Vengeful Tycoon Ex

The storm raged with relentless fury, sheets of rain pounding against the car windows like an unending assault. Sophia Neville gripped the door handle tightly, her voice trembling as she pleaded, "Gerald, please believe me—those thugs who hurt Claire Douglas, I didn't arrange for them to attack her..."

"The evidence is irrefutable, and you're still denying it," Gerald Churchill replied coldly, his eyes flashing with ruthless intensity as he tossed a stack of photos at her. The images fluttered through the air, each one "documenting" the supposed process of Sophia hiring the thugs.

"No, that's not true," Sophia shook her head frantically. "It's not me—I don't even know her. Why would I want to harm her?"

Before she could finish, a large hand shot out, and Gerald roughly seized her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His breath came hot and ragged against her skin, and without warning, he lowered his head, sealing her lips with his in a brutal kiss. His tongue pried her teeth apart with forceful insistence, ravaging her mouth in a punishing storm of dominance, plundering her breath until she could barely draw air. Tears mingled with the rain streaming down her face, tracing a glistening path.

"I want to know why too," he growled against her lips, his voice laced with accusation. "Because she caught my eye? Is that why you couldn't stand any woman near me, even going so far as to send three thugs to destroy her innocence?"

"I didn't do it—it's really not me..."

"Not you?" Gerald scoffed, releasing her chin with a shove that snapped her head back. His hand slid downward, roughly yanking open her maternity blouse.

With a sharp rip, the fabric tore apart, exposing her pale undergarment and the swell of her pregnant belly. He showed no mercy, his large palm delving into the thin bra, stripping it away to cup her soft, full breast, kneading it with unrestrained force. His fingers pinched and teased the sensitive peak, feeling the involuntary quiver and heat rising in her body.

Sophia recoiled in terror, curling her body protectively as her hands instinctively shielded her chest, but he brushed them aside with ease. The raw shame of her exposure washed over her like the relentless downpour outside.

"How does it feel to be stripped bare like this?" Gerald's voice was icy, his gaze slicing over her vulnerable skin—the curve of her pregnant belly and the flushed fullness he had just manhandled. "Your body is so responsive, your nipple hardening like that—still claiming your innocence? That's exactly how Claire was found. Sophia, whatever you did to her, I do to you."

The words had barely left his mouth when the car door swung open, and Gerald shoved her out into the storm.

"Ah!"

She tumbled awkwardly onto the rain-slicked ground, sharp pain shooting through her knees and elbows. Before she could utter a word, the Rolls-Royce sped away, its taillights vanishing into the pouring night.

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 and climbed into his bed to get it.

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, which was 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."

After hanging up, she walked to the window and looked at the city's bustling nightscape outside, her palm pressed against her swollen belly.

The road wasn't completely blocked—she should give it a try.

The night was thick. Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door.

Gerald pushed the door open, his face dark.