Discarded Wife: The Shadow Strategist Returns

Dessie POV

I woke up to the sharp sting of antiseptic and the stale, acidic scent of old coffee.

Above me, the ceiling was cracked, a spiderweb of plaster that seemed to mock the fractured state of my own reality.

I tried to sit up, but my face screamed in protest. My fingers hovered over my cheek. It was swollen, hot to the touch, pulsing with its own angry heartbeat.

"Don't touch it," a voice said from the shadows.

Elek Preston sat in a wooden chair in the corner of the safe house. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His suit was rumpled, his tie loose, and his usually pristine demeanor was gone. There was a gun on the table next to a first aid kit.

"How bad is it?" I asked. My voice was raspy, like I had swallowed broken glass.

"Bad enough that I want to put a bullet in his head right now," Elek growled. He stood up and stalked over to the bed. His eyes were dark with a fury I had never seen in him. "I saw the footage, Dessie. The security cameras at the venue. He hit you."

"He did more than hit me," I said. I shifted, and my hand went instinctively to my stomach—a protective reflex I didn't fully understand until that moment. "He tried to unmake me."

"I submitted the divorce papers this morning," Elek said. "Along with the evidence of the forgery and the embezzlement. The Family Council is... rattled. Craig broke the rules. You don't steal from your own. And you don't air dirty laundry in public."

"'Rattled' isn't enough," I said. "I want him destroyed."

"We have to be careful. He has the Senator now. Chanel's father is pulling strings with the judges and the police. Craig is insulated."

"He thinks he is," I said. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room spun for a second, tilting on its axis, then steadied. "But he's building his castle on sand. My sand."

My phone lay on the nightstand. It had been buzzing non-stop, vibrating against the wood like a trapped insect.

"He's calling," Elek said.

"I know."

"You don't have to answer."

"Yes, I do," I said, my voice hardening. "I need him to think he's won. I need him arrogant."

I picked up the phone. I accepted the video call.

Craig's face filled the screen. He looked fresh. Clean. Not a hair out of place. He was in his office, sitting in the leather chair I had bought him for our first anniversary.

"Dessie," he said. His tone was patronizing, like he was talking to an unruly child. "Where are you? You're making a scene by disappearing."

"I'm safe," I said. I kept the camera angled so he couldn't see the room, only my bruised face.

He flinched when he saw the bruise. Good. Let him see his handiwork.

"Look," he said, sighing as if he were the one inconvenienced. "Last night got out of hand. You provoked me. You know how I get when I'm stressed."

"I provoked you by existing," I said calmly.

"Don't start," he snapped. "Chanel is very upset. You ruined her dress. But... I'm willing to be generous. Come home. Sign a statement saying you were drunk and fell. We can work out a... quiet separation. I'll give you the lake house."

"The lake house you already transferred to your name?" I asked.

His eyes narrowed. "You've been snooping."

"I've been surviving."

"You have nothing, Dessie," he sneered. The mask slipped. The monster peeked out. "You are nothing without me. I made you. And now I'm done with you. Chanel is pregnant. She's carrying my heir. A real legacy."

The word hit me like a physical blow. *Pregnant.*

It was a lie. I knew it was a lie. The timing didn't work. But the intent was clear. He was trying to hurt me in the deepest way possible.

"Is she?" I asked. My voice didn't waver. "Does she know you're sterile from the steroids you took in your twenties? Or did you forget to tell her that your count is non-existent?"

It was a bluff. He wasn't sterile. But he was insecure about his virility, and I knew exactly where to twist the knife.

Craig's face turned purple. "You bitch."

"I don't care if she's pregnant, Craig," I said. "I don't care if she gives you a football team. Because by the time she's showing, you won't have a dime to buy diapers."

"I have the Senator!" he yelled.

"The Senator backs power," I said. "Not failure. And you are about to fail spectacularly."

I ended the call. My hand was shaking, but my heart was steady.

I looked at Elek. He was smiling. A grim, shark-like smile.

"He took the bait?" Elek asked.

"He's terrified," I said. "He tried to hurt me with the pregnancy news. He's grasping at straws."

"The Council has made a preliminary ruling," Elek said. He picked up a file folder. "Because of the evidence of the forged signatures, Craig's promotion to Godfather is on hold. They want to hear from you. In person."

"When?"

"Two days. The Tribunal."

"I'll be there," I said.

I stood up and walked to the mirror. The bruise on my cheek was turning a hideous shade of purple and green. It was ugly.

But it was also a badge of honor. It was the mark of my survival.

"Elek," I said, looking at his reflection behind me. "Get me a flight to Zurich tonight. I need to access the accounts he thinks he hid. And get me a doctor. A discreet one."

"For the bruise?"

I turned to him. I placed my hand flat on my stomach.

"No," I said. "For the baby."

Elek's eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. "Dessie... you..."

"Craig doesn't know," I said. "And he never will. This child is mine. Only mine."

"If he finds out..." Elek started, his voice full of fear.

"If he finds out, he'll kill me," I finished. "That's why we have to kill him first. Not with a gun. But with the truth."

I grabbed my coat. I didn't look back at the bed. I didn't look back at the fear.

I walked out the door. The canary was dead. The strategist was awake. And she was hungry for blood.