The Wife He Killed Returns To Destroy Him

I stood center stage in a wedding dress worth more than a small country, waiting for my final fitting.

For seven years, I had trained to be the perfect mafia wife for Ethan, the future Don.

Then the door slammed open.

Ethan’s underboss walked in, hand on his gun, looking at me with zero respect.

"The wedding is off," he said.

"Ethan had an accident. He lost his memory. He doesn't remember the pact, and he doesn't remember you."

Desperate, I drove to his private villa to help him remember.

But I didn't find a confused patient.

I found Ethan lounging on a sofa with a model on his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh.

When he saw me, his eyes weren't blank; they were cold and annoyed.

He hadn't lost his memory. He just wanted to void the contract without a war.

To get rid of me, he ordered a hit.

My car was rammed off a cliff that night.

As I hung upside down in the wreckage, bleeding and broken, I heard his voice outside.

"Make it look like a drunk driving accident," he told his men.

"I don't want any loose ends."

He walked away, leaving me to die in the rain.

But he made one fatal mistake. He didn't check if my heart had stopped.

They buried an empty coffin, and Ava Miller officially died.

Two weeks later, a woman named Olivia Carter opened an investment firm across the street from his tower.

I remember everything, Ethan.

And I’m going to burn your empire to the ground.