My Husband Slapped Me For His Mistress — So My Tycoon Father Destroyed His Entire Life
Part 1
The glaring cold light of the crystal chandelier poured down, mercilessly highlighting my washed-out clearance rack dress.
I stumbled backward as the crystal glasses shattered against the expensive marble floor.
Craig violently slapped my hand away from his perfectly tailored Italian handmade suit.
The originally bustling Manhattan elite business gala instantly fell into a deathly silence.
Countless gazes laced with mockery and scrutiny fell upon me like heavy stones.
My husband stood in front of me, his wrist flashing the cold gleam of a luxury watch.
He was undoubtedly the most dazzling new tech billionaire of the evening.
A sickeningly sweet voice cut through the silence.
Heather, wearing a high-profile red designer gown, intimately held onto my mother-in-law’s arm.
She gracefully walked to his side, her eyes flashing with undisguised provocation.
As she brushed past me, her wrist slipped in a seemingly accidental motion.
The crimson liquid from her wine glass splashed with pinpoint accuracy onto the hem of my faded dress.
Heather covered her mouth, letting out an exaggerated gasp before smoothly leaning into Craig’s embrace.
She apologized loudly, claiming it was a total accident.
Brenda glared at me fiercely, her wrinkle-lined face full of pure malice.
My mother-in-law announced that bringing a barren freeloader like me to a gala completely disgraced their family.
I gripped the hem of my ruined dress tightly, my nails nearly digging into my palms.
Three whole years had led up to this exact moment of humiliation.
When his startup faced a critical funding gap, I kept it a secret and sold my vintage jewelry.
Now that he possessed a net worth of hundreds of millions, I had become the disgraceful trophy wife he was ashamed to be seen with.
I raised my head, staring dead straight at the man I had once loved so deeply.
Craig was stung by my gaze, his brows instantly knitting together as media personnel raised their cameras.
He desperately needed to establish an image of absolute authority in front of these Wall Street titans.
Without warning, he took a large stride forward and grabbed a handful of my hair.
A tearing agony erupted from my scalp, forcing me to tilt my head up.
A resounding slap struck heavily against my right cheek.
The force was so brutal that it instantly drew blood from the corner of my mouth.
He told me the slap was to teach me my place.
According to him, without the Higgins family, I was absolutely nothing.
He backhanded me with an even heavier blow, causing half of my face to swell up instantly.
My hairpin dropped and my long hair fell in a messy tangle over my shoulders.
He claimed the next slap was for Heather, his chief executive secretary.
The third slap landed with sickening force.
My entire body lost its strength and I collapsed into the scattered shards of glass.
The broken crystal sliced into my knees as fresh blood mixed with the spilled wine.
He ordered me to know my place and threatened to throw me back to the gutter.
In this social circle that worshipped money, the dignity of a woman with no background was worthless.
Heather stood behind him with a victorious sneer curling the corners of her lips.
Brenda proudly raised her chin in triumph as I lay on the freezing marble floor.
I did not cry nor did I even struggle.
My tongue swept over the metallic taste of blood at the corner of my mouth.
As I swallowed that iron-like flavor, the very last trace of warmth I held for this marriage was extinguished.
I closed my eyes, realizing it was time for this ridiculous game of playing a commoner to end.
When I opened my eyes again, the gentle endurance was entirely gone from my gaze.
Taking its place was the bone-chilling absolute apathy that belonged exclusively to the sole heir of the Bradley Global Conglomerate.
I looked at him as if I were looking at a dead man.
An eerie slow smile crept onto my face, causing a chill to crawl up his spine.
Suddenly, a roar echoed through the hall like a massive brass bell.
The heavy solid oak doors of the ballroom were violently kicked open from the outside.
Two massive forces emitted a deafening crash that shook the walls.
Twelve towering muscular private security contractors dressed in pure black bespoke suits sliced through the crowd.
At the end of the corridor, an imposing elderly man strode into the hall.
His face was pale with fury, his dark classic tailored suit radiating an aura of crushing authority.
The terrifying presence of a man who held the power of life and death in the financial world caused the temperature to drop below freezing.
Arthur Bradley, the absolute helmsman of Bradley Global Holdings, had arrived.
He was a Wall Street Titan whose mere stamp of approval could trigger a tsunami across global financial markets.
Craig obviously recognized this face which frequently dominated the covers of top-tier financial magazines.
His arrogance and insolence from a second ago evaporated into thin air.
He plastered on the most subservient smile of his life and quickly walked forward to greet the billionaire.
He bowed low, offering his golden business card with both hands like a dog begging for scraps.
My father did not even glance at him.
The old man’s gaze cut straight over the crowd and locked dead onto me.
I was still lying in the shards of glass, my face covered in blood.
He ordered the pathetic excuse for a husband to get out of his way.
A bone-chilling crisp metallic click echoed through the room.
You put your hands on my daughter, so let’s see if the Higgins family has enough blood to pay for this.
