From Bruised to Ruthless, A Wife’s Revenge Guide - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Two weeks flew by in the blink of an eye. The sharp pain in my ribs had dulled to a constant throb, but I'd learned to live with it.
Lately, I'd become the perfect obedient wife - so much so that my husband couldn't resist parading me around the neighborhood like his prized possession. Funny how nearly getting beaten to death only made me cling to him tighter.
At night, he'd get this wild, almost manic energy, like he was high on something. I'd grit my teeth through the nausea, secretly popping birth control pills when he wasn't looking.
"You're such a good woman," he'd murmur afterward, cigarette dangling from his lips as he absentmindedly stroked my hair. "Give me a son soon, and I'll treat you even better."
I snuggled closer, pulling out my phone to scroll through Facebook with practiced nonchalance.
"Babe, look - my old friend already has two boys." I let my voice drip with fake envy. "Ugh, why does she get to have it all? Sons, money - she's always flaunting her designer life online!"
That got his attention. He snatched the phone from my hands. "This is your friend?" His voice held genuine surprise.
On screen, "Rachel" looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine - flawless skin, perfect curves, the kind of beauty that even filters couldn't fully explain.
"Yeah, we grew up together in the same village," I scoffed. "Please, that face is totally fake. Made some quick cash and now she's Facebook royalty."
I made sure my expression was the perfect mix of jealousy and resentment. My husband frowned. "You never told me about her before."
"She even sent us a wedding gift! Don't you remember?"
He clearly didn't. His eyes were glued to Rachel's photos - tropical beaches, luxury cars, property deeds held up for the camera.
"We were childhood best friends," I added casually. "Her family was even more obsessed with sons than yours."
I watched his pupils dilate as he scrolled through Rachel's bikini shots. The man was practically salivating.
After letting him stew for a moment, I changed tactics. "She messaged me yesterday - says she's got connections in Thailand. You know those $20-a-pound durians here? She can get them for a few bucks."
I pulled up our chat history. He studied it carefully, then went back to Rachel's profile with new intensity.
For a mediocre college grad with a dead-end job and zero passport stamps, this was catnip. The jealousy radiating off him was almost palpable.
"Who even buys durians at those prices?" he scoffed, suddenly the expert. But I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
Within minutes, he'd commandeered my phone to "discuss business opportunities" with Rachel.
A few days later, a mysterious overseas package arrived at our apartment. Inside - five golden Musang King durians that made our whole building smell like tropical heaven.
We cracked one open - the flesh was richer, sweeter than anything we'd tasted stateside. My husband set up a sidewalk stand and sold all thirty pounds in one afternoon. Six hundred bucks cash.
Just like that, I watched the lightbulb go off over his head. If thirty pounds made $600, imagine what a hundred could do. A thousand.
His phone became permanently glued to his hand, constantly messaging Rachel. The domestic violence group chat? Forgotten.
When he decided to invest in a hundred-pound shipment, Rachel played hardball - said that wouldn't even cover shipping. Explained how the real savings came from... creative import methods.
That only made him more eager. Soon he'd drained our savings and sweet-talked his parents out of their retirement fund. The hook was set.