Rising From His Ashes of Betrayal

Eleanor POV:

My husband, Adrien, was my shield against the world, the only one who understood the trauma that haunted me after my family was murdered. I clung to him, my fierce loyalty a desperate attempt to keep the monsters at bay.

Then he brought home Daphne, a quiet barista he called innocent. I saw the manipulation in her downcast eyes, but he saw only purity.

His affection turned to violence. He threw me against a wall, his words cutting deeper than any blow.

"You disgust me," he spat.

He let her get pregnant, and when I lost our child in the chaos, he accused me of murder. "You killed my child!" he roared, his love replaced by a chilling hatred.

He bound me, broke me, and left me for dead in a burning helicopter, choosing to save her instead. I was the monster, the madwoman, the one who deserved to be destroyed.

How could the man who swore to protect me become my greatest tormentor?

But I survived. After faking my death to escape his hell, I watched him mourn me with crocodile tears while building a new life with my replacement. Now, I'm back to reclaim my name, my fortune, and to make him understand what a real monster looks like.

Chapter 1

They called us New York's most volatile power couple, a storm that fascinated everyone. We owned every room we walked into, a whirlwind of ambition and possessiveness. What they didn't see was the constant tremor beneath my skin, a relic of the night my old life burned down. Adrien, my husband, the tech magnate, was my rock, my shield. He swore he'd protect me from everything, even myself. I believed him.

And I, in turn, was his. My loyalty was a suffocating blanket, warm to him, but stifling to anyone else. Anyone who dared to cross him, to even glance at him wrong, felt its oppressive weight. I knew it wasn't pretty. People whispered "madness," but it was just love. A distorted echo of the terror I'd known, demanding I cling to the one person who kept the monsters at bay.

Our bond, forged in the ashes of my trauma, felt unbreakable. We were two halves of an imperfect whole, bound by a past no one else could understand. He was the anchor I desperately needed, and I, the wild current that kept him from stagnation. We were meant to weather every storm, together.

Then Daphne Thornton walked in. A barista, they said. A wisp of a thing, with eyes that held the quiet sadness of a lost fawn. Adrien brought her home one evening, after a charity gala. She didn't speak, just offered timid smiles. Innocence, he called it. I called it a lie.

Her silence was a performance, a carefully constructed illusion. She'd hover near Adrien, her gaze always downcast, her movements hesitant. She'd accidentally spill a drink near him, always managing to appear utterly devastated and apologetic, drawing out his protective instincts. I watched, my blood turning to ice, as he'd gently wipe her hand, a tenderness I hadn't seen directed at anyone but me in years.

His attention, once solely mine, drifted like smoke. First, it was a subtle shift in his gaze, lingering on her a second too long. Then, it was the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, a tone he reserved for soothing my nightmares. He started to spend more time in his study, a place I rarely saw him anymore, and I knew she was there, a silent shadow feeding his weary ego.

The signs were everywhere, glaring like neon lights in my peripheral vision. A silk scarf, not mine, tucked into the back of his car. The faint scent of jasmine, not my perfume, clinging to his shirts. I stared at these fragments, my stomach churning, but my face remained a mask of stone. My heart was a drum, beating a furious rhythm against my ribs, but I wouldn't let it show. Not yet.

I waited until I learned her regular coffee shop, until I memorized her schedule. I dressed in a simple black dress, no jewelry, no makeup. I wanted her to see me, stripped bare of the gilded cage Adrien had built around me, to see the woman beneath the facade. I parked my car directly across from the cafe, its dark windows reflecting my grim determination.

She walked out, head bowed, carrying a small, worn bag. I stepped out of my car, my heels clicking sharply on the pavement, a sound that cut through the city's hum. She flinched, then looked up, her eyes wide. I approached her slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking its prey. My shadow fell over her, swallowing her whole.

"Daphne Thornton," I said, my voice low, dripping with a sweetness that was anything but. My eyes bored into hers, daring her to look away. She trembled, her hands clutching her bag tighter. She was small, fragile, exactly what Adrien thought he wanted.

She swallowed, her throat working hard. Then she shook her head, a silent plea. My smile stretched, a grotesque parody of amusement. "Oh, darling," I purred. "We both know that little act won't work on me."

My hand shot out, grabbing a handful of her hair, yanking her head back sharply. Her eyes widened further, fear finally painting them. "I'm only going to say this once," I hissed, my voice a venomous whisper. "Stay away from my husband. Stay away from my life. Or I will make you regret every breath you take."

She whimpered, a small, choked sound. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill. I didn't care. "Listen," I commanded, my grip tightening on her hair. "You think you're clever, playing the innocent victim. But I've seen real victims, real pain. You, my dear, are just a cheap imitation."

Then I did it. I pulled her into the busy street, directly into the path of an oncoming taxi. The driver slammed on his brakes, the screech of tires a deafening protest. Daphne screamed, a raw, piercing sound that ripped through the air. The fake muteness was gone, shattered by genuine terror.

The sound of the taxi screeching echoed in my ears, but louder, more terrifying, was the roar that followed. "Eleanor!" Adrien's voice, a whip of pure fury, lashed out, cutting through the chaos. He appeared out of nowhere, his face contorted with rage, his eyes locked on me. He ran to Daphne, scooping her up from the pavement, his arms a protective cage around her trembling form. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat, his gaze burning holes through me.

He held her close, stroking her hair, whispering reassurances I couldn't hear. Her sobs were loud now, real, burrowing into his shoulder. He didn't even spare me a glance as he turned, preparing to carry her away. My stomach plummeted, a cold, heavy stone.

He tried to walk past me, but I wouldn't let him. I reached out, my hand clamping onto his arm, my fingers digging into his suit jacket. "Adrien, no," I choked out, a desperate plea. The world tilted, the pavement blurring beneath my feet. This couldn't be happening. Not like this.

He didn't stop. He merely shrugged me off, his movement dismissive, as if I were nothing more than a bothersome fly. My hand slipped, my nails tearing at the fabric, but he didn't even flinch. He just kept walking, his back a cold, unyielding wall.

"If you walk away," I screamed, my voice raw, cracking, "I swear to God, Adrien, I will make sure neither of you live to see tomorrow! I will burn this city down, starting with her!" The words were poison, but they were true. Every fiber of my being screamed for retaliation.

He stopped then, his broad shoulders tensing. He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see the corner of his eye. It was ice. A glacial blue that reflected no warmth, no recognition, only a chilling indifference. "Try it, Eleanor," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "You'll find I'm much better at burning things down than you are."

He didn't wait for my response. He just kept moving, carrying Daphne, her head nestled against his chest, away from me. Away from us. They disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone on the chaotic street, the smell of burnt rubber and the bitter taste of betrayal filling my mouth. My vision blurred, tears I refused to shed stinging my eyes.

The silence that followed their departure was deafening. It pressed in on me, suffocating. My rage, a monster I usually kept chained, broke free. I saw a flower vendor's cart, overflowing with vibrant blooms. With a guttural cry, I overturned it, sending petals and soil scattering across the grimy pavement. Then another. And another. Until the street was a kaleidoscope of destruction. I wanted to smash everything, anything, until the buzzing in my head stopped.

I watched the chaos I created, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The flowers, crushed and broken, were a mirror of my own heart. He wouldn't care. He wouldn't see it. He wouldn't even know. This wasn't about him anymore. It was about her. What could I do that would hurt him, truly hurt him, without ever laying a hand on her again? What could I do to make him feel the emptiness, the utter desolation he had just inflicted upon me?

The answer came, cold and clear, like a winter morning. He wanted sweetness? He wanted innocence? He wanted a simple, uncomplicated life? I would give him nothing less than hell. The only way to truly punish him was to make him care about the very thing he thought he could control.

I found Daphne later that day. Not at home, but at a discreet clinic on the Upper East Side. The security was tight, but my influence, even now, still had teeth. I walked into her room, my face a mask of calm. She lay pale and small in the bed, a bandage on her arm from the fall. Her eyes darted to mine, fear still swimming in their depths.

I didn't speak. I simply walked over to the bedside table, picked up a glass of water, and slowly, deliberately, poured it over the small bouquet of flowers Adrien had sent. The petals shriveled, the water dripping onto the pristine white sheets. Then, with the same measured calm, I reached for her IV drip. I watched the clear liquid flow, my heart beating a steady, cold rhythm.

Her eyes, wide with terror, pleaded with me, but I didn't flinch. I let the drip run, then, with a sharp twist, I severed the tube.

The monitor beside her bed started to wail.

I watched her face contort, her body twitching. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp.

I stared down at her, a strange satisfaction settling in my chest. This wasn't about violence. This was about consequence. Adrien would feel this. He would feel every ripple of this.

I walked out of the room, leaving the alarms blaring, the nurses screaming. I wanted to see his face when he found her like that. I wanted to watch him crumble.

He didn't crumble. Not in the way I expected. He found me later, back in our penthouse, the one I had decorated with so much love, so much hope. His face was a thundercloud, dark and menacing. He didn't shout. He didn't even raise his voice. That's how I knew it was bad.

He cornered me in the living room, the city lights twinkling far below, oblivious to the storm raging inside these walls. "You touched her," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but it vibrated through the floor, through my bones. "You touched her, Eleanor."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "She's a liar, Adrien. A manipulative little-"

He didn't let me finish. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to grab. His fingers wrapped around my throat, not tight enough to stop my breath, but firm enough to convey absolute power. My eyes watered, not from pain, but from the sudden, stark realization of what I had unleashed. "You think you're so clever," he growled, his face inches from mine. "You think you can play these games. But you forget who you're playing with."

He shoved me, hard, against the marble fireplace. My head hit the cold stone with a sickening thud, and a sharp, searing pain shot through my skull. Stars exploded behind my eyes, then faded into a dizzying haze. My legs buckled, and I slid to the floor, my breath catching in my chest.

I looked up at him, my vision swimming. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that quickly intensified. A slow, hot anger started to bubble in my gut, pushing back against the fear. "You hit me," I whispered, disbelief lacing my voice. The man who had sworn to protect me, who had been my shield against the world, had just thrown me against a wall.

His eyes, usually filled with a possessive fire, were now cold and distant. He leaned down, his face a grim mask. "You are unstable, Eleanor. A madwoman. You tried to hurt an innocent person." He paused, his gaze raking over my trembling form. "You disgust me."

His words hit harder than the blow. My heart contracted, a crushing weight in my chest. He squeezed my arm, dragging me to my feet, his grip like iron. "You want to play rough?" he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Fine. Let's play rough."

He pulled me into the master bedroom, the room that had once been our sanctuary, now a battlefield. He tore at my dress, the delicate fabric ripping with a harsh sound. My mind raced, trying to find a way out, but there was nowhere to go. My body was screaming, but my voice was trapped somewhere deep inside.

He forced my face up, his fingers digging into my jaw. "Look at yourself, Eleanor," he commanded, dragging me to the full-length mirror. My reflection stared back, hair disheveled, eyes wide and terrified, a bruise already blooming on my temple. "This is what you are. A monster."

His words, brutal and dehumanizing, resonated in the quiet room. "I'm tired, Eleanor," he sighed, his voice laced with a weariness that chilled me to the bone. "So tired of this... this madness." He released me, and I stumbled back, clutching the torn remnants of my dress.

"I tried," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "God, I tried. For years, I tried to fix you, to piece you back together. But you're broken, Eleanor. Irreparably broken." He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his back to me.

My throat burned. "You... you love her, don't you?" The words were barely a whisper, a desperate plea for confirmation of the truth I already knew.

He turned back, his gaze meeting mine, devoid of any warmth. "She's... calm. Gentle. She doesn't have your demons, Eleanor. She doesn't carry the weight of a shattered past." He paused, a cruel smile touching his lips. "She's everything you used to be, before the fire. Everything I crave now."

A fresh wave of searing pain erupted in my abdomen, a sudden, violent twist that stole my breath. I doubled over, clutching my stomach, the world spinning around me. "No," I gasped, the word ripped from my throat. "No, you can't. You can't leave me. I did it for you, Adrien. Everything. All of it was for you!" I clawed at his chest, my nails digging into his skin, a desperate, frantic attempt to hold onto him.

He pushed me away, his face impassive. "Don't you understand, Eleanor?" he said, his voice a low rumble. "You murdered our child. Your 'madness,' your 'loyalty,' your twisted love... it cost us everything. It cost me everything." His words were a physical blow, worse than any punch. My body went numb, my mind reeling.

He pointed a finger at me, his eyes blazing with a cold fire. "Daphne, she's my salvation. My peace. And you, Eleanor, you are nothing but a reminder of the darkness I want to escape." He turned, his back to me again, and walked to the door.

He paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorknob. "Don't even think about touching her again, Eleanor," he warned, his voice like ice. "Because if you do, your personal hell will become a public spectacle. And trust me, I excel at spectacle." He walked out, the click of the door echoing in the silent room, leaving me alone in the wreckage of our life, my body wracked with a new, terrifying pain.