The Billionaire's Roadkill Wife

After ten years of marriage, Jonathan Richards had slept with nearly every colleague and friend I had.

I turned a blind eye, burying myself in routine maternity checkups, my eight-month belly a constant reminder of the life I carried—until the day his latest fling ran me off the road on my way to the doctor.

I bled out on the pavement, begging him to take me to the hospital.

Jonathan stared down at me, his face twisted in disgust.

"Zara Clare, since when did you become such a convincing actress?" His voice was poison. "Did you really think faking an accident would make me care? Even if you died right here, I wouldn't waste a second glance on you."

Then he left. Just like that. Took his new toy by the hand, climbed into his car, and drove away—leaving me to bleed out alone.

By the time someone found me, it was too late. The baby inside me had suffocated, its tiny heart stilled before it ever had a chance to beat.

The shock killed my mother. A heart attack, the doctors said.

When I woke up, I felt nothing. No grief, no rage—just hollow numbness.

Jonathan's grandfather sat beside my bed, his face etched with sorrow.

"Let me go," I said, my voice flat. "Whatever debt I owed the Richards family, I've paid for it with my life."

My phone buzzed relentlessly. The screen lit up with a flood of photos—Jonathan and his mistress, Lily Patricia, tangled in silk sheets, their skin marked with love bites.

While I had been fighting for my life, they'd been celebrating in a five-star suite.

In one photo, Lily smirked against Jonathan's chest, her eyes daring me to react.

The old man, still blind to the depths of his grandson's cruelty, slid a stack of documents toward me—shares in the Richards Corporation.

"Zara, Jonathan isn't a bad man at heart," he pleaded. "You've loved him for so long—can't you give him one more chance? As long as I'm alive, no one will take your place as Mrs. Richards."

I didn't answer. Instead, I tapped the video Lily had just sent me.

The room filled with the sound of moans and laughter.

"Richards," Lily purred between breaths, "don't you feel even a little guilty leaving Zara to die on the road?"

Jonathan's low chuckle sent ice through my veins. "Why would I? You're the only one I love. Even if she'd given birth to my child, she'd never compare to you."

The old man's face drained of color. His hands shook, veins bulging in fury.

Finally, after a long silence, he exhaled in defeat.