Vengeful Tycoon Ex

Rain poured down in relentless sheets.

Sophia Neville gripped the car's handle for dear life, her voice shaking:

"Gerald, please believe me—the thugs who hurt Claire Douglas? I didn't send them..."

"Evidence doesn't lie. Deny it all you want." Gerald Churchill's eyes sliced into her like daggers as he tossed a stack of photos her way.

The scattered shots "captured" Sophia hiring the lowlifes.

"No, that's not it," Sophia shook her head wildly. "That's not me. I don't even know her—why would I hurt her...?"

Before she could finish, a strong hand shot out. Gerald clamped her jaw in a vise grip.

His breath scorched her skin, hot and ragged. Then he crashed his mouth down on hers in a savage kiss.

His tongue pried her lips apart, ravaging her mouth with punishing force, stealing her air until she gasped desperately.

Tears mixed with rain streaked her cheeks, drawing silvery trails.

"Why, Sophia? Because she caught my eye? You can't stand any woman near me—so you sic three thugs on her to ruin her innocence?"

"I didn't. It wasn't me, I swear..."

"Wasn't you..." Gerald sneered, shoving her face away. But his hand trailed down, yanking her maternity top open with brutal force.

Rip! Fabric tore, baring her pale bra and swollen pregnant belly.

No mercy in his touch. His big hand dove under the lace, stripping it away. His palm claimed her soft, full breast, kneading roughly.

Fingers twisted her sensitive nipple, drawing out her body's traitorous shudders, heat blooming under his assault.

Sophia curled into herself, panic surging as her hands flew to cover up—useless. He batted them aside. Shame flooded her like a tidal wave.

"How's it feel, half-naked like this? Body betraying you already—nipples hard as diamonds. Still gonna play innocent?"

Gerald's voice was pure ice, his stare raking her bare skin: the rounded belly, the flushed curves he'd roughed up. "That's how they found Claire. What you did to her, Sophia? Payback's the same."

As soon as he finished speaking, the car door opened, and Gerald pushed Sophia out entirely.

She fell awkwardly into the rain, pain shooting through her knees and elbows.

Before she could speak, the Rolls-Royce sped away.

The rain grew heavier, large drops pelting her painfully.

Sophia struggled to her feet and looked around desperately. There was no way to get a cab here—she had to walk back.

With one hand protecting her belly and the other clutching her torn clothes, she stumbled toward the villa.

Her mind couldn't help replaying the past three years.

Her marriage to Gerald began as a transaction.

Three years ago, her father, Heath Neville, who had made movies his whole life, went white-haired overnight after a failed investment.

Gerald's grandfather, Mason Churchill, remembering how the Neville family had saved him years ago, offered help—on the condition of a marriage alliance between the two families.

At the time, the Churchill family heir Gerald happened to need a marriage to gain control of the family trust fund.

Back then, she had married into the Churchill family full of hope, because she had liked Gerald for a long time.

Unfortunately, he only felt disgust for her.

In his mind, she was always a jealous and vicious woman.

Even this child—he believed she had drugged him and climbed into his bed to get pregnant.

But that wasn't the truth. He never believed her, just like today. It clearly had nothing to do with her, but he was convinced she did it...

Tears fell like broken beads. Sophia walked and wiped her tears. After nearly an hour, she finally saw the villa's lights.

The rain had long since soaked through her entire body, leaving her teeth chattering from the cold.

As soon as she pushed open the front door, loud music hit her.

In the living room, Gerald's younger brother, Michael Churchill, was slouched on the sofa playing video games, with empty beer cans scattered on the floor.

Seeing her, Michael smirked and called out, "Sophia, I'm hungry. Go make me something to eat, hurry up!"

His tone was as casual as if ordering around a servant.

Sophia, supporting her slightly aching belly, ignored him and walked straight toward the stairs.

"Sophia!" Michael suddenly threw down his phone.

He rushed over in a few steps and grabbed her arm. "I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?"

He leaned in close, his alcohol-laden breath hitting her face, his gaze falling on her swollen belly with a vicious look. "Who do you think you are! Your family went bankrupt, and Grandpa took pity on you—you're just something we picked up! You really think you're Mrs. Churchill? Look at you, fat as a pig. Has Gerald ever paid you any attention?"

"If you dare not serve me well, I'll make Gerald divorce you in a heartbeat!"

The vicious words instantly pierced her numb nerves.

Sophia shook off his hand forcefully and continued upstairs.

Behind her came Michael's even more unbearable cursing.

Back in the bedroom, she locked the door and slowly slid down against it to sit on the floor, her body shaking uncontrollably.

After marriage, she had always tried hard to be a good wife, but what had she gotten in return!

She stroked her belly, her voice hoarse: "Baby, did Mommy make a mistake from the very beginning?"

Just then, her phone rang.

Sophia answered.

"Is this Ms. Sophia Neville?"

A gentle female voice came through: "I'm a director from Luminex Media Company. The script you submitted last month called 'Blue City', has been selected for the Cannes Film Festival, and investors are interested in producing it. Would you be available to participate in filming in two months?"

Hearing the words on the phone, Sophia felt dazed.

That script—she had written it curled up in a corner of the study during countless late nights after being rejected by Gerald.

The person on the phone was still waiting for an answer.

Sophia looked at her phone screen about to dim, and a spark suddenly jumped up from the dead ashes in her eyes.

"I can." She paused, her voice more resolute. "In two months, I'll join the crew."