Fake Heiress Lies Real Wife Bleeds Novel by Willy Sterling _ Novel





Fake Heiress Lies Real Wife Bleeds Chapter 01

To avenge his mistress, my husband Darryl Wilcox ordered his men to carve the flesh from my bones and throw me into the freezing pond.
I endured three thousand cuts, my blood turning the water red.
For ninety-nine days straight, I was held captive at the center of the pond, forced to repent.
When I was finally allowed to leave, I dragged myself home, broken and battered.
There, I saw Darryl holding Candace Burch and kissing her tenderly beside our wedding portrait in the living room.
My heart shattered. I sank to the floor like a discarded rag, a heap of festering wounds.
Candace gasped at the sight of me. "Darryl, you promised you wouldn't hurt her."
Darryl held her close, his voice soft. "She stole more than twenty years of your life. This was just a small lesson.
"I'll take her to the hospital now. Candi, don't be upset with me, OK?
"You're fragile. Don't waste your energy on someone who doesn't deserve it."
He gently wiped the tears from her eyes, not even glancing my way.
Pus and blood seeped from my open wounds, a deep, gnawing pain eating through me.
In my haze, I thought I saw the boy from when we were eighteen—the one who promised me everything, no matter how impossible it seemed.
The moment we reached the hospital, Darryl Wilcox stopped the doctor heading toward me.
"Check Candi first. She was scared earlier."
I'd always known Candace Burch came first, but hearing him say it still cut deep.
I remembered the day she was brought home.
I had merely glanced at the rosary on her wrist.
That same night, Darryl had a bucket of river stones brought to me.
"You can't even keep your eyes to yourself. Let me give you a lesson."
I was forced to swallow those stones one by one until my stomach felt ready to burst. I passed out from the excruciating pain.
"Your turn." A nurse's voice pulled me back.
When the doctor cut away my clothes—long stuck to my skin with pus and blood—everyone in the room gasped.
There wasn't an inch of me untouched. Foul-smelling ooze seeped from festering wounds, the stench filling the air.
The doctor was both shocked and angry. "Why did you wait so long to get treated?"
Leaning against the doorframe, Darryl let out a cold laugh. "She's a fraud. Stole someone else's life, someone else's fiancé. She's good at playing the victim—tougher than she looks.
"Skip the anesthetic. Let her feel it all."
The doctor glanced from Darryl to me.
The pity in his eyes quickly faded, replaced by contempt.
He picked up his tools and began cleaning the wounds.
Cold metal scraped over rotting flesh. Pain shot through me, sharp and blinding.
My body convulsed. A broken scream tore from my throat.
My every instinct screamed to scramble away from this hellhole.
"Keep quiet. Candi is resting next door. Don't disturb her."
Darryl's face was completely cold and indifferent.
His men moved forward immediately, pinning me to the bed.
They ripped off my pus-soaked clothes and roughly shoved the fabric into my mouth.
The thick smell of blood and decay flooded my senses.
I retched violently, but the vomit caught in the cloth and flowed back down my windpipe.
I choked, tears streaming, almost suffocating.
Darryl looked down at me with mockery in his eyes. "Good performance.
"All I asked was for you to be quiet, and you act like you're dying.
"You stole Candi's life. What else can you do, you fraud, besides playing the sick, pathetic victim to win sympathy?"
He leaned in close, his tone deceptively soft, each word a precise stab to my heart. "I'll ask you one last time. Are you going to sign the divorce papers or not?"
A stubborn flicker of defiance rose inside me. "Darryl," I rasped, struggling to speak, "did those twenty years we grew up together mean nothing to you?"
For a second, he seemed stunned.
Then his eyes filled with malice.
He drove his fist into my chest—right where the bandages were.
The white gauze bloomed crimson instantly.
He pulled back his hand and looked at my blood on his sleeve.
Disgust was written plainly across his face, as if he'd touched something extremely filthy.
He stripped off his expensive suit jacket and tossed it aside without a second glance, then meticulously wiped his fingers clean.
"Disgusting.
"Stop the treatment. Drag her back to the basement."
I was hauled up roughly. My body left a long, smeared trail of red across the floor.

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