The Neglected Wife's Bloody Revenge Pact

The rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator filled the intensive care unit. Jenna Hood lay flat on the sterile hospital bed, her cracked lips parted slightly. The machine forced air into her failing lungs, but her chest barely rose. She was suffocating in slow motion.

The heavy metal door of the room pushed open. The harsh, fluorescent light from the hallway spilled over the linoleum floor, shattering the dead silence.

Twenty-year-old Arthur and Clio walked in. They wore custom-tailored suits and haute couture dresses. The hard soles of their designer shoes clicked against the floor in a cold, calculated rhythm.

Clio stopped at the foot of the bed. She pinched her nose, her perfectly manicured eyebrows pulling together in disgust.

"God, the smell of bleach in here makes me want to vomit," Clio muttered.

Arthur stepped up to the side of the bed. He looked down at his mother's emaciated, bone-thin frame. A smirk, devoid of any warmth, curled the corner of his mouth.

Jenna's eyes darted toward him. Her eyeballs scraped dryly against her eyelids. She forced her arm up, the IV needles pulling painfully at her bruised skin. She reached for her son. She just wanted someone to hold her hand.

Arthur took a half-step back. He looked at her outstretched fingers as if they were covered in disease.

"Don't touch me," Arthur warned, his voice flat. "You'll ruin my jacket."

Jenna's hand froze in mid-air. The heart monitor beside her bed began to beep faster, betraying the sudden, violent spike in her pulse.

Clio stepped forward. She pulled her smartphone from her designer bag, tapped the screen, and shoved it directly into Jenna's line of sight. It was a high-resolution photo. Jenna's husband, Alonzo, had his arm wrapped tightly around the waist of a stunning, vibrant woman named Audra.

"Dad is marrying Aunt Audra next week," Clio said. Her voice was dripping with a sugary, toxic sweetness. "She is the mother we actually want."

Jenna's pupils dilated. Her throat convulsed, producing a broken, wheezing sound around the plastic tube. She tried to shake her head. It had to be a lie.

Arthur cut off her pathetic struggle.

"Stop acting so shocked," Arthur said coldly. "You were just a cheap incubator for the Knight family heirs. That's all you ever were."

He leaned down, bringing his face inches from Jenna's ear.

"You are a nobody. A penniless orphan with no background," Arthur whispered. "You've occupied the seat of Mrs. Knight for far too long."

A single tear leaked from the corner of Jenna's eye. It slid down her hollow cheek. The betrayal burned through her veins like battery acid, eating away at her organs.

Clio reached into her purse and pulled out a diamond-encrusted compact mirror. She shoved it right in front of Jenna's face.

"Look at yourself," Clio demanded. "Look at how ugly and dead you already are."

The reflection in the glass made Jenna's body jerk. She looked like a decaying corpse. The heart monitor shrieked, a high-pitched alarm echoing off the walls. Outside the glass window, the nurses did not even look up. They had been bought.

Arthur checked his Patek Philippe watch. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"We are going to be late for the charity gala," he said.

He turned his body. His eyes locked onto the wall behind the bed. He stared directly at the thick, black main power plug of the life support system.

Jenna followed his gaze. Pure, unadulterated terror exploded in her chest.

Arthur reached out without a second of hesitation. He wrapped his hand around the black plastic plug.

Jenna shook her head violently. Her eyes bulged. A silent, agonizing scream tore at her vocal cords.

Arthur looked back at her. He smiled. It was the exact same cold, flawless smile his father always wore.

He yanked his wrist back. A sharp click echoed in the room. The plug came out of the socket.

The machines died instantly. The room plunged into a suffocating silence, illuminated only by the blinking red light of the backup battery warning.

The oxygen supply cut off. Jenna's mouth opened wide like a fish thrown onto dry land. Her chest heaved violently, but no air came in. Her lungs screamed for oxygen.

Clio turned around and linked her arm through her brother's. They walked toward the heavy metal door without looking back.

Black spots danced in Jenna's vision. The physical agony of suffocation merged with a tidal wave of pure hatred. It set her brain on fire.

She stared at their retreating backs. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that they broke the skin. She swore a blood oath to whatever god was listening. If she ever got another chance, she would make them bleed.

The EKG monitor let out one final, piercing, continuous tone. The jagged green line on the screen flattened into a dead, straight line.

Jenna's arm dropped off the side of the bed. She plunged into the endless, dark abyss.

A sharp, piercing scream shattered the dark abyss.

Jenna's eyes snapped open. Her chest heaved violently as she sucked in massive, greedy gulps of air.

Her hands flew to her throat, expecting to feel the hard plastic of the ventilator tube. Instead, her fingers brushed against her own warm, firm skin.

Her blurred vision slowly snapped into focus. She wasn't staring at the stained ceiling tiles of the hospital. She was looking up at a massive crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling.

A heavy plastic toy car flew through the air. It slammed into the wooden nightstand right next to her head with a loud, cracking thud.

Jenna flinched, her body jerking away from the noise. She turned her head. A five-year-old boy stood on the plush Persian rug. He was stomping his feet in a fit of rage.

He wore a tailored, British-style children's suit. His face was an exact, miniature replica of Arthur.

On the velvet sofa across the room, five-year-old Clio was rolling around, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was demanding a specific brand of Italian gelato.

Jenna's brain short-circuited. Her hands gripped the silk bedsheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. She thought she was in hell, trapped in a twisted hallucination.

Little Arthur saw that the woman on the bed wasn't moving. He marched over, lifted his custom leather shoe, and kicked the side of the mahogany bed frame hard.

"Get up right now!" Arthur ordered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Go to the kitchen and make my pancakes!"

The arrogant, demanding tone hit Jenna like a physical blow. It perfectly overlapped with the voice of the adult Arthur who had just unplugged her life support.

Jenna's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Post-traumatic stress ripped through her nervous system. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered.

She threw off the silk covers and scrambled backward. She tumbled off the edge of the mattress, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. She sprinted toward the master bathroom.

"You look like a stupid clown!" Arthur laughed loudly behind her.

Jenna slammed the heavy bathroom door shut and threw the deadbolt lock. The solid wood muffled the chaotic noise from the bedroom.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink. Her chest rose and fell in jagged, uneven breaths. She slowly lifted her head and stared into the massive, gold-plated mirror above the vanity.

The face staring back at her was young. The skin was full of collagen, devoid of the deep stress lines and the sickly, gray pallor of death.

She raised a trembling hand. Her fingertips touched the cold glass, tracing the reflection of her own cheek. The physical sensation was undeniably real.

She slammed her hand down on the faucet handle. Freezing cold water blasted from the tap. She cupped her hands, gathered the icy water, and splashed it violently onto her face.

The biting cold shocked her system. It stripped away the lingering fog of the nightmare. This was real.

She turned her head and looked at the marble nightstand built into the bathroom vanity-a small, elegant shelf where she often left things during her old morning routine. An early-model smartphone rested there, abandoned by her past self. She snatched it up and pressed the home button. The glowing screen clearly displayed the date and the year. It was exactly fifteen years ago.

She had been reborn. She was back to the year the twins were only five, the year the seeds of her ultimate destruction were just beginning to sprout.

Loud, aggressive banging vibrated against the bathroom door. Little Arthur was kicking the wood, screaming foul words that no five-year-old should even know.

Jenna closed her eyes. The physical agony of suffocating to death, the sight of Arthur's cold smile, flashed behind her eyelids. Her stomach twisted into a tight, hard knot.

When she opened her eyes again, the confusion and terror were entirely gone. They were replaced by a layer of frost so thick it could freeze blood.

She grabbed a thick cotton towel and wiped the water from her face. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and absolute.

She turned away from the mirror and walked toward the door. She reached out and wrapped her hand around the cold metal doorknob. The old phone remained in her other hand-she tucked it into her waistband absently, needing both hands free for what was coming.

Outside, little Arthur was holding a heavy, expensive glass perfume bottle high above his head, ready to smash it against the wood.

Jenna twisted the lock and yanked the door open. She stood tall, looking down at the son who held the bottle. Her eyes were dead, staring at him as if he were already a corpse.

Little Arthur froze. The heavy perfume bottle hovered in the air. The sheer, freezing intensity in his mother's eyes made his breath hitch.

But his hesitation only lasted a second. He was used to ruling this house. He puffed out his chest and screamed.

"Make my breakfast or I will smash this on the rug!"

Jenna didn't flinch. She didn't drop to her knees to coax him like she used to. Her hand shot out like a striking snake. She clamped her fingers around his raised wrist with a crushing grip.

Arthur's eyes went wide. He had never been physically stopped before.

He immediately let out an ear-piercing shriek. He thrashed his body, trying to pull away. When that failed, he lifted his leather shoe and kicked Jenna hard in the shin.

The sharp pain radiated up her leg.

That sudden jolt of physical pain acted like a spark in a powder keg. It instantly ignited the towering hatred she felt when the adult Arthur had pulled her ventilator plug. Her last shred of restraint snapped.

Her free hand snatched the perfume bottle from his grip. She slammed it down onto the marble nightstand. The heavy glass hit the stone with a deafening thud.

Arthur shrieked at the noise. "You stupid, cheap woman!" he spat.

Jenna's eyes narrowed. She grabbed him by the collar of his tailored suit, dragged him forward, and forced him face-down over her knee. She raised her hand high and brought it down hard on his backside.

A sharp, explosive smack echoed through the massive bedroom. The air in the room instantly froze.

On the sofa, Clio stopped rolling. She scrambled backward, pressing her small body into the corner of the cushions, letting out a terrified whimper.

Arthur lay over Jenna's knee, completely stunned for three full seconds. Then, he erupted into a hysterical, throat-tearing wail.

The bedroom door, which had been left ajar, pushed open. Maria, the head nanny, rushed in with a panicked look on her face.

When Maria saw the usually submissive, timid Mrs. Knight actually striking the young master, she gasped loudly and slapped both hands over her mouth.

Jenna released her grip. She shoved the red-faced, sobbing Arthur toward the nanny.

"Get out," Jenna said. The words were quiet, but they cut through the crying like a razor blade.

The murderous aura radiating from Jenna made Maria shudder. The nanny didn't dare ask a single question. She scooped Arthur up, grabbed Clio by the hand, and practically ran out of the room.

The bedroom fell into a dead silence. Jenna looked down at her own palm. It was stinging and red. She took a deep, slow breath, forcing her heart rate to steady.

She walked out of the bathroom and back into the main bedroom. She crossed the room to the bedside nightstand-a different one, in the bedroom itself-where the lamp glowed softly. Her latest model smartphone, the one she used for daily communication, lay right beside it. She picked it up and pulled up the number burned into her memory-her husband, Alonzo Knight. She pressed call.

It rang three times before the line connected. Alonzo's deep, cold, and heavily irritated voice came through the speaker.

"What kind of tantrum are you throwing this early in the morning?" Alonzo demanded.

In the background, barely muffled by the phone's microphone, Jenna heard the soft, breathy laugh of a woman.

That laugh pierced her eardrum. It was Audra. In her past life, Jenna had been stupid enough to believe they were just business partners.

Jenna felt no anger. Her voice was as flat and still as a stagnant pool of water. She spoke directly into the receiver.

"We are getting a divorce."

The line went completely silent for a moment. Then, Alonzo let out a short, mocking scoff.

"Did you forget to take your antidepressants again?" Alonzo sneered. "Don't use these cheap, pathetic tactics to get my attention, Jenna. It's embarrassing."

Jenna didn't bother defending herself. She didn't raise her voice.

"My lawyer will contact you," she stated coldly.

Before Alonzo could say another word, Jenna pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the red button. The call died.

She tossed the phone onto the unmade bed. She turned her back to it and walked straight toward the massive walk-in closet.

She bypassed the rows of designer dresses. She walked to the very back, crouched down, and pulled out an old, scuffed black suitcase from the bottom shelf. She dragged it out and threw it heavily onto the hardwood floor.