The Billionaire's Betrayed Wife My Revenge Rebirth

"Madeline Simmons—isn't all your luck just because you married into the Morton family and have your husband to clean up your messes?" Looking at his smug face, I closed my eyes for a moment. Yeah. Lucky. I'm so damn lucky. If I hadn't overheard what he said to my parents that day, maybe I would've stayed lucky forever. I walked out of the Morton Group building and stopped at the base. Turned. Looked up at the landmark tower cutting through Graystone's skyline. Ten years ago, before we married, the Morton family wasn't the richest in Graystone. Back then, that title belonged to some crude real estate tycoon. He wanted me. Named me specifically—demanded the Simmons family hand me over. My dad was about to agree. But Zane knelt outside our house. Three days. Three nights. Until my dad finally relented and gave him two more years. Two years to outmatch the richest man in the city? Nearly impossible. I stayed up all night thinking. Then I sold the herbal medicine formula I'd spent years developing—fifty million dollars—and gave every cent to Zane. He delivered. In six months, he had the status to marry me. It drizzled on our wedding day. The cold, damp air made his knees—ruined from kneeling—ache so badly he could barely walk. But he lifted me anyway. His face pale, his smile radiant. "Madeline, from now on, I'll protect you. No one will ever bully you again." That was the first time in my life someone treated me like I was precious. So this is what it feels like to be loved. But… Could love that deep actually fade? Like morning dew. Like lightning. Ten years later, I can barely find any trace of how Zane once loved me. Only cheating. Betrayal. Lies. The first time Zane cheated, I asked for a divorce. The next day, creditors showed up at my parents' door. Thirty million in debt. Pay up, or they'd take my dad's hand. My father—who had never liked me—knelt on the floor, clutching my hand, his hair gone white overnight. "I'm old. One hand doesn't matter. Sweetheart, don't worry about me—just live your life. That's enough." Zane swooped in like a hero. "Honey, your formula gave me fifty million back then. This thirty million? I'll cover it." "But I can't pay it all at once. Don't divorce me—let me pay it off monthly?" Thirty million. With his net worth, he could've written that check in his sleep. This was blackmail. Pure and simple. I agreed anyway. He was still my dad. Even if he'd treated me badly, when I was little he'd let me ride on his shoulders to watch fireworks and reach for stars. The second time Zane cheated, I brought up divorce again. The next day, my mom collapsed. The Morton family's private medical team admitted her immediately. Olivia was abroad for work, so caring for Mom fell entirely on me. Zane stayed up through the nights by her bedside until his eyes were bloodshot. But he still held my hand, still whispered comfort: "Honey, I'll take care of Mom. You need to rest—your health comes first." In the midnight quiet of that hospital room, he held me close, his voice barely a murmur: "Madeline, when you're old, I'll keep watch by your bed just like this. If you go first, I won't want to live either." "You suffered so much growing up. God sent me to love you." The divorce went nowhere. For my parents. For that pathetic scrap of hope I still carried—that love could be real. I endured his betrayals. Again and again. Until the thirtieth time. When his mistress showed up at my door and ground her heel into my face, I finally broke.

Before I could even bring up divorce, my son Asher Morton wrapped himself around my leg. He looked up at me with teary eyes: "Mom, please don't divorce Dad." "I don't want to be some kid without a mom." Zane was right about one thing. Even if he let me go, I still couldn't leave. My parents depended on the Morton family. And my son needed his mother. But he miscalculated. That day, outside my mom's hospital room, I heard them plotting how to keep the lies going. Inside, Dad was all smiles: "I've been faking debt for so long—of course she has to behave and play the dutiful Morton daughter-in-law." Mom chimed in, "And don't forget me." "I'm not even sick. Checking myself into the hospital at the drop of a hat—have I ever complained?" My son sat on Olivia's lap, pouting: "I want Aunt Olivia to be my mom. Dad, why do I have to pretend I can't live without her?" "Just get divorced already. Aunt Olivia is way better than Mom. She never nags." "Grandma says Mom's just a hen that can't lay eggs. Only Aunt Olivia can give me a little brother." Outside that door, the pain nearly suffocated me. Zane's affairs had made the Morton family a joke in Graystone's elite circles. My mother-in-law blamed me for not keeping my husband satisfied. She made me kneel outside in a Graystone winter. All night. When I woke from the coma, my baby was gone. So was my ability to ever have another. My parents just nodded along, then urged Zane: "Exactly. Son-in-law, why not switch? Madeline's always been inferior to her sister. She's not worthy of the Morton family anymore." Zane said nothing. He reached over, hooked Olivia by the neck, and kissed her—deep and greedy. "Why would I switch?" "Who else would be as pathetic as Madeline?" "A little affection from me, a little pity act from you all, and she'll tolerate anything." "A woman this stupid? Hard to find another one." He was right. I had been stupid. On the road, I clutched the signed divorce papers as tears dripped down. But no one stays stupid forever. I pulled out my phone and booked a flight abroad for three days later. Then I posted the bedroom photos of Zane and Olivia online. Why should they have all the fun? After that, I got my hair done. Did a facial. Everything in the mall I'd wanted but never let myself buy—I bought it all. Then I returned to the Morton house, happy. The moment I walked in, a crystal glass smashed into my head. My temple screamed with pain. Tears sprang up on their own. Warm blood slid down and dripped onto the carpet. Mrs. Morton didn't seem to notice. She clutched Asher, glaring at me with pure hatred: "Look at what kind of mother you are. Asher went to school without a coat today. Are you trying to freeze my grandson to death?" This was Asher's usual trick. He'd wake in the middle of the night claiming nightmares, saying my scolding had traumatized him. He'd refuse to eat until he fainted, then tell Grandma I was starving him. Every time, it gave Mrs. Morton an excuse to punish me. Slaps. Kneeling. Whatever she felt like. Asher would watch with a grin, sometimes adding: "Mom, you're so useless. Aunt Olivia would never be like this." Same old routine. This morning, I'd put his coat on him myself.

Asher looked at the blood on my forehead and snapped a photo. I knew exactly who he was sending it to—Olivia. Smack! I slapped the phone out of his hand, yanked him across my lap, and spanked him hard. Before Hannah could explode, I pointed at the security camera above us. "I put his coat on him this morning—right under that lens. Kids lie. As his mother, don't I have the right to discipline him?" I clenched my fist, ready to swing at her next. Her lips twitched, but she said nothing. Still, payback came fast. That night, the bedroom door crashed open. Four men rushed in and knocked me out cold. When I woke, I was in an unfamiliar hotel room. Zane's face was black with rage. He grabbed my wrist and nearly lifted me off the ground. "Are you insane? Who gave you the nerve?" I thrashed against his grip. The harder I fought, the tighter he squeezed—my wrist felt ready to snap. I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Funny. I've never seen you this worked up over Asher before." Asher was eight years old. Zane couldn't even name his birthday. But one spanking, and suddenly he was coming for me? "Asher?" Confusion flickered across his face, then hardened into fury. "I'm talking about Olivia's photos. You posted them online." "What does Asher—quit playing dumb!" Ah. So that's what this was about. An afternoon was plenty of time for those pictures to blow up. Young CEO cheats with rising model—the internet ate that stuff alive. "Oh, those photos?" I smiled. "Didn't they turn out nice? You two sent me bed shots as an anniversary gift. I figured you had no shame left to protect." "She's your sister!" His eyes blazed red. "The most promising model in the country—and you're destroying her career!" I was destroying Olivia? I wrenched free and hiked up my skirt, exposing the gnarled scar tissue on my thigh. "The agency picked me first. Olivia was jealous, so she dumped a brazier of hot coals on my leg. That's how she 'earned' her shot." Zane had seen these scars before. The first time, he'd kissed every inch of them. "That must have hurt so much," he'd whispered, voice cracking. "Not anymore." He'd held me tight. "Madeline, I swear—it'll never hurt again." Now he just turned away, irritated. "How many times are you going to drag up ancient history? You've gotten way too disobedient. Looks like I need to teach you a lesson." He pinned me down and forced a glass of drugged water down my throat. As the flush crept across my skin, he stroked my cheek gently. "Relax, Madeline. Just a few photos. Stay obedient like you used to—no fighting, no competing—and no one else will ever see them." My limbs went slack. I stared up at him, pleading. He ignored me completely, dressing me in a crimson robe, arranging my body into pose after pose. The shutter clicked again and again. Zane pulled my clothes back on after the last shudder left him, tucked the blanket around me, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep, honey. Good night." The door clicked shut behind him. Ten minutes later, Olivia stood at the foot of my bed—flanked by the same four men who'd dragged me here. "Since you cost me so much, Madeline, I think it's only fair I return the favor." She waved at them. "All of you. At once. Do whatever you want." My eyes went wide. The strength I'd barely scraped together was only enough for one scream: "Help!" The sound hadn't finished leaving my throat when the man on top of me was ripped away and slammed with a punch. The newcomer's gaze turned ice-cold. "Get out. All of you." I knew him.