Rebirth The Tycoons Vengeful Wife
I exploded. Demanded a divorce on the spot.
To escape the nauseating pair of them, I agreed to walk away with nothing.
I died alone, wasted away by illness in a rented studio apartment. No one was there to see me take my last breath.
After my death, Ethans company went public. He and Brooke had a wedding that was the talk of the city.
Everyone called them a match made in heaven. When my name came up, it was always with a dismissive sigh: That woman. She just wasnt meant for a life of fortune.
I open my eyes, and Im back at Ethans birthday party.
Brooke is walking toward me, wearing the same predatory smile, about to utter the exact same words.
This time, I dont get angry. I smile.
I reach for my own best friend, Liam, who came with me tonight, and loop my arm through his, leaning into him intimately.
As Ethan and Brooke stare, mouths slightly agape, Liam directs a perfectly innocent blink at my husbands darkening face.
Ethan, dont get jealous. Audrey and I go way back. He pauses, his voice light and playful. After all, I probably know the map of freckles on her back better than she does.
1
The music seemed to die. The chatter evaporated.
The color of Ethans face cycled from slate gray to a bruised purple, finally settling on a black that seemed to swallow the light.
In that instant, I felt ten years of love for him turn to ash in my heart.
His knuckles were white where he gripped his glass, veins standing out like cords on the back of his hand. His reason, his composure, had shattered.
The triumphant smirk on Brookes face froze, her skin mottling red and white. Liams casual intimacy had just trampled all over her pride. Whispers started to ripple through the crowd.
I kept my arm linked with Liams, the curve of my smile measured and perfect.
Happy birthday, Ethan.
I raised my glass to him in a mock toast before draining it in one long swallow.
Ethan didnt move.
His eyes were like knives, promising to flay me alive.
I set my empty glass down on a passing tray and turned to leave with Liam.
Audrey!
The sound was torn from between Ethans clenched teeth, hot with fury.
I didnt break my stride.
A powerful hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back so hard that pain shot through my wrist.
Are you done? he hissed, his voice low and freezing, each word a shard of ice.
I looked up at the face I had loved for a decade, a face I knew better than my own, now twisted with nothing but rage and impatience.
Let go, I said.
Come with me. Stop embarrassing yourself here. He started dragging me toward the exit.
Liam stepped in front of us, blocking our path. He took hold of Ethans wrist and, with a deceptively gentle twist, forced his fingers open.
Ethan winced, releasing me.
I dont think she wants to go with you, Ethan, Liam said. He still had that easygoing, almost flippant smile, but his eyes were chips of ice.
Ethan shook his hand free, smoothing the wrinkled cuff of his designer suit. He looked at me, his gaze overflowing with disappointment and cold contempt.
I thought you knew better, Audrey.
Youre going to let this outsider start a war between us?
I stared at him.
An outsider?
My gaze drifted past his shoulder to where Brooke stood, watching me with the undisguised look of a victor.
Ethan, I want a divorce.
I said the words calmly.
The air went still.
Ethan let out a sharp, derisive laugh, as if Id just told the worlds most pathetic joke.
A divorce? Audrey, how many times have you tried to threaten me with that?
Let me tell you something. Dont push your luck. You want a divorce? Fine. You walk away with nothing. You think you can handle that?
He was so sure I couldnt.
He was certain that the pampered Mrs. Audrey Pierce couldnt survive a week without him.
In my last life, he was right. I was terrified.
I had wept and begged, and all it earned me was deeper humiliation.
But now
Okay, I said, my voice clear and steady.
The sneer on Ethans face froze solid.
He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldnt have possibly heard me right.
I didnt give him a chance to recover.
Liam, lets go.
I turned, and this time, Ethan didnt stop me. I could feel his scorching glare fixed on my back until Liam and I disappeared through the ballroom doors.
In the car, Liam broke the silence.
Are you sure?
Yes.
He wont let you go easily.
I watched the city lights streak past the window, blurring into long ribbons of neon.
I know.
Back at the penthouse I shared with Ethan, I didnt waste a second. I started packing.
I didnt have much that was truly mine. A few sets of clothes I wore regularly, some professional books, and the few heirlooms my mother had left me.
I was just placing a small, locked rosewood box in my suitcase when the bedroom door opened.
Brooke was leaning against the frame, arms crossed.
She was wearing one of Ethans white dress shirts. The hem just barely grazed her thighs, and the top two buttons were undone, revealing her collarbones.
She was playing the part of the lady of the house.
Audrey, packing so late? Her eyes fell on my suitcase, her contempt unconcealed. Ethan asked me to check on you. He was worried you might do something drastic.
I ignored her and zipped the suitcase shut.
She sauntered into the room and picked up a small, celadon-glazed ceramic bird from my vanity.
I had made it in a pottery class in college. It was the first gift I ever gave Ethan.
Hed claimed to love it, and had kept it on his nightstand ever since.
This little thing is so ugly, Brooke mused, turning it over in her hands, her fingertips stroking it with feigned carelessness.
Crack.
The bird hit the marble floor and shattered.
Oops, she said, covering her mouth. Clumsy me. Her eyes, however, held no apology, only the thrill of provocation.
In my last life, I would have flown at her, screaming.
But now, I just glanced at the ceramic dust on the floor.
Then I looked up and smiled at her.
Its fine. It was just some junk I was going to throw out anyway.
Brookes smile faltered.
I walked past her, pulling my suitcase. As I reached the door, I paused and leaned in close, my voice a whisper only she could hear. Brooke that cheap vanilla body spray you wear? Guess how many years Ive had to pretend I couldnt smell it on his shirts?
The color drained from her face.
I didnt look back again. I walked out of the home I had lived in for five years without a second thought. Just as the door clicked shut behind me, I heard the satisfying sound of something inside being violently smashed against a wall.
I settled into the apartment Liam had arranged for me.
The next morning, my phone rang.
It was my mother-in-law, Eleanor.
The second I answered, the screaming began.
Audrey! What the hell was that little stunt last night? Do you have any idea how youve humiliated this family?
You ruined Ethans birthday! Have you no shame?
I held the phone away from my ear, waiting for the tirade to run out of steam.
Are you finished? I asked into the silence.
There was a stunned pause on the other end. She clearly hadnt expected this response.
What is that tone? Im telling you, you will go and apologize to Ethan this instant! And to Brooke! Brooke is a sweet girl, you need to stop targeting her!
Eleanor, were getting a divorce.
Dont be ridiculous! A divorce? I forbid it! Her voice was sharp as a razor.
This is between me and Ethan.
Audrey, dont be a fool! What do you think you are? Without Ethan, without this family, you are nothing!
I hung up.
The world was quiet again.
A few moments later, my phone buzzed with a text message.
A fraud alert from my bank.
Every single one of my credit cards had been frozen.
It was immediately followed by a text from Ethan.
Taste what its like to have nothing. Come crawling back when youve learned your lesson.
It ended with a perfectly arrogant period.
I deleted the message and opened a luxury resale app.
One by one, I listed the designer bags and jewelry from my walk-in closet that Id never had the heart to use.
They were all things Id bought with my own money before the marriage.
Now, they would be the seed money for my new life.
That afternoon, I got a call from an unknown number.
It was the organizer for the Starlight Foundation Charity Gala.
Mrs. Pierce, hello. Were calling to inform you that weve received a notice from Mr. Pierce. Your VIP seat at this years event has been canceled.
Also, regarding the painting Mr. Pierce submitted for auction, First Light he has specifically requested that the artist attribution be changed to Ms. Brooke Chandler.
I held the phone, silent for a few seconds.
In my last life, it was this painting that launched Brooke into the limelight as a brilliant artistic prodigy.
And Ethan, through this masterful act of charity-as-PR, paved the way for his companys IPO.
No one knew that the real artist was a long-dead master named Alistair Finch.
And I just so happened to be his last and final student.
The Starlight Gala was the social event of the year.
Ethan had poured enormous resources into it. He needed a perfect media moment to elevate his companys profile and build hype for an upcoming product launch.
Brookes debut as a genius painter was the centerpiece of the entire show.
In my last life, I was locked away at home, forced to watch them on the news as they took the stage, bathed in the flash of cameras.
Ethan, looking impossibly handsome, announced that all proceeds from the sale of First Light would be donated to a childrens charity.
Brooke stood demurely by his side, speaking of her emotional journey while creating the piece.
They received a standing ovation.
And I, like a rat in the shadows, watched from a dark corner, consumed by a helpless, burning jealousy.
This time, I wouldnt give them the chance.
I didnt call the press. I didnt try to find evidence.
The best way to deal with an arrogant man is to let him climb as high as possible before he falls.
I pulled out a collection of my teachers work, a heavy art book. Tucked into the final page was a yellowed, folded letter.
It was a letter Mr. Finch had written to me before he died.
In it, he spoke of the painting he was most proud of in his later years. A piece he loved so much he had never shown it to anyone, nor had he signed it.
He described the scene in the painting in vivid detail. And he told me how, when he finished it, he had used a special ink to press a tiny, discreet seal of his initialan Fon the bottom-left corner of the canvass reverse side.
That painting was First Light.
I made a phone call.
Hello, is this Professor Abramson?
A voice, old but full of vigor, answered from the other end.
Who is this?
My name is Audrey Pierce. I was a student of Alistair Finch.
Professor Abramson was one of the nations top art appraisers and was my teachers closest friend. He was a man of rigid principles who despised phonies and frauds above all else.
Ah, Miss Pierce. What can I do for you?
Professor, I need to ask for your help.
I didnt go into detail. I only mentioned that a painting, stylistically identical to Mr. Finchs work, was set to appear at the Starlight Gala.
I just feel that my teachers work shouldnt be disrespected, I said. And it certainly shouldnt be stolen by charlatans.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
I understand.
That was all I needed.
On the night of the auction, I didnt go.
I stayed home and opened the live stream.
On the screen, Ethan stood under a spotlight in a custom-tailored tuxedo, looking sharp and confident. Beside him, Brooke was a vision in a flowing white gown.
Behind them, projected on a massive screen, was First Light.
The rising sun, piercing through clouds to spill liquid gold onto misty mountains. It was breathtaking.
This piece, First Light, is the result of three years of dedicated work by Brooke, Ethan announced, his voice smooth and magnetic. He looked at her with an expression of pure adoration. It represents new beginnings, and it represents hope.
Brooke lowered her head shyly, playing her part to perfection.
The room erupted in applause.
The bidding began, and the price climbed at a dizzying pace. Soon, it had broken the eight-figure mark.
Just as the auctioneer was about to bring the hammer down, a figure rose from the front row.
It was Professor Abramson.
He leaned on a cane, his hair white, but his posture was ramrod straight.
Mr. Pierce, if I may, could I ask a question?
Every eye in the room turned to him. Ethan, who clearly recognized the titan of the art world, pasted on a polite smile.
Of course, Professor. Please.
This is an exquisite painting. Truly. Its just that the texturing on the rock faces, the specific way the mist is rendered its identical to the style of a dear departed friend of mine, the artist Alistair Finch.
The Professors voice wasnt loud, but the microphone carried it to every corner of the vast hall.
Might I ask, Ms. Chandler, under whom did you study?
First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "282754" to read the entire book.
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