Let's get one thing straight, darling.
This ain't a fairytale. There's no glass slipper, no prince on a fucking white horse, and certainly no happily-ever-after.
This is a story about me. A woman who played the fool, loved the wrong man, trusted the wrong friends, and died like a pathetic, loyal wife. I was the punchline of a joke I didn't even know I was in.
Pathetic, right?
But don't get it twisted I wasn't always stupid. I was just comfortable. There's a difference.
When you grow up as Valeria fucking Devereaux, heiress to a billion-dollar empire, you think the world is yours just because you were born into it. You think people love you because they say they do. You think loyalty is real.
Newsflash, darling: It's not.
Loyalty is a myth. Love is a fucking contract. And trust? That's just the thing people dangle in front of you before they pull the fucking rug out.
I learned that the hard way.
They took everything from me my money, my company, my fucking name. And I let them. Because I thought if I played nice, if I stayed quiet, if I didn't rock the boat… maybe they'd love me back.
Spoiler alert: They didn't.
And for that? I blame myself.
I let my snake of a husband, Liam Whitmore, feed me sweet lies while he drained my accounts behind my back. I let my two-faced best friend, Isla, whisper fake loyalty in my ear while she spread her legs for him in my bed. I let my jealous, backstabbing stepsister, Camilla, poison my name, my business, my fucking legacy until I was nothing more than a shadow of the woman I used to be.
And when they were done? When they squeezed every last drop of power, money, and dignity out of me?
They killed me.
Literally have You ever wonder what it feels like to die?
Let me tell you.
It ain't poetic. It ain't peaceful. There's no soft music, no last words whispered into the night. It's ugly. It's brutal. And it's fucking lonely.
I remember the cold. The sharp bite of betrayal sinking into my skin like an old lover's kiss. I remember the darkness how it wrapped around me, pulling me under while my dear, devoted husband watched.
Liam, the man I once worshipped, stood there like a king over a battlefield, looking at me like I was a business deal gone bad. Like I was collateral damage.
"Should've just signed the damn papers, sweetheart," he had the audacity to say as my world bled out around me.
Imagine that. A man cheats on you, robs you blind, ruins your life, and still has the balls to act like you're the problem.
But it wasn't just him.
Isla, the best friend who swore we were "sisters forever" stood by, biting her perfectly manicured nails like she actually felt bad. Bitch
And fucking Camilla my fake, smiling stepsister was probably already planning how to spend my money before my body even hit the fucking ground.
They took everything from me and expected me to stay dead.
But here's the thing, darling.
The devil doesn't take women like me.
I woke up one year earlier in my penthouse, in my silk sheets, with my bank account still full and my enemies still smiling in my face.
It was like the universe looked down at me and said: "Bitch, you want a second chance? Take it."
And oh, darling, I fucking will.
No more playing nice. No more second chances.
This time, I'm the villain of this story. And I'm gonna enjoy every second of it.
So go ahead. Grab a glass of wine. Light a cigarette. Sit back and watch, because I'm about to show you how a dead woman takes her life back.
One betrayal at a time.