Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 1

After five years trapped in darkness, Amelia finally woke up.

The first thing she heard was her husband Clive’s smooth, gentle voice right by her ear.

He stroked her cheek and murmured, “Amelia, you’re no use to me anymore. Just stay asleep, and never wake up.”

What an absolute bastard.

Amelia dug her nails into her palm, trying to choke back the wave of nausea rising in her stomach.

She had met Clive when she was twelve, married him at twenty. By twenty-two, she was giving birth to twins. But complications during delivery changed everything—she slipped into a coma to save their children and became nothing more than a breathing shell.

The doctors said she had only her most basic life functions left. She had no feelings, no awareness. Just a doll that breathed.

But the truth was, Amelia could hear everything. She could feel everything. She just couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes.

She’d never imagined that being trapped in her own body would show her Clive’s true face so clearly.

A knock at the door broke the silence. “Mr. Salmeron, visiting hours are up,” a nurse reminded softly as she stepped inside.

Clive turned on his charm, flashing the nurse a perfect smile. “Thank you,” he replied smoothly.

Before leaving, he did what he always did: leaned down, kissed Amelia’s forehead, and gazed at her with practiced tenderness.

“Amelia, wake up soon… I’ll always be waiting. I’ll love you forever.”

Inside, Amelia snorted.

Impressive acting—shame it was wasted on someone in a coma.

Well, Clive still had an audience. Out in the hallway, two nurses were watching him leave with hearts in their eyes.

He’d laughed, kissed her, and looked her straight in the eyes. “Silly girl. You’re my wife. Who else could I possibly love?”

He’d said, “Amelia, this is just our first year. We’ve got ten, fifty more to go together.”

Turns out, you could fake loving someone.

Now, Amelia watched as Clive’s secretary, Kristen, climbed out of the car—her car—wearing sky-high heels and the confident air of someone who belonged.

Kristen jogged over to Clive, beaming, but suddenly tripped. Clive rushed to catch her, holding her like she was made of glass.

That look of concern, that protectiveness—Amelia had never seen it directed at her.

To Clive, she’d always been made of steel. She didn’t get hurt, didn’t get tired, and she always did what she was told—like a loyal servant.