The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge by Star Cruiser

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One week before my wedding, I walked into the master bedroom of my fully-paid penthouse apartment and caught my fiancé cheating with my best friend.
They were laughing about his fake “insomnia”—the lie he’d used to trick me into sleeping in the guest room so they could have the master bedroom to themselves.
Gage was a top surgeon, and I’d sacrificed almost everything to care for his supposedly fragile health. I’d even brewed essential oils from my late mother’s precious collection to steady his hands.
But behind my back, they were planning to pretend to marry me, then slowly push me out and take over my home.
When I confronted them, they didn’t show a single ounce of guilt.
Gage deliberately destroyed the essential oil my late mother had left me, then violently shoved me against the wall and locked me in the room to suffer the pain and bleeding alone.
I had poured everything into building a safe harbor for this man, and in his eyes, I was nothing but a convenient stepping stone.
I didn’t even bother shedding a single tear.
I took out my phone, canceled our honeymoon trip, and listed the penthouse on the market—cash sale, 24 hours.
Time to take out the trash.

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The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 1

Eliza Anderson’s POV:
One week before my wedding, I noticed the master bedroom door was slightly ajar.
Then I heard their voices—my fiancé Gage and my best friend Caroline. They were laughing about their secret relationship, how they’d been together behind my back!
Gage Morrison was a top cardiovascular surgeon. In public, he was quiet, brilliant, compassionate.
The media praised his steady hands and calm demeanor on the operating table. He spoke softly, always looking at you with that focused, concerned gaze. He cultivated an aura of sensitivity and thoughtfulness, and everyone around us fell for it.
Gage claimed he suffered from severe insomnia. He said even the slightest sound or light would disturb his sleep. To deal with it, he needed to lock himself in the master bedroom every night.
He needed absolute darkness and silence, no distractions whatsoever. And I believed him. I made sure the house stayed quiet. After nine o’clock at night, I always tiptoed around, terrified of disturbing him.
I made so many sacrifices for Gage. His health became my top priority. I moved into the guest room, sharing it with Caroline. A few months earlier, she’d needed a place to stay after a bad breakup, and I’d taken her in without hesitation.
I bought a special white noise machine for his room, installed blackout curtains, and prepared soothing herbal tea for him every night. I thought I was supporting the man I loved, helping him through a difficult condition.
Seven days before the wedding, I was in the living room adjusting the wedding guest list when I heard a faint sound coming from the master bedroom.
Gage always kept the master bedroom door locked tight, but now it was cracked open. I quietly approached the door and heard soft laughter, followed by Gage’s deep chuckle.
My mind went blank. I pushed the door open a little more and peered through the crack.
Caroline was sitting on the bed, wearing one of Gage’s oversized shirts, her hands casually draped over his shoulders. They looked far too intimate.
Caroline spoke first, her voice teasing. “So, my dear heart doctor, how long do you plan to keep up this ‘insomnia’ act after the wedding? Eliza will get suspicious sooner or later.”
Gage laughed. “Not too long. Just until she’s used to you living here. Once we’re married, my ‘insomnia’ will miraculously clear up. Then we can slowly talk her into moving out on her own. She’s so used to accommodating me, she’ll never suspect a thing.”
Caroline leaned in closer. “And then? Just the two of us? In our penthouse?” She emphasized “our” with a possessive, triumphant tone.
I held my breath. The penthouse was mine. I’d bought it with my own money.
Gage leaned in and kissed her hair. “That’s right. Once she’s gone, we can really enjoy our lives. No more sneaking around, no more sharing the guest room with your fake best friend.”
The world tilted. My vision blurred. My body went rigid. Their sweet words and cruel laughter filled my ears.
His “insomnia” was a lie. His “insomnia” was an elaborate ruse. It had all been just to cover up their affair.
I walked back to my room, and the first thing I did was take out my phone. I canceled the honeymoon trip—the Bora Bora vacation we’d always dreamed of.
Then I opened the real estate app on my phone. The penthouse—I’d bought it outright, all cash. I listed it as “For Sale by Owner,” looking for a buyer who could close fast.
I wanted them out. I wanted everything cleaned out. A notification popped up on the screen: “Listing successful. Expect high interest.” A cold satisfaction rose in my chest.
I picked up the carefully blended essential oil from my nightstand. It was a soothing oil I’d specially formulated for Gage, using a precious plant essence my late mother had left me. I’d poured my heart into that tiny bottle with love, thinking it would ease his stress and steady his surgeon’s hands.
It was a symbol of my care, my love, my devotion. I walked to the trash can and dropped it in. The small bottle hitting the plastic made a soft sound, but it felt like a gunshot.
Just then, my phone vibrated. A message from the real estate agent: “Cash offer accepted. Closing in 48 hours.”
I heard Gage and Caroline coming out of the master bedroom, their laughter still echoing. Caroline, as innocent as ever, walked into the kitchen and ran straight into me.
She gave me a bright, fake smile. “Good morning, Eliza! Sleep well?”
Gage followed behind, looking refreshed. The moment he saw me, he flashed his signature gentle, charming smile. “Good morning, Eliza. Sorry I’m up so early—another emergency. How did you sleep last night?”
He walked toward me, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt a surge of revulsion. His touch used to comfort me, but now it sickened me like poison.
I caught a faint, unfamiliar scent on him—sweet and cloying, Caroline’s cheap perfume, barely masked by Gage’s cologne.
“Fine, Gage,” I answered calmly, betraying no emotion. Caroline was busy making coffee in the kitchen, humming a little tune.
Then she turned around, looking at me with feigned innocence and concern. “Eliza, you look a little tired. Everything okay? Gage got a call last night, and we were just talking about his surgery.”
Gage nodded, meeting my eyes. His gaze held that usual sincerity, like he’d practiced it a thousand times. “Yeah, honey, just a quick briefing. Caroline really understands my work. You know, I have to be ready for surgery.”
He added a little apologetic shrug. His charm was still intact, a weapon he wielded at will. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked by his usual calm. He was so good at pretending, it was terrifying.
“It’s fine,” I said again, forcing myself to smile, not a single emotion showing on my face.
Gage leaned in closer, his voice low and soft. “You know, this job… it’s really exhausting. But knowing you’re waiting for me—that’s what keeps me going.” He finished with a gentle squeeze of my hand and a smile.
“I understand. Your work is important,” I replied perfunctorily.
Gage smiled, satisfied. He picked a fresh rose from the vase on the counter and tucked it behind my ear. “Thank you for being so patient, my love. You’re the best.”
There was a sparkle in his eyes. He was still so handsome, so perfect—but it felt like a cruel mockery, laughing at the trust I’d once had.
Caroline stepped forward and took my arm. “Eliza, you know, sometimes you need to relax. Gage needs you to stay strong and happy. Maybe you should take a little trip, clear your head before the big day.” She patted my arm, smiling like a harmless little bunny.
Gage looked at me with adoration in his eyes. “Yes, darling. You work so hard, you deserve a good rest. Your presence helps me so much—you’re my rock.”
And then I saw it. A tiny, almost invisible fleck of glitter on the left lapel of Gage’s suit. It was Caroline’s.
The last thread of my self-deception snapped completely. The so-called perfect life had all been a lie.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, trying to look casual.
It was an email from a private investigator I’d quietly hired a few days ago, out of desperation as Gage’s behavior grew stranger.
The subject line read: “Caroline Stafford Pregnancy Confirmation Report.” My hands trembled slightly as I opened it.
Attached was an ultrasound image and a doctor’s diagnostic report confirming Caroline was twelve weeks pregnant. At the bottom of the report, the doctor’s signature read: “Dr. Gage Morrison.” My world crumbled.

The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 2

Eliza Anderson’s POV:
My phone vibrated again, and I clenched it tighter. Gage glanced at my trembling hand, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.
He met my gaze, and his smile faltered for a split second, almost freezing.
“Eliza, is everything all right?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern—or was it wariness? He picked up his phone from the kitchen counter and swiped through notifications with practiced ease.
“Just work emails,” I lied, my voice flat and emotionless, my face immediately shifting into an apologetic, charming smile.
“Ah, these late-night emails. I’m so sorry, darling, for disturbing our morning.” He walked over, slipped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and his lips brushed lightly against my forehead.
“Actually,” he whispered in my ear, “I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you.” He pulled out his phone again and showed me the screen. It was a booking confirmation.
“Bora Bora, first class, for two. Just us.” His eyes sparkled with feigned delight. “I know you’ve always wanted to go there. A little pre-wedding trip, just the two of us—my way of making up for being so busy with work.”
He shook his head and laughed self-deprecatingly. “My job is absolutely crazy, but I carved out this time. Just you and me, away from everything.”
He held the phone out to me, waiting for my reaction. I stared at the booking information, the text blurring. Bora Bora. The honeymoon I’d just canceled.
The honeymoon he’d planned with Caroline. My stomach churned. The taste of irony was bitter in my mouth. “That’s wonderful, Gage.”
I forced the words out, my voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “I’m so looking forward to it.” This was the game I had to play, and I’d play it well. I wouldn’t let them see me break.
The next morning, the penthouse was filled with the aroma of coffee and freshly baked croissants.
Surprisingly, Gage was in the kitchen, wearing a crisp white apron over his perfectly pressed shirt. He hummed a cheerful tune as he flipped pancakes.
Caroline sat at the breakfast bar, drinking orange juice, glowing. “Good morning, Eliza!” she greeted cheerfully, looking up from her phone screen. “Gage made us a feast!”
Gage turned around with a gentle smile. “Good morning, darling. Caroline specifically requested her favorite French toast. And you, my love—your usual berry smoothie.”
He set the smoothie in front of me, then turned to Caroline and gently pushed a plate of French toast toward her. “Eat up, baby. You need your strength.”
He came over to me and kissed my forehead. “Eliza, I’ll be working late at the hospital tonight. Big surgery, complex case. Don’t wait up for me.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Of course, Gage,” I said softly. I reached up and smoothed his hair—a gesture I’d practiced a thousand times. “Be careful. Try to rest when you can.”
I watched him leave, his handsome figure disappearing down the hallway. Caroline followed him to the door, waving goodbye. Then she turned around, a smug expression on her face, and walked back into the kitchen.
Once they were both gone, I headed straight for Gage’s master bedroom. I pulled a small metal key from the bottom of my jewelry box. The lock clicked softly and swung open with a dull thud.
I pushed the door open. The room was spotless, a perfect reflection of his obsession with tidiness. It smelled of Gage’s cologne, mixed with a hint of Caroline’s cheap perfume.
I walked straight to the bed—the luxurious king-sized bed where they’d carried out their betrayal. I lifted the heavy mattress. Beneath it, a small velvet pouch was hidden. I found it. Caroline’s diary. Filled with her elegant handwriting, documenting every sordid detail.
I started reading. Her words leaped off the page, each one a stab to my heart.
“Gage’s ‘insomnia’ is such a brilliant excuse. Eliza is so naive! She actually believes it. She even buys him special tea! Haha! While she’s sleeping peacefully in the guest room, I’m in her master bedroom, in her bed, with her fiancé.” My hand tightened around the diary, fury rising.
“Poor thing, always trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive partner. Doesn’t she know Gage needs excitement, not some tame little perfumer? I’m what he really wants.”
“He says I’m lively, fun. He says Eliza is… comfortable. Boring. He can’t wait for the wedding so he can finally be rid of her. Then this penthouse, his career, our baby… it’ll all be mine. All mine!”
The more I read, the colder I felt. I recalled countless conversations with Caroline—her subtle barbs, her fake compliments.
“Eliza, you’re so lucky to have a man like Gage. He’s so handsome and successful. But you know, men sometimes need a little passion. You’re just so calm, so grounded.”
At the time, I’d brushed it off, thinking it was her own insecurity talking. Now I saw the truth behind her words. She wasn’t envious of me—she was studying me, waiting for her chance to take everything. She wanted to take everything from me.
I was about to tear the diary to shreds when something else caught my eye. Hidden beneath the diary was a snow-white envelope with my name scrawled across it in hurried handwriting.
I opened it. Despite my resolve, my fingers still trembled. Inside was a medical report.
And an ultrasound photo. “Patient: Caroline Stafford.” Date: two weeks ago. “Estimated gestational age: 12 weeks.”
My vision blurred. On the signature line, clearly visible: “Attending Physician: Gage Morrison.”

The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 3

Eliza Anderson’s POV:
I stumbled out of the master bedroom, clutching the diary and the ultrasound photo tightly in my hands.
I needed to be alone. I retreated to my own room, closed the door, and the lock clicked shut, as if sealing off the entire world.
My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall. I bit down hard on my lower lip—the taste of blood was the only thing that made me feel real.
I slowly stood up and walked to the mirror. I tried to smile, to give myself some comfort, but my lips wouldn’t obey. The corners of my mouth trembled, then fell. I closed my eyes.
In that moment, I knew—the Eliza I used to be was gone forever.
A few hours later, I heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Gage and Caroline were back. Their voices drifted down the hallway, light and cheerful.
Gage walked in first, carrying a large insulated bag. “Darling Eliza, I’m home. I hope you ate something. I brought your favorite Thai curry, to make up for my recent absences.” He gave me that deliberately practiced apologetic smile.
He opened the bag, and the rich aroma of coconut milk and spices filled the room.
“I know there’s always something pulling me away lately,” he continued, arranging the containers on the dining table, “but I really want you to know how much I care.”
“I’m not hungry, Gage. I don’t feel well.”
“Oh, Eliza, you really should eat something,” Caroline chimed in, her voice laced with concern. She gestured toward the food on the table. “Gage went all the way out there just for you.”
I ignored her. I pressed “send” on my phone, and a notification popped up on the screen: “Penthouse sale confirmed. Cash buyer, closing within 24 hours.”
Gage’s smile froze. Caroline’s eyes widened. They both stared at my phone, then at me. Their usual composure was cracked with shock and confusion.
“What… what is this, Eliza?” Gage’s voice was tight, with obvious anger.
“I sold the penthouse,” I said calmly and clearly. “Cash buyer, closing tomorrow morning.” I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.
I walked past their stunned faces and back to my room. As I passed the living room sofa, I saw it—my engagement ring, sparkling in the light.
I remembered the day Gage proposed. He knelt before me, his eyes full of what I’d thought was love. “This ring,” he’d said, holding up the dazzling diamond, “is a symbol of my endless loyalty, my promise to spend my life with you, Eliza.” Those vows I’d once cherished now sounded like hollow lies.
The next morning, I woke up early. My phone vibrated. A notification from Caroline’s social media. A photo. Her hand intertwined with Gage’s, my engagement ring glittering on her finger. The caption read: “Finally got the ring that’s mine! And a little one on the way! Can’t wait for our future, my love @GageMorrison.”
I felt that familiar rage rise up again, but then my phone rang. It was Gage.
“Eliza, what is the meaning of this?” His voice was tight with anger.
“What meaning, Gage?” I asked calmly.
“Caroline’s post! And the ring! Why is she wearing your ring?” he demanded.
“She’s carrying your child, Gage,” I stated the obvious. “Maybe she feels entitled to it. Or maybe you gave it to her.”
He stammered for a moment, then forced himself to sound composed. “Eliza, don’t be ridiculous. She… she’s just emotional. I let her try it on to calm her down. You know how sensitive women get when they’re pregnant.” His tone was condescending, dismissive. “It’s nothing. I’ll buy you a bigger one, a better one.”
“That’s fine, Gage,” I said in a voice so cold it could freeze. “You two keep it. I don’t need it.” I hung up before he could say anything else.
I looked at the email on my laptop. The penthouse closing documents. “Transaction complete.” A cold, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. His promises of bigger rings, better lives—they all meant nothing. I’d cut everything off. He could keep those material possessions; I didn’t need them.
I crumpled the engagement ring receipt into a ball and tossed it in the recycling bin. Then I called a taxi.
Time to take back what’s mine.

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