The Scorned Wife Coldest Masterpiece Revenge

After I died saving Holden Blackwood, he didn’t behave like a grieving widower in some tragic romance novel. Three days after he’d rushed through my funeral—a perfunctory, cold affair—he married his assistant, Bonnie Shaw. Their wedding was lavish, a spectacle of gilded excess. Meanwhile, my photo from the mantelpiece was tossed into the kitchen trash, and no one in the Blackwood estate dared speak my name again. Our four-year-old son, Ford, rushed his father, clutching his leg, only to be roughly kicked away. “Elma is dead!” Holden roared, his face a mask of cold fury. “You will start calling Bonnie ‘Mama’ immediately, or you’ll be out of this house!” “Furthermore, you’re starting boarding school next month. You won’t interfere with Bonnie’s pregnancy.” Ford ran away that afternoon, clutching my portrait. He was hit by a car and died alone on the side of the road. Holden used the priceless collection of artwork I’d inherited from my father—my dowry—to leverage his company’s recovery. He became the city’s wealthiest magnate and lived to the age of ninety. It turned out, the tidy moral structure of justice in novels was a comforting lie. Then, I woke up. I was back on the morning Holden Blackwood fell into the sea. And I understood. It wasn’t an accident at all. My death in the last life was the result of a cruel, desperate gamble they’d orchestrated. This time, I decided to watch the game from the sidelines.

“Mommy!” The small, whiny voice, thick with injustice, jolted me fully awake. Ford, all four years of him, tumbled into my embrace, his body soft and warm. The flash of my past life—him lying broken by the road, hugging my framed photo, crying for his mother—stabbed into my mind. I had been a frantic ghost, circling uselessly above him, unable to stop his fate. My arms tightened around him now. “Mommy, I want to go on the boat with you and Daddy,” Ford pleaded, looking up with wide, beseeching eyes. The boat. I froze. Holden’s voice, sharp and impatient, cut in from behind me. “Move it, Elma. What are you waiting for?” I turned slowly. The man I’d loved with a lifetime’s devotion was walking toward me. His face was still devastatingly handsome, but my heart felt like a frozen, hollow space in my chest. “If we’re late for the summit, I’m holding you responsible!” It all clicked into place. Today was the Lakehurst Commercial Summit. And today was the anniversary of my death. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go.” Bonnie, immaculate in a silk dress, floated down the sweeping staircase and naturally looped her arm through Holden’s. “The little guy is sensitive. The sea air will make him sick again.” She shot me a glance, a tiny, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. In the previous life, I would have lunged, tearing her off him. But this time, when Ford shrieked, “Bad woman! Let go of my Daddy!” I held him back with a voice that was suddenly, terrifyingly calm. “Ford, come back.” I scooped him up, rising to my feet. “Bonnie’s right. He should stay home with the nanny.” A flicker of surprise crossed Holden’s face. Three months ago, when I first discovered their affair, I’d trashed his office, made a public scene, and begged him on my knees not to leave me. This composure must seem deeply, unnervingly abnormal to him. “Elma, you’re…” He paused, assessing me. “You’re being sensible.” I didn’t reply. I simply turned and walked up the stairs. I wouldn’t go to the yacht, not yet. In the past, Ford had witnessed my drowning, a trauma that ultimately broke him. This time, all I cared about was his safety. I quickly changed my clothes and came back down. As Holden reached for my hand, I slipped past him, letting Bonnie take the front seat. I settled into the back. The yacht deck was cold, the water vast and flat. I couldn’t help but remember the morgue in the hospital, my dead body wrapped in plastic, and Holden weeping over me. The grief hadn’t seemed fake. So why, just three days later, did he throw away my photo and marry Bonnie? Even if the love was gone, I had still saved his life. Just then, a faint crash echoed from the cabin. Bonnie poked her head out. Seeing the deck was empty, she nervously retreated. “The private investigator got the proof!” Her voice was low, tight. “She’s been meeting with that man frequently… Holden, she’s cheating on you!” “Enough!” Holden’s voice sounded exhausted. “I told you, you’ll be compensated handsomely. But as long as Elma is alive, there is only one Mrs. Blackwood.” “Don’t you want to know if she cares about you, though?” Bonnie hissed. The man stopped walking. “If she jumps in after you, it proves her loyalty.” “And if she… doesn’t jump?” “Don’t worry, I have a rescue boat standing by.” Bonnie gripped his arm. “It’s just a little drama, a show of desperate love. She won’t be in any real danger.” The silence stretched, long and deadly. Holden finally gave in, a single, decisive nod. I almost laughed out loud. My death in the previous life was born from their stupid, manufactured suspicion. The “other man” was just a rare stamp dealer. Holden was obsessed with collecting, and I’d been trying to buy him a surprise set. He never gave me a chance to explain. A heavy splash echoed from the other end of the deck. “Honey, help me!” Holden was thrashing in the icy water. Last time, I jumped and lost my life. This time, I stood still. I calmly pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds and began shelling them. Bonnie was stunned. “Mrs. Blackwood, you’re not going to save him? You don’t care about Mr. Blackwood’s safety?” “I have a terrible cold,” I replied with an effortless shrug. “Can’t risk getting worse. You look awfully concerned, though. You should go save him.” With a swift movement, I shoved her backward. Bonnie shrieked as she plummeted into the sea. Her flailing and desperate cries for help instantly merged with Holden’s frantic splashing. I wiped my hands clean and pulled out my phone. I sent two quick messages. One to my lawyer, instructing him to prepare the final divorce documents. The second to my childhood rival and estranged friend in France. Keep an eye on the painter, Theo Moretti, at St. Mary’s Hospital. I’m giving you a massive score. The rescue crew was efficient. Neither of them died. Bonnie woke up quickly. I carried a thermos of hot soup to the hospital room but she wasn’t there. I walked toward the nurses’ station and paused by the utility closet, hearing hushed voices. “The plan is ruined!” It was the crewman’s voice. “Elma didn’t jump. We can’t testify that she was pushing the CEO’s head underwater to inherit his estate…” I held my breath. Was this the whole truth? No wonder Holden hated me so much shortly after my death. “Don’t panic,” Bonnie chuckled lightly. “Her refusal to jump only proves she never cared about Holden.” “I have plenty of ways to make them divorce!” She leaned in close to the man’s ear, dropping her voice further. “Besides, I have a massive kill-switch ready.” I couldn’t make out the rest. Seeing them about to conclude, I swiftly retreated to the room. Holden was awake, his face pale and clammy. He struggled to sit up, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip. “Why… why didn’t you jump in to save me?” I gently pulled my arm away. “I have a cold. I shouldn’t go near the water.” He stared, then loosened his grip. “You… you weren’t like this before.” Yes, before. In the past, I drained my father’s inheritance to help him rebuild, gave up my job as an art buyer to focus on getting pregnant. I sacrificed my life, and still couldn’t save my only son. Just then, Bonnie rushed in. She threw herself into Holden’s arms, clutching him tightly. “Holden, you scared me to death!” “Thank goodness I didn’t hesitate and just jumped straight in…” As she spoke, Bonnie glanced at me triumphantly. I simply smiled, pulling out my phone and pressing record. “That was a rather reluctant jump, wasn’t it, Bonnie?” I hit the play button. The conversation from the yacht deck filled the sterile room. “I have a cold. You go save him.” Bonnie screamed, “He’s your husband! What does this have to do with me?” “You love him desperately, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be romantic to die together if you can’t save him?” She sounded terrified, shaking violently. “I don’t want to die! I have so much left to do!” The recording ended abruptly with the sound of her being shoved into the water. Holden’s face was the color of stone. Bonnie stammered, trying to make excuses, but he pointed a shaky finger toward the door. “Get out.” She rose, tears streaming down her face. Her phone rang as she reached the exit. She returned instantly, a terrifying confidence replacing her panic. She held the phone triumphantly in front of Holden. “I couldn’t figure out why his wife watched him drown… until I saw this.” A paternity test report. The subjects: Holden Blackwood and Ford Blackwood. The conclusion: Zero probability of blood relation. Holden’s hand trembled. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. He hurled the phone at me, demanding an explanation. I didn’t flinch. “It seems Mrs. Blackwood wanted Holden to die so her bastard son could inherit the Blackwood fortune…” Bonnie helpfully added. “Then she could run off with her lover, is that right?” I remained silent. Holden shot up from the bed, ripping the IV from his arm. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door. “We’re going for a re-test now! We’ll find out the truth.” Bonnie’s face went white, her sudden anxiety visible. I yanked my arm away. “No.” Holden grew frantic. “If you have nothing to hide, what are you afraid of?” “If the test proves I’ve been wrongly accused…” I pointed at Bonnie’s stomach. “Then you abort her child. Do you dare take that bet?” Holden froze. In my previous life, I never knew Bonnie was pregnant until the end. I had always believed Holden was just playing around, and that if I were humble enough, he’d return to me. “Two months along, right?” I smiled, shifting my gaze to Bonnie’s barely noticeable bump. “About the same stage I was with Ford.” She instantly covered her belly, retreating behind Holden. “Elma! What are you doing? The baby is innocent!” “Nothing at all.” I smiled. “Just reminding you, Bonnie, that you need vitamins for the morning sickness. I can even recommend a good nutritionist.” My sudden generosity only deepened Holden’s confusion. “You’re not angry? Not jealous?” I shook my head. “Bonnie is carrying a Blackwood heir. Why would I be jealous?” “Unless…” He choked, his breathing ragged. “Unless your heart is simply not mine anymore?” I gave him no answer. “Ford is four. You hooked up with your lover four years ago, didn’t you? While I was busy rebuilding my life?” As Holden’s eyes became increasingly bloodshot, I remained completely silent. He could figure it out himself. If I’d truly had a lover, I would have left him ages ago. Why would I pour my father’s entire estate into saving him? He simply chose not to believe me. My phone vibrated. It was the reply from Jasper Reid. Theo Moretti critically ill. His last works expected to double in value. I closed my eyes, recalling the twelve paintings—the St. Christopher Series—I’d left for Holden in the previous life. I pulled a file from my bag and slapped it against his chest. “Let’s get divorced.” Holden stared at the words, DIVORCE AGREEMENT, and swallowed hard. “What did you say?” “Divorce,” I repeated. “When a marriage has no trust, it’s better to go our separate ways.” “Do you really have to do this?” His voice softened, a hint of desperation creeping in. “Just agree to the paternity test, give me an answer…” “And then what?” I cut him off. “Even if I’m proven innocent, will you punish Bonnie for this?” “Dare to subject her to an amniocentesis for DNA testing, or let me use your affair as grounds for a lawsuit?” He was immediately speechless. “Divorce, divorce, that’s all you think about!” He erupted in a sudden rage, snatching the papers and throwing them back. “I know what this is. You want to walk away with more money to give to your lover! Not a chance! I won’t sign this. You leave with nothing!” I picked up the pen without hesitation. And signed it cleanly. Holden tried to stop me but was too late. “You…” His hand shook. “You really want nothing, just to leave me?” “I only want the remaining part of my dowry.” “Those few mediocre paintings?” He tried to find a flicker of doubt in my eyes. “Elma, think clearly…” “Perfectly clear.” “Fine. Very good.” His eyes were red as he nodded. He immediately called the nanny, instructing her to pack my belongings. He insisted we leave the hospital and return home. The moment we walked in the door, he grabbed Ford and ordered my bags to be moved into the guest room. “Until the cooling-off period is over, you will live here.” “Why?” “Because you are still Mrs. Blackwood!” “This is illegal confinement!” The tension was immediate, a standoff. I knew his game: he wanted me here to witness his life with Bonnie, hoping I’d get jealous and beg him to withdraw the divorce papers. Tired of the drama, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. Suddenly, he snatched Ford up and slammed the child’s head onto the corner of the dining table. Thud. A dull sound, followed by the sight of blood. Ford screamed in pain. I rushed over and held him, trembling all over. Holden immediately covered his fleeting moment of panic. “The child is hurt. You can’t drag him around in the cold looking for a place to stay, can you?” I looked up at him, seeing a stranger. I remembered the night Ford was born. I’d had a massive hemorrhage, and Holden stood outside the delivery room, his eyes red, pleading with the doctor to save me. Later, holding his son, he swore he would cherish us both for life. And now, he had deliberately smashed his son’s head just to keep me trapped. “Mr. Blackwood, call a doctor.” I turned, my voice venomous. He carelessly agreed, then wrapped his arm around Bonnie and disappeared into the master suite. For the next few days, Bonnie was the lady of the manor. In the living room, the dining room, on the stairs—I constantly found them entwined. Holden attended every prenatal appointment. When Bonnie wanted a midnight cake, he braved the snow to buy ingredients and baked until dawn. He completely ignored Ford and me. My lawyer called frequently, reminding me of the dwindling countdown to the official end of the cooling-off period. That night, with Ford in my arms, he asked, “Mommy, are you really leaving Daddy?” “Yes.” “When do we go? I don’t want to be here anymore.” I glanced at my phone. Soon. Two more days until the painter, Theo Moretti, died, and Holden’s company would face catastrophe. In the past life, he used my paintings to save himself. This time, I’d strike first. I texted Jasper. Be at the auction the day after tomorrow. If Theo doesn’t die, I’ll work in your gallery for life. You can’t lose. After a moment of silence, he replied with a single word. Deal. On the day of the auction, I dressed to kill and came downstairs. Holden and Bonnie were standing together. He paused, seeing me. “Let’s go, the car is warmed up.” I stepped in front of Bonnie, took Holden’s arm, and squeezed him out of her way. His mouth curved slightly. “Changed your mind about the divorce?” I just smiled, my eyes scanning the trunk of his car where the paintings were stored. I took the passenger seat. In the rearview mirror, Bonnie looked like she wanted to tear me apart. Holden, in a strangely good mood, kept discussing the items he was interested in bidding on. I was distracted, checking my phone and gazing out the window. At the venue, I chose a seat far away from them. Holden looked perplexed. “Sitting so far away? Are you trying to publicly humiliate me in front of the media?” “We’re getting divorced,” I said, shrugging. “Does it matter if we sit together?” His face darkened. He immediately bid aggressively, buying three expensive diamond sets for Bonnie. “A gift for the most important woman in my life,” he announced loudly. The media swarmed. “Mr. Blackwood, is it true your marriage with Mrs. Blackwood has broken down?” He avoided the question, smiling vaguely, looking at me, clearly expecting me to jump up and defend the marriage. I remained silent. I was calm and quiet, like a detached observer. Bonnie was ecstatic, clutching her jewelry boxes. Holden’s face grew darker and darker. Near the end, I stood up. I glanced at the familiar figure in the corner, Jasper Reid, and walked to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a few paintings to auction today. They are my late father’s private collection.” A murmur rippled through the audience. “Why is Mrs. Blackwood selling her father’s things? Is the rumor of her divorce true?” I took the microphone. “Holden and I are finalizing our divorce.” “Since Mr. Blackwood demands I leave with nothing, I need to sell these for cash.” The media erupted. “Is this because of Bonnie?” Holden’s face was livid, but he forced a cold laugh. “Those worthless pieces? How much could they possibly be worth?” It was true. The painter, Theo Moretti, was completely obscure right now. But after his death, this series of twelve paintings would skyrocket in value. And today, was the day he died. “Don’t cause a scene, Elma,” Holden hissed, suppressing his fury. “If you need money, I’ll increase your allowance. I can even buy them myself at a low price as a charitable act.” “No, thank you.” I waved him off. “Keep your money for Bonnie’s jewelry, Mr. Blackwood. These paintings will find someone who truly appreciates them.” The auction floor went silent. No one bid. Holden raised an eyebrow triumphantly, but a voice from the corner cut him short. “Three million.” It was him. Jasper. Holden recognized him instantly. “Is he your lover?” Holden grabbed my wrist. I pulled away sharply. “Mr. Blackwood, please maintain decorum. If you’re not interested in the next lot, you may leave.” “Holden,” Bonnie tugged his sleeve. “My stomach hurts. Let’s go home.” Holden glared at me, then turned to leave. But as they approached the car, an international news alert popped up on his phone. At the same moment, the distinctive ping of news alerts filled the auction hall. Holden froze. French painter Theo Moretti passed away this morning. The value of his final works is expected to skyrocket. He spun around wildly. By the time he turned back, the bidding had already tripled. “I’ll raise the bid! Five million! I’ll take it!” He was panting, held back by security guards. “Attendees who have left the premises are disqualified from bidding.” I smiled. The auctioneer’s gavel struck the podium. “Sold for thirty million to Mr. Jasper Reid!” Holden was rigid, watching Jasper stand up and offer me a small, confident smile. In thirty minutes, the Blackwood Group would be facing a major crisis. And he had just missed his only chance for survival.