The Neglected Wife's Billion Dollar Sweet Revenge

"Three years, Julianne. Do you really think warming my brother-in-law's bed gives you a place in this house tonight?"

Debroah Thornton, dressed in a black, custom-designed embroidered gown, approached Julianne Riggs along the edge of the outdoor pool at the Blanchard family estate on Long Island.

The evening breeze, carrying the salty scent of the Long Island Sound, swept across the marble terrace.

Julianne stood there, looking at the lavish banquet and the crowd of onlookers in the distance, she swirled the sparkling water in her glass and lifted her eyelids slightly.

"If this shabby house means that much to you, take it. You don't need to tell me-I couldn't care less." Her voice was flat. "Now step back. Your perfume is giving me a headache."

Debroah's face twisted. Instead of stepping back, her fingers shot out and clamped around Julianne's thin wrist, her nails digging into the skin.

"You bitch. You're nothing but a useless, worthless piece of trash. As long as I'm breathing, this house will never be yours."

Before Julianne could pull her hand free, the corners of Debroah's mouth curled upward. She planted her high heels against a wet patch of marble, pushed off hard, and threw herself backward into the deep end of the pool.

A heavy splash shattered the night air. White water sprayed several feet high across the stone deck. Debroah thrashed in the freezing water, her screams echoing across the courtyard.

"Help! My baby... Julianne, why did you push me!"

The heavy carved oak doors of the banquet hall flew open. Chadwick Blanchard charged out onto the terrace.

As the head of Blanchard Enterprises and Julianne's husband of three years, he didn't spare Julianne a single glance.

He dove straight into the icy water, his long arms wrapping around his brother's widow to haul her trembling body back to the edge.

The estate butler and four security guards rushed forward, pulling both of them onto the deck. Someone wrapped a thick cashmere blanket around Debroah's shoulders.

Debroah curled up on the wet marble, both hands clutching her flat stomach. Bright red blood seeped from between her legs, mixing with the pool water along the stone seams. Her voice was barely a thread.

"Chadwick... save your brother's only child... She hated that the family trust went to me... She pushed me in with her own hands..."

Gasps rippled through the crowd of guests gathering on the terrace. Society wives covered their mouths, their disgusted stares turning toward Julianne in unison.

Paramedics from the estate's standby medical team sprinted over with a stretcher. They lifted Debroah, whose eyes had rolled back in a faint, onto the gurney and wheeled her toward the driveway as ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

Chadwick stood up slowly. Black wet hair hung over his forehead, and his dark gray eyes were cold under the courtyard lamps.

He yanked the soaked silk tie from his collar and stalked toward Julianne, his leather shoes splashing through the bloody water until he was half a step away.

His large hand shot out and seized Julianne's jaw, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"You knew she was carrying my late brother's only bloodline. How dare you do this? What is your heart made of?"

Julianne's jaw ached under his grip, yet her dark amber eyes remained still.

"I didn't touch her. She jumped in herself. There are cameras in every corner of this estate. Go check the footage."

Chadwick let out a harsh laugh.

"She jumped in herself? Risking a formed fetus to jump into the deep end? Your talent for making up lies makes me sick, Julianne."

Heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed from the end of the colonnade.

A sterling silver eagle-headed cane struck the stone floor as Ignatius Blanchard, the eighty-year-old former patriarch of the family, appeared at the top of the steps surrounded by board elders.

Ignatius didn't even look down at Julianne.

"For the sake of the Blanchard family reputation, this ungrateful lowborn woman cannot stay in the main house to stain our name."

Beside him, several senior board members muttered among themselves about the viciousness of a bride with no family background.

Julianne straightened her spine and met the old man's cold gray eyes.

"I will cooperate with any forensic investigation. If I am at fault, I'll take full criminal responsibility. If I'm not, I want every person on Long Island to apologize to my face."

Chadwick flung her chin away, leaving red finger marks on her pale skin.

"Apologize to your face? Even now you're calculating your pride! What right do you have to bargain with the Blanchard family?"

A bolt of white lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. Heavy rain began to pour down over the estate.

Chadwick stripped off his dripping suit jacket and tossed it to the head of security.

"Lock her in the private chapel in the back courtyard. Until Debroah's surgery results come out, no one lets her take half a step outside."

Two armed guards stepped forward and grabbed Julianne's shoulders.

"This way, ma'am."

Julianne brushed off their white-gloved hands.

"Don't touch me. I can walk."

She walked down the flooded stone path through the rose garden, leaving the bright lights of the banquet hall behind for the dark Gothic stone building at the rear of the property.

A guard twisted a heavy iron key in the rusted lock and shoved the door open. Damp, stagnant air poured out.

Julianne stepped over the threshold and turned to look at the security captain standing under his black umbrella.

The iron door slammed shut against the storm. The heavy metal bolt slid into place from the outside, locking her in.

Inside the pitch-black chapel, a single candle flickered on the altar.

Julianne raised her right hand, wiped a drop of muddy water from the back of her skin, and slipped her fingers into the hidden lining of her clutch.

Her fingertips brushed against a thin micro-storage card. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

The freezing marble floor of the chapel drained the heat straight through Julianne's thin trench coat.

Sliding her hand out of her clutch, she leaned her back against the locked iron door and sank down to the stone floor as the wind howled against the stained-glass windows high above.

Outside, leather boots splashed through puddles. A guard's voice came through the crack at the bottom of the door as he spoke into his radio.

"Reporting to the secretariat. The suspect is quiet. No crying or pounding on the door. All exits are sealed per Mr. Blanchard's orders."

Julianne closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her cold knees.

Three years ago, a boy in a Blanchard prep school jacket had saved her in a dark Long Island alley, and she had taken it for love.

During their courtship, she had been happier than she had ever been; when the wedding came, she fell from that height straight into the wreckage of the marriage.

Only recently had she realized that he had married her not out of love, but because she was a quiet, obedient wife who could help secure his status.

The obsession she had held onto for three years, now crumbled like rotten wood.

A metallic scrape echoed from the lower half of the door. The small meal slot slid open, and a hand wearing a Cartier diamond bracelet reached through the iron bars.

Jaycee Blanchard stood outside under the eaves wrapped in a fur shawl. As Chadwick's younger sister, she had spent the last three years mocking Julianne's lack of family pedigree at every Manhattan party.

Jaycee tilted a glass and splashed half a cup of ice water through the bars onto the floor by Julianne's feet.

"Serves you right! Lowlifes will always be lowlifes. Had enough of playing the billionaire's wife for three years? My brother is drafting the eviction papers tonight! You're going to rot in the streets without a cent!"

Julianne didn't lift her head. She brushed a few drops of cold water off the hem of her skirt, her voice flat.

"Get lost, Jaycee. If I hadn't balanced your books before the family trust audit three years ago, you'd still be waiting for trial in Manhattan federal court."

Jaycee's face turned chalk white. She stomped her heel in the puddle outside.

"Stop spitting blood! Wait until Debroah wakes up-my brother will skin you alive!"

She slammed the metal slot shut and hurried away.

The storm outside grew fiercer. A draft blew through a crack in the stone wall and snuffed out the single candle on the altar, plunging the chapel into total darkness.

Half an hour later, the heavy iron lock clanked again. The door creaked open a foot, accompanied by hurried, soft footsteps.

Beatrice Blanchard, Chadwick's mother, stepped inside wearing a dark gray cashmere cardigan, followed by an old housemaid.

Among the entire Blanchard clan, only Beatrice had ever shown Julianne basic decency.

Beatrice crouched down quickly and draped a thick camel-colored wool blanket over Julianne's shivering shoulders.

"Child, put this on. The floor heating in this building hasn't been turned on in decades. You'll freeze to death in here."

Julianne's icy fingertips touched the warm wool. Her eyelashes trembled slightly, though her voice stayed calm.

"Mrs. Blanchard, you shouldn't have come. If the old master finds out, he'll blame you too."

Beatrice let out a long sigh, her eyes full of helplessness.

"I know you know your place and wouldn't do something so foolish. But Debroah's hemorrhage is real. Ignatius is furious, and Chadwick has lost his mind... Just bow your head and admit it was an accidental shove. Let me beg for mercy for you."

Julianne pulled the wool blanket halfway off her shoulders and looked into the older woman's eyes.

"I won't admit to a single word of something I didn't do. If I have to kneel to beg for the truth, then this family is already rotten to the core."

The sharp thud of a cane striking stone rang out from the corridor outside. Ignatius's raspy roar cut through the rain.

"Beatrice! Who gave you permission to interfere with family punishment? Get out here!"

Beatrice flinched, pulling her hands back as if burned. She scrambled to her feet and backed toward the door, her brief kindness swallowed by her fear of the patriarch.

Ignatius stood on the stone steps outside under an umbrella held by his aide, glaring down at Julianne.

"Stubborn fool! Since you refuse to repent, spend tonight on your knees confessing your sins to God!"

At a wave of his hand, a security guard stepped in, ripped the wool blanket off Julianne's shoulders, grabbed the thermos of hot water the maid was holding, and threw both out into the mud.

A tall shadow appeared behind them in the doorway. Chadwick walked in, the shoulders of his black overcoat damp with cold air from the hospital.

He stepped past his mother and grandfather, stopping directly in front of Julianne, and threw a thin private hospital medical report down into the dust at her feet.

"The eldest branch's unborn child is gone. Debroah's uterus suffered severe damage-she will never be able to conceive again." Chadwick's voice was like a bucket of ice water poured straight over her head. "Are you satisfied now?"

Julianne picked up the report stamped with the seal of NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital and let out a cold laugh.

"What a great act. To pull me down, she really didn't mind paying a high price."

Chadwick bent down, grabbed Julianne by the collar of her coat, and hauled her off the floor, slamming her back against a rough stone pillar.

"Even now you're shifting the blame! Do you really think I won't hand your crimes over to the New York District Attorney's office?"

Julianne's breath caught in her throat from the impact against her spine, yet she stared straight into his furious gray eyes.

"Call them. Call the NYPD and have forensics seal off Long Island. Let's see who actually ends up in a cell!"

Their eyes locked in the dark. For a split second, the absolute certainty in her gaze made Chadwick's grip falter.

He quickly shoved that trace of unease down and let go of her collar, letting Julianne drop back onto the freezing stone floor.

"Trying to bring the police in to humiliate the Blanchard family in public? Keep dreaming."

Chadwick took two steps back, his face hardening again.

"Give her time to reflect. Tomorrow morning my lawyers will bring the separation papers. Until she signs, no water and no food."

The iron door slammed shut and locked. A moment later, the exterior corridor lights were switched off, leaving the chapel in pitch darkness.

Cold crept up from the stone slabs into Julianne's bones.

Her forehead began to burn with a sudden, violent fever, her vision blurring as she leaned her head back against the stone pillar and whispered into the dark.

"Chadwick, you'd better pray I don't freeze to death tonight..."

Her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open, and she slumped sideways beside the wooden pew.

Pale morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window above the altar, casting faint spots of color across the dusty marble floor where Julianne lay curled beside the pew.

She forced her heavy eyelids open. Her forehead was burning hot, and swallowing sent a dry, tearing pain down her throat.

Gripping the freezing wooden armrest of the pew, Julianne fought off a wave of dizziness and pulled herself up to her feet. She brushed the damp dust off her trench coat just as the iron lock rattled from the outside.

The heavy door swung open, letting a gust of freezing late-autumn air rush into the room.

Chadwick walked in wearing a freshly pressed charcoal-gray three-piece suit, the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleaming in the morning light. Two senior legal partners carrying leather briefcases followed closely behind him.

His polished Oxford shoes stopped a few feet away. His gaze swept over Julianne's pale, bloodless face and tangled black hair, a slight crease forming between his brows.

"After a whole night to cool your head, I assume you understand your situation." Chadwick lifted his chin slightly, and one of the lawyers immediately stepped forward holding a bound document. "Sign the voluntary separation agreement. Waive all claims to marital assets and alimony, and move to Switzerland. In return, the family won't press charges for assault."

Julianne raised her dark amber eyes. There was no pleading in them.

"Take back your charity, Chadwick. We don't need a separation. Let's get divorced."

Chadwick's pupils shrank, anger flashing across his face.

"What did you say? Divorce? You think bringing up divorce first will save your pathetic pride?"

Without another word, Julianne reached out and snatched the black Montblanc pen from the lawyer's hand. With two sharp strokes, she crossed out the word "Separation" in the title, wrote "Absolute Divorce" above it, and signed her name at the bottom of the page.

"My lawyer will deliver the formal no-fault divorce decree to your desk. Zero alimony. I'm walking out with nothing." Julianne tossed the pen onto the wooden pew, where it landed with a sharp clatter. "From this second on, I have nothing to do with the Blanchard family."

The two lawyers stared blankly at the altered document before glancing nervously at their boss.

Chadwick let out a cold laugh, shoving down the sudden irritation rising in his chest.

"Walking out with nothing? Every thread on your body was paid for by the Blanchard family. Once you leave Long Island, you won't even be able to afford a basement room in a Manhattan shared apartment!"

Julianne tugged the corner of her pale lips upward and spoke low enough that only the two of them could hear.

"Then keep your eyes wide open and watch who actually needs who."

She turned around, stepped past the two frozen lawyers, and walked straight out the open doors of the chapel.

The cold morning wind hit her face. Her feverish body trembled, and black spots danced at the edges of her vision, yet she kept her back straight as she crossed the main courtyard.

Several maids wiping down the marble statues paused their work, whispering behind their hands and pointing at her rumpled coat.

Near the driveway, Jaycee leaned against the door of a Rolls-Royce holding an iced Americano. Seeing Julianne walk toward the main gates, she called out loudly.

"Oh, running away already? Here I thought your bones were made of iron! Just a shameless beggar who doesn't know her place!"

Julianne didn't even turn her head, walking straight through the tall wrought-iron gates onto the tree-lined road leading toward the highway.

Down the wide asphalt road, the roar of an engine tore through the morning quiet.

A bright yellow Ferrari screeched around the corner, its tires smoking as it drifted sideways and stopped directly across the estate entrance.

The driver's door swung up. Eva Hansen jumped out in a bright red trench coat and ten-centimeter red-soled heels, her golden-brown curls flying in the wind.

As a top Manhattan socialite and founder of her own independent fashion label, Eva had been Julianne's closest friend since their teens.

Catching sight of Julianne's pale face and swaying footsteps, Eva's eyes went wide. She ran forward and caught Julianne by the shoulders.

"Jules! My God, why are you burning up like this? What did those bastards do to you?"

Leaning against the familiar scent of her friend's perfume, the tight string holding Julianne upright snapped. Her vision went completely black, and her knees gave out.

Eva caught her around the waist, stripped off her own heavy wool coat to wrap around Julianne, and spat toward the wrought-iron gates of the estate.

"Screw the Blanchard family! I'm going to tear this place apart brick by brick!"

Standing at the top of the main house steps, Chadwick saw the red-coated woman help Julianne into the sports car. His brows knitted together tightly.

"Eva Hansen? How does she know Julianne?"

Naturally, he will not know why there is a connection between her and Eva Hansen.

Chadwick had never once made a real effort to know Julianne or to notice anything about her. He had married her simply because she was obedient, sensible, and easy to control-and because that served to shore up his status and standing.

Otherwise, with a background as lowly as hers, he would never have spared her a second glance.

Eva slammed the passenger door shut. The yellow Ferrari launched forward, white exhaust pouring from the tailpipes as it sped down the coastal highway.

Chadwick stood beneath the stone columns of the porch, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The lead lawyer walked up cautiously and held out the altered paper.

"Mr. Blanchard, should we void this document and draft a new one?"

Chadwick snatched the paper and stared at the sharp black signature at the bottom.

"Void it? Since she wants to play hard to get, let her walk out penniless and freeze in the streets! Within three days, she'll come crawling back on her knees begging me to drop the charges!"

Miles away on the Long Island Expressway, the Ferrari wove through morning traffic well above the speed limit.

Eva gripped the steering wheel with one hand and tapped her Bluetooth earpiece with the other.

"Albin, clear out the VIP wing at NewYork-Presbyterian right now! Jules is in trouble!"

Ten minutes later, the yellow sports car screeched to a halt outside the private VIP emergency entrance on the Upper East Side, where waiting nurses rushed forward with a gurney to wheel the unconscious Julianne straight into the treatment room.