The Ex-Wife's Ultimate Revenge

The last thing my husband of twenty years, Jaxson Blake, gave me was a suicide note.

It wasn't for me. It was for Brinley Buchanan, his foster sister, the woman who had haunted our marriage from the very beginning.

He put a bullet through his head, and with his last breath, he gave our entire tech empire-my life's work-to her and her family.

It was always her. She was the reason our child died, freezing to death in a broken-down car while Jaxson rushed to her side because she'd manufactured another crisis.

My whole life had been a war against her, a war I had already lost.

I closed my eyes, exhausted, and when I opened them again, I was a teenager. I was back in the group home, on the exact day the wealthy Blake family came to choose a child to foster.

Across the room, a boy with familiar, tormented eyes was staring right at me. Jaxson.

He looked just as shocked as I felt.

"Eva," he mouthed, his face pale. "I'm so sorry. I'll save you this time. I promise."

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. The last time he promised to save me, our son ended up in a tiny coffin.

Chapter 1

The last thing my husband, Jaxson Blake, gave me was a suicide note.

It wasn't addressed to me. It was for Brinley Buchanan, his foster sister, the woman who had haunted our marriage for twenty miserable years.

"Brinley," his elegant script read, "I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you. I'm leaving everything to you and your family. Forgive me."

I stood in the cold, sterile office, the smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air. He had put a bullet through his head, and his final thoughts were of another woman. Everything, our tech empire that I had been the architect of, my life's work, was now hers.

It was always her. Every crisis revolved around Brinley's tears, Brinley's needs, Brinley's manufactured dramas. She was the reason our child died, left freezing in a broken-down car on a remote road because Jaxson had to rush to Brinley's side after she claimed she was being threatened.

My whole life had been a war against her, a war I had just lost.

I closed my eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. The grief was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. Then, a sharp pain in my chest, a blinding light, and the world dissolved.

I smelled antiseptic and cheap soup. I opened my eyes. I was on a lumpy mattress in a crowded room. The walls were a depressing shade of beige, peeling in the corners. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew this place. This was the St. Jude's Group Home. My hands were small, my body was wiry and unfamiliar. I was a teenager again.

A voice cut through the haze. "Eva, get up! The Blakes are here!"

I sat bolt upright. Today. It was the exact day the wealthy Blake family came to choose a child to foster. The day my life intertwined with Jaxson's.

A boy across the room, with familiar dark hair and tormented eyes, was staring right at me. Jaxson. He looked just as shocked as I felt.

"Eva," he mouthed, his face pale. "I'm so sorry. I'll save you this time. I promise."

Save me? A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. The last time he promised to save me, our son ended up in a tiny coffin.

In my first life, I'd been desperate to escape this place. I was ambitious and smart, and I saw the Blakes as my only ticket out. I had researched them for weeks, learning about their interests, their personalities, what they looked for in a child. I'd prepared a perfect little speech. I wore my cleanest, though still shabby, dress. I was determined to be their perfect choice.

And I would have been.

But then Jaxson had shown up, dragging a sniffling, pathetic-looking girl behind him. Brinley Buchanan.

"She needs a home more than anyone," he had declared to his parents, his voice full of that misguided, noble pity he always had for her. "The other kids bully her."

Brinley had sobbed on cue, hiding behind him and whispering lies about me. "Eva scares me. She says I don't deserve to be happy."

Jaxson, who had sworn to be my protector in that life, had believed her instantly. He'd looked at me with such disappointment. "Eva, how could you be so cruel?"

That single sentence had sealed my fate. I spent five more miserable years in the system while Brinley was welcomed into the Blake mansion, draped in silk and sympathy.

But this time, I knew better. I wasn't the ambitious girl trying to win their affection. I was a 40-year-old woman in a teenager's body, and my only ambition was to be free of them all.

Mrs. Blake, a kind-faced woman with soft eyes, was already smiling at me. "Hello, dear. You must be Eva. Your file says you're at the top of your class."

"She's a wonderful girl," the home's manager said, her voice syrupy sweet.

Jaxson stood beside his mother, his eyes pleading with me. "Mom, Dad, I think we should choose Eva."

I saw the hope in his eyes, the desperate need to atone. He wanted to fix the past.

Too bad for him, I wanted to erase it.

Just as Mr. Blake opened his mouth to agree, a loud cry echoed from the hallway.

A moment later, Brinley hobbled in, leaning heavily on another girl. Her ankle was wrapped in a dirty bandage, and fresh tears streamed down her face. She looked so fragile, so broken.

"Brinley, what happened?" Mrs. Blake rushed to her side, full of concern.

"I... I fell," Brinley stammered, her eyes darting towards a group of bigger boys in the corner. "They pushed me. They said... they said a charity case like me doesn't deserve new shoes."

It was a masterful performance. I had to give her that. In my first life, I had used my wits to survive. Brinley used her tears. And her tears were always more effective.

Jaxson's face hardened with that familiar, protective anger. But this time, I could see the conflict in his eyes. A flicker of doubt. He knew Brinley was capable of this. But the sight of her, so seemingly helpless, still short-circuited his brain.

He looked from her to me, his guilt warring with his pity.

Before he could make the wrong choice again, I stepped forward.

"Mrs. Blake," I said, my voice quiet but clear. "She's right. The boys here are very rough. Brinley is so gentle. She gets hurt a lot."

I turned to Jaxson, my expression full of faux empathy. "Jaxson, you should protect her. She really needs a family like yours."

Mrs. Blake's heart melted. "Oh, you poor dear," she said, stroking Brinley's hair.

Jaxson looked at me, utterly bewildered. He couldn't understand why I was handing his family over to my nemesis.

He opened his mouth, a confused protest forming on his lips.

But I spoke at the same time, my voice perfectly synchronized with his.

"Take Brinley."

"Take Brinley," he said, his own words echoing mine, driven by a lifetime of ingrained instinct.

The decision was made.

Jaxson stared at me, his face a mask of confusion and betrayal as his parents fussed over a triumphant Brinley.

I turned my back on him and walked away.

The Blakes left, taking Brinley with them. Before she got in their luxury car, she shot me a look over her shoulder. It was pure venom, a silent promise of future trouble. It wasn't just victory; it was possession. She hadn't just won; she had taken something from me.

Jaxson lingered behind, trapped in the doorway. He looked lost.

He saw the truth in that moment, I think. He saw Brinley's smug smile as she settled into the leather seat, her fake injury forgotten. He saw the flicker of malice in her eyes. He must have felt a cold dread creep into his heart, a whisper of the colossal mistake he'd made in our last life, and was making all over again.

His eyes found mine, a desperate, silent plea for help. For understanding.

I gave him a blank wall to look at. I just turned and went back inside the gray, hopeless building.

"Eva!" he called out, his voice cracking.

I didn't stop.

"Are you... are you like me?" he asked, his voice lower now, full of a terrible awe. "Do you remember?"

I paused but didn't turn around. His question hung in the air, a secret that bound us together, a chain I was determined to break.

I walked away without answering.

"I'm sorry, Eva," he called after me, his voice thick with guilt. "She's just... she's been through a lot. She doesn't mean it." The old, tired excuses. "I'll get you out of here. I swear it. Just give me a few days!"

A few days. A bitter smile touched my lips. The last time he said that, it took him twenty years to come back, and only to blow his brains out.

As the heavy door of the group home closed, I allowed myself a small, cold smile. I wasn't waiting for a savior this time.

Mrs. Gable's attitude toward me soured the second the Blakes' car disappeared down the drive. My portions at dinner shrank. I was assigned the worst chores, scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush while the other kids watched.

Days turned into a week. No word from Jaxson. Of course not. Brinley was probably having a "nightmare" or "felt a chill," and he was too busy playing the hero to remember the girl he left behind in hell.

Fine. I would save myself.

I knew Mrs. Gable was stealing from the home's donation fund. In my first life, it took years for her to get caught. I didn't have years.

During my late-night cleaning chores, I snuck into her office. Under the guise of dusting, I found her ledger book, filled with cooked numbers, and a hidden stash of cash in a vent. I used a contraband cell phone another kid had, a piece of junk with a cracked screen, and took pictures of everything.

Then I called a reporter I remembered from my past life, a hungry young journalist who would jump at a story like this.

The price of my freedom was a broken arm. Mrs. Gable caught me making the call. She flew into a rage, grabbing my arm and twisting it until I heard a sickening crack. The pain was white-hot, but as I lay on the floor, cradling my useless limb, I smiled. It was done.

Two hours later, police cars and news vans swarmed St. Jude's. As they dragged a screaming Mrs. Gable out in handcuffs, a group of older boys cornered me in the yard.

"You bitch!" one of them snarled. "You ruined everything!"

I wasn't surprised. They were her sons. She had listed them as orphans to get more funding, and they lived a privileged life inside these walls, preying on the other children. They were the ones who had pushed Brinley.

They closed in on me, fists raised. I protected my head with my good arm, bracing for the impact.

The leader, a hulking boy named Mark, picked up a jagged rock. "This is for my mom," he spat.

He lunged.

Suddenly, a figure slammed into him, sending him flying.

It was Jaxson.

He stood over me, shielding me with his body as the rock came down, smashing into the side of his head.

He staggered, blood pouring from a gash above his temple, but he didn't fall. He just turned to me, a wild, triumphant look in his bleeding eyes. "I told you, Eva," he panted. "I told you I'd save you."

A flicker of something-alarm, maybe concern-stirred in me as I saw the blood stream down Jaxson's face. He swayed on his feet, but his eyes were fixed on me, glowing with a disturbing sense of accomplishment.

He wiped at the blood with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek. "I got here," he said, a breathless, happy sound. "I saved you."

And just like that, the flicker of concern died, replaced by a cold, familiar disgust.

His words triggered a landslide of memories, sharp and brutal.

A dark, frozen road. The sound of our baby, so small, so sick, his cries growing weaker in the back seat. I was on the phone, begging. "Please, Jaxson, come back. He's not breathing right."

His voice, distant, distracted. "I can't, Eva. Brinley says a man is following her. She's terrified. I have to make sure she's safe."

He hung up. He left us there. Our son died in my arms an hour later, his tiny body growing cold against mine.

Another crash. The screech of tires. He had been chasing me after another fight about Brinley. He'd swerved to avoid a deer, slamming his car into a ravine to save me. He lost both his legs. The guilt of that had chained me to him. He used his wheelchair like a throne of martyrdom, a constant, silent accusation. "You owe me," his eyes always said. And I had paid, serving my sentence in a loveless marriage until the day he finally ended it all.

Now, here he was, bleeding from a superficial wound, claiming victory. My savior.

The thought was so repulsive it made me want to scream.

Before I could, a different scream cut through the air. "Jaxson!"

Brinley came running, her face a perfect mask of terror. She shoved me aside, sending me stumbling to the ground. My broken arm hit the pavement, and a fresh wave of agony shot through me.

"What did you do to him?" she shrieked, slapping my face, hard. Then again. "You witch! You stay away from him! He belongs to me!"

She turned back to Jaxson, her expression melting into one of tender care as she gently dabbed at his wound with the hem of her expensive-looking sweater.

"Brinley, stop," Jaxson mumbled, his eyes on me. "Apologize to Eva."

Brinley's lower lip trembled. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "But... she hurt you."

Instantly, Jaxson's resolve crumbled. "I know, I know," he soothed, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. I'm okay."

I watched the pathetic scene, my face still stinging. I pushed myself up, ignoring the throbbing in my arm, and got ready to leave. This was their circus, and I was done being one of the clowns.

"Don't you dare walk away!" Brinley snarled, her voice dripping with triumph. She held onto Jaxson's arm like a prize. "Jaxson won't let you hurt me ever again."

As I turned, I saw Jaxson instinctively shift, placing himself slightly in front of Brinley. It was a small, unconscious movement, but it spoke volumes. After everything, he still saw me as the threat, and her as the one who needed protection.

I stopped. I looked him dead in the eye.

"Kensington, Albright, and Shaw," I said, my voice flat. "And the numbers are 40.7128, and 74.0060."

Brinley looked confused. "What are you talking about, you crazy-"

But Jaxson went pale. His face went slack with shock. He knew exactly what I was talking about. Kensington, Albright, and Shaw were the names of three key investors his father was about to get into bed with, a deal that, in our first life, had bankrupted Blake Industries. And the numbers, they were the GPS coordinates to a plot of land the Blake family company was about to disastrously overpay for, based on a fraudulent geological survey.

It was information I had spent years of my first life digging up to try and save our company, information he had ignored because he was too busy dealing with one of Brinley's dramas.

"How...?" he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Consider it a thank-you gift for the rock to your head," I said coldly. "Now we're even. Stay away from me."

His face crumpled. The dawning horror in his eyes was absolute. It wasn't just about the company. He finally, truly understood. It wasn't that I needed saving. It was that I no longer wanted him.

I just wanted to be gone.