My Billionaire Husband Tried To Destroy Me — Until I Took A Knife For His Son

Part 1

I opened my eyes to a room I didn’t recognize, staring up at a furious man I’d never met in my life.

My head throbbed with a dull ache as I scrambled backward against a velvet headboard.

The man looming over me looked like he had stepped off the cover of a luxury business magazine.

He wore a tailored suit, but his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle twitched near his ear.

I recognized him instantly, though my brain struggled to accept the terrifying truth.

This was Greg, the ruthless billionaire protagonist from a soap opera I had been binge-watching the night before.

And if he was Greg, that meant I was Heather.

I was the cruel, manipulative stepmother who was ultimately destined to be thrown into a damp prison cell.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I had transmigrated into the villain’s body right at the start of her downfall.

Greg’s icy gaze pinned me to the mattress.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Pull one more stunt with my son, and I’ll end this marriage on the spot.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the sprawling master bedroom without a backward glance.

I sat frozen in the massive bed, listening to the heavy oak door click shut.

My breathing grew shallow as the walls seemed to inch closer, but I forced myself to take a slow, shaky breath.

I knew exactly how this story was supposed to end.

The original Heather had spent her days tormenting Greg’s young son, making enemies out of the household staff, and scheming for the family fortune.

She had dug her own grave with every selfish choice.

I refused to let that become my reality.

I was going to rewrite my fate, starting with the very person the original Heather had hurt the most.

I found Tyler sitting alone at the end of a ridiculously long mahogany dining table.

The boy looked small, his shoulders hunched defensively over an untouched plate of pancakes.

When he heard my footsteps, he stiffened and glared at the floor.

I pulled out the chair next to him instead of taking the head of the table.

His dark eyes darted toward me, his small hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

I didn’t offer a sugary apology or try to force a hug.

I simply picked up a silver fork and pushed a small bowl of fresh strawberries closer to his plate.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” I said quietly, keeping my gaze on my own food.

“But you should eat.”

Tyler blinked, clearly bracing for a sudden insult or a cruel trick.

When none came, he cautiously reached for a strawberry.

It was a tiny victory, but it felt like a monumental shift in the universe.

Over the next few weeks, I made it my absolute mission to shield him from the toxic environment the original Heather had created.

I fired the sneering nanny who ignored his basic requests.

I started waiting by the massive front gates when his school bus dropped him off in the afternoons.

At first, he ignored me completely, rushing past me with his backpack clutched tightly to his chest.

Gradually, his rigid posture relaxed, and he began lingering in the kitchen while I cooked.

Greg noticed the shift in the household dynamics, too.

I frequently caught him watching me from the doorway of his study, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher my motives.

He never said a word, but the heavy, suffocating tension that used to follow him around the house started to dissipate.

I thought I was finally safe.

I thought I had successfully derailed the plot that led to my miserable imprisonment.

I was completely wrong.

Greg’s company’s annual gala was supposed to be a standard networking event.

I wore a simple midnight-blue gown, doing my best to blend into the background while Greg mingled with investors.

I was nursing a glass of sparkling water near a towering ice sculpture when a waiter ‘accidentally’ spilled a tray of red wine down my front.

Before I could react, an unfamiliar woman with a perfectly manicured smile rushed over, pressing a napkin into my hands.

She pointed me toward a private VIP lounge down the hall, insisting the attendant there had club soda.

I hurried down the empty, velvet-lined corridor, desperate to avoid a public scene.

I pushed open the heavy oak door of the lounge.

The room was completely dark, save for the faint glow of the city skyline pouring through a massive window.

Before my eyes could adjust, the door slammed shut behind me.

A heavy hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me backward into the shadows.

I fought wildly, driving my elbow backward into my attacker’s ribs with everything I had.

The man stumbled, cursing loudly as I wrenched myself free and scrambled toward the door handle.

Just as my fingers brushed the cold brass, the door swung open from the outside.

Bright hallway light flooded the room, illuminating Greg standing in the doorway.

The attacker immediately threw his hands up, his breathing artificially fast and shallow.

“Sir, I swear she dragged me in here!” he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at me.

“She said you couldn’t satisfy her, that she needed a real man!”

Greg’s gaze slowly shifted from the man’s torn collar to my disheveled dress.

The brief warmth I had fought so hard to earn in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare that seemed to look right through me.

He stepped backward into the hall, leaving me trapped in the room with the man who had just sealed my fate.

“Greg, please,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

He didn’t even blink as he delivered the final blow.

“You make me sick.”