Billionaire Wife's Cruel Game Cost My Dad's Life

I clutched my phone, my stomach churning as a wave of nausea hit the back of my throat.

My wife Eliza Wood's lazy voice droned on from the speaker, "Not enough? Want me to throw in another million dollars?

"Speak up. Did you go mute? One million dollars isn't enough for you to squander? I'm giving you this money to keep up appearances for the Wood family. Stop embarrassing me out there. And drop the whole divorce act. I'm sick of hearing it."

The line went dead, and my phone screen lit up with a bank notification.

Looking at the string of zeros, I only felt a sharp pang of irony.

Three days ago, a kidnapper held a knife to Dad's throat. In the video, Dad was covered in blood, yet he kept screaming for me to forget about him.

I dropped to my knees, slamming my forehead against the floor until it bled, begging Eliza to save him.

At that time, I was ready for any humiliation. I would have shined her assistant Leon Turner's shoes if she'd asked.

Surprisingly, she agreed without a fight that day.

The moment the funds cleared, I thought the nightmare was over.

The kidnapper untied Dad. Collapsing to the ground, he grabbed the phone, crying, "Shawn, I'm okay. I won't be a burden to you anymore. You and Eliza take care of each other."

Those were his last words to me.

Then, the kidnapper's enraged roar shattered the moment. "The payment was reversed! How dare you fool me? Did Ms. Wood do this? I'll show you the price of playing me!"

The screen went black.

I called Eliza nearly a hundred times, but all I got was a busy signal.

I called her assistant, her driver, and even the Wood family's butler. Every single response sounded like a broken record.

"Ms. Wood is busy."

"Ms. Wood is in a meeting."

"Ms. Wood said everything else can wait until she's done."

I rushed to Wood Corp like a madman, only to be pinned to the icy floor by security. I stared helplessly as Eliza's private elevator stopped at the top floor.

It had been three days.

After three whole days, the only thing I received was a call from the police, asking me to identify Dad's body.

The coroner said Dad was tortured for three hours before he died. Every bone in his body was broken. There wasn't a single patch of unblemished skin left.

He was literally tortured to death.

I walked out of the crematorium. The urn in my arms felt incredibly light, yet it weighed heavily on my shoulders.

As I looked up, the city's massive LED screens were broadcasting a slideshow of Eliza and Leon.

In the photos, she smiled softly while leaning against him. Fireworks filled the sky in the background.

The headline stung my eyes. "Wood Corp CEO Spends Five Million Dollars to Celebrate Leon Turner Joining the Company."

The timing lined up perfectly with the night Dad was murdered.

So this was what she meant by "busy". She was busy taking photos with Leon.

In her eyes, Dad's life wasn't even worth one firework show for Leon.

The one-million-dollar transfer notification on my phone felt like a massive joke.

She revoked the three million dollars meant to save a life, only to turn around and blow five million dollars to plaster Leon's face across the city.

And now, she threw one million dollars at me like a handout to a beggar, telling me to "keep up appearances".

I raised the phone to my face, staring at her photo with Leon. "Eliza, is this what you called 'busy'?"

My heart, which had been aching terribly, suddenly felt entirely hollow.

It wasn't numbness. It was a dead, heavy silence.

I placed the urn on the passenger seat and carefully buckled the seatbelt. "Dad, let's go home."

I started the car, leaving their public display of affection far behind.

Crossing the river bridge, I wanted to hurl the phone into the water.

But then I remembered Dad's screams right before the video cut.

I couldn't throw it away. This was evidence. I had to keep it, even if holding it burned me.

Back home, I placed Dad's urn on the altar.

The moment my forehead touched the floor, my tears finally ran dry.

I stood up and dialed Eliza's number.

This time, she answered almost immediately.

In the background, I could hear Leon's laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses.

"What? Changed your mind?"

Eliza's voice was dripping with condescension. "Just behave yourself now that you have the money."

As I stared at Dad's portrait, my voice was dead calm. "Eliza, my dad is dead."

The line went silent for a second, then came Eliza's scoff. "Are you ever going to stop? Using something as vile as cursing your dad just to get me to come home? First you faked an illness, now you're faking your dad's death. Who's next? You?"

I said nothing. I listened quietly to the woman I had loved for five years use the most vicious words to distort my grief.

"Leon was right. You just have too much free time on your hands to cook up these stories. One million dollars isn't enough? Fine, I'll send you another half a million. Stop ruining my mood. We're going to a wardrobe fitting. Bye."

The line clicked shut.

I stared at the screen for a moment.

Then I opened WhatsApp, found the profile picture that had been pinned to the top for five years, and blocked her.

Next, I dialed a different number.

"Mr. Reilly, draw up a divorce agreement for me."

"Yes, right now."

"The reason? My wife is dead to me."