the entire family.

The elevator doors on the screen opened. Eleonora and Camilla stepped inside, and the feed cut to black.

Aubree set the tablet down. Her body felt numb. She walked down the opposite side of the hallway, toward Eli's study. The door was cracked open.

Eli stood by the window. He had his phone on speaker. He was talking to Cornelius, the patriarch of the Wolfe family.

"Your actions at the party were reckless," Cornelius's stern voice barked through the speaker. "You embarrassed the family."

"I am done with her," Eli said. His voice was hard. "She is a gold digger who will do anything for money. I am divorcing her immediately."

"She has been quiet for three years," Cornelius warned. "Do not push her to the edge."

Eli let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Her obedience is just an act. She is just waiting for the trust fund to unlock."

Aubree stood outside the door. Three years of cooking his meals, ironing his shirts, and giving him pieces of her own body, reduced to a Wall Street calculation.

Her heart physically ached. Her chest caved in. She took a step back.

Her elbow bumped the edge of a console table. A heavy antique vase wobbled.

It made a sharp scraping sound against the wood. Aubree shot her hands out and grabbed the cold porcelain, stopping it from falling.

Inside the study, Eli's head snapped toward the door. "Who is out there?" he snapped.

The heavy oak door swung open. Heavy footsteps stepped into the hallway. Aubree stopped breathing. She pressed her back flat against the wall, sliding silently into the deep shadow of the decorative alcove just inches away. Sweat dripped down her forehead.

Eli stood in the corridor, his piercing gaze sweeping the darkness. He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "Leland," Eli's cold voice echoed. "Check the hallway motion sensors on the penthouse floor immediately. Someone is out here."

Aubree squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"No movement, sir?" Eli repeated, his eyes narrowing. He let out a frustrated breath, glaring at the empty space one last time before he turned around and slammed the study door shut.

Aubree walked back to her bedroom like a ghost. She locked the door behind her.

She pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. She looked at her left hand. She slid the massive, multi-million dollar diamond wedding ring off her finger. She dropped it onto the nightstand. It made a hollow, metallic clink.

Aubree sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the discarded ring. A sudden, violent shiver ripped up her spine and hit the base of her skull.

She pulled the collar of her silk pajamas tighter. The room wasn't cold. The freezing sensation was coming from inside her bones.

She reached down and pressed her hand against her left side. Beneath the silk, a long, faded surgical scar stretched across her skin.

A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the scar. The pain pulled her mind backward.

Three years ago. A massive blizzard shut down the streets of Manhattan.

Aubree was driving the car. Eli sat in the passenger seat. He had just lost a massive Wall Street merger. He was screaming. He punched the dashboard. He threw his phone against the windshield.

He turned his rage on her. He yelled at her to pull over. He told her that looking at her plain face made him sick.

Aubree tried to tell him the roads were too dangerous. The snow was blinding.

Eli reached over and shoved her door open. He pushed her hard.

She fell out of the car. Her knees hit the snow-covered curb. Eli slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and sped away, leaving her in the storm.

She walked for three blocks in negative-degree weather. The freezing wind whipped against her side. Her surgical wound, barely three months old, felt like it was splitting open.

Eli never knew. He never knew that three months before that blizzard, Aubree had utilized a labyrinth of offshore shell companies and a secret charitable foundation to facilitate an anonymous directed donation. She posed as a low-level foundation liaison during the medical screenings, hiding behind an ironclad non-disclosure agreement and a proxy legal team so impenetrable that the name 'Aubree Pratt' was legally and entirely erased from the donor registry.

Aubree's eyes snapped open. She gasped for air. A thick layer of cold sweat coated her forehead.

She tried to stand up to get the fever reducers from the bathroom drawer. Her legs gave out. She crashed to her knees on the thick carpet.

The freezing pool water and the trauma to her throat had destroyed her weakened immune system.

Her vision blurred. The edges of the room turned black. Her breathing sounded like a broken accordion.

She dragged her body across the floor toward the nightstand. She reached up and grabbed her phone from the charging cable.

Her fingers shook violently. She swiped the screen, trying to find her best friend Jax Keller's contact to call an ambulance.

A massive wave of dizziness hit her brain. Her hand went limp. The phone slipped from her fingers and fell onto the carpet.

Aubree collapsed onto her side. The fever spiked, pulling her into a dark, delirious state.

In her mind, she was back in the freezing operating room. She heard the steady beep of the heart monitor.

"Eli," she whispered to the empty room. Her voice was a dry rasp.

Outside the window, Manhattan was alive. Inside the massive penthouse, it was a tomb. No one heard her.

Her body temperature skyrocketed. Her lips cracked and bled. Her cheeks burned with a dark, unnatural red flush.

Hours passed. The pain burned away the last of her love for him. She realized her sacrifice meant absolutely nothing.

The morning sun sliced through the blinds and hit her face. She did not wake up.

Her chest barely moved. Her breaths were shallow and weak.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her bedroom. Angry voices pierced the silence.

The brass doorknob rattled violently.

The door was locked. A second later, a heavy boot kicked the wood.