A Job Offer Started My Revenge Against My CEO Ex

Chantelle’s POV

“You’re just in time. Sign this, it’s—”

Before I could finish, Lachlan snatched the documents from my hands.

“Forget it,” he replied, not even looking at me. “We agreed—no work at home. Your efficiency’s just too damn poor anyway.”

I froze mid-motion. The sting in my chest spread fast, bitter and cold.

Well… he wouldn’t have to worry about my work performance much longer.

Just as he was about to flip through the documents, his phone rang. He moved quickly to answer it, but not quick enough—I caught the caller ID.

[Kirsten]

Just like that, he dropped the papers without a second thought and rushed out the door.

I bent down to gather the scattered pages. Just as I was about to stand, he came storming back in—and kicked me, hard, right in the stomach.

Pain exploded through my abdomen like needles stabbing into my flesh; I had just suffered a miscarriage.

I swallowed the taste of blood rising in my throat and shot him a look in disbelief.

“Chantelle, you shouldn’t have done this,” he said calmly, but there was ice in his eyes. “You kidnapped my kids, just because I took them to an amusement park?”

A cold shiver ran down my spine at that accusation.

Before I knew it, he already grabbed me by the neck, his fingers digging in. I was like a wounded animal, barely breathing, completely at his mercy.

“Stop messing around. Where did you hide my twins?!” he demanded.

My vision swam with darkness as his grip tightened. I used what little strength I had left to croak out the words from my dry throat.

“I… I don’t know.”

The Lachlan I once knew—he would’ve scooped me up, panicked and worried.

No. The Lachlan I used to love wouldn’t have laid a hand on me in the first place.

I trembled violently, like someone already on the brink of death.

His eyes flickered with what looked like pity—but his grip didn’t ease.

“You’ve been bad, Chantelle,” he murmured. “And bad women need to be punished.”

Then he dragged me out of the house. I didn’t even have the strength to fight back.

Next thing I knew, we were on a helicopter, rising fast above the clouds.

Ten minutes later, the ground was nothing but a blur beneath us.

“Chantelle,” Lachlan said, his voice weirdly gentle, “you still have time. Just tell me the truth.”

He gave a soft, almost amused laugh, only to pull the cabin door open.

The wind roared, and my knees buckled.

“Lachlan!” I gasped. “Please! It wasn’t me! You know I’m terrified of heights!”

But he didn’t listen. Instead, he strapped a parachute tightly around me as he said in a coaxing voice, “You went too far this time,” he said. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll bring you down safely.”

He knew about my phobia. He’d seen me freeze on third-floor balconies. And now here we were—thousands of feet up, strapped in, terrified—because of Kirsten. And her children.

I was crying now, unable to stop shaking. “Lachlan… it wasn’t me. I swear. I’ll say it one last time.”

His eyes narrowed. And then came that cruel, icy laugh.

Without a word, he shoved me out of the helicopter.

And as I fell, as the air screamed around me, everything just… felt nothing.

At a moment I used to fear the most, ten years of love flashed through my mind.

‘How did we end up here?’

When I first became his secretary, I warned myself every day. “Don’t fall for him. Keep it professional.”

But Lachlan spent three years tearing my walls down, one sweet moment at a time.

On my birthday, he lit up the entire Las Vegas with fireworks just for me.

He even knelt and proposed ninety-nine times. Nine-nine! I was not exaggerating if I said the villa was full of his gifts—every room, every corner.

I tried to suppress my feelings until he said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll fight against the world just to love you.”

It was that promise that made me say yes on his hundredth proposal.

And once we were married, he meant every word—at first.

Whatever I liked, he’d get it for me before I even asked.

He even agreed to keep our marriage a secret, just because I didn’t want public attention.

I thought what we had was different… until I heard Kirsten’s name.

She was the one who’d saved him once—his so-called first love.

But when Lachlan’s family went bankrupt, she ditched him and ran off to Berlin.

Four years ago, her own life tanked, and suddenly she was back in Nevada, clinging to what used to be.

Since then, she started inserting herself into every private moment I had with my husband.

All it took was a phone call, and he would leave me behind to run to her.

I fought with him so many times over it. And every time, he’d hold me close and gently explain, “It’s not like that. I just owe her for saving me back then. But she left me once, too, without thinking twice—how could I still have feelings for her? Besides, I have you now.”

Blinded by love, I chose to believe him. I played dumb—four years passed like that.

And now… their twins were already four.

When I woke up in the hospital, I stared at the ceiling in a daze.

“You’ve just suffered a miscarriage,” the doctor said quietly. “And your body endured heavy trauma. It might be hard for you to conceive again.”

My lips twitched as tears spilled uncontrollably down my face.

When I finally made it home, I didn’t even step inside before I heard her voice.

“Locke, you really want me and the kids to move in? What if Chantelle gets mad when she comes home? What if she hurts the kids again? I just… I don’t know what I’d do,” she sobbed.

Through the cracked door, I saw him. Lachlan. Pulling her into his arms like she was the one who needed saving.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “I won’t let her touch you or the kids. If she tries… I’ll make sure she suffers even more.”

That made me scoff. ‘So, throwing someone with a fear of heights out of a helicopter wasn’t harsh enough?’

Just then, a gust of wind blew the slightly open door wide, and my eyes met Lachlan’s.

He quickly pulled away from Kirsten, guilt flashing in his face.

I said nothing. Just walked past them, heading upstairs.

“Chantelle, wait,” he said calmly.

I turned around, only to see him frowning like I had done something wrong. “Aren’t you going to ask why they’re here?”

Right on cue, the twins ran over and timidly hugged his leg.

Pain flickered in his eyes.

His eyes darkened with pain. “Because of you, they still cry at night. Kirsten’s anxiety attacks are worse. Don’t you feel any guilt?”

Before I could respond, Kirsten tugged gently at his sleeve. “Let it go, Locke. I’m sure Chantelle didn’t mean it.”

That deserved a cold laugh.

But then, out of nowhere, she shrieked and flung herself into his arms.

“Locke, I’m scared…”

And he wrapped her up like some damsel and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. She won’t hurt you.”

I watched them. The act. The melodrama.

And I turned, heading upstairs without a word.

But before I made it far, Lachlan grabbed my hand.

“Chantelle,” he muttered, his eyes full of accusations, “this time you really crossed the line. You’ve seen what you’ve done to Kirsten and the kids. You should make it up to them.”

I tried to pull free, but he held on. I could steady myself and look him in the eye.

He hesitated, then continued. “Give me the amethyst pendant I gave you.”

I froze in place, staring at him in disbelief.

He added, “They just need it for a few days. I’ll return it when they’re better.”

My chest ached as if my heart had been ripped in two.

That pendant—he made it for me himself seven years ago.

Back in school, when I was barely keeping it together after all the bullying—and wouldn’t go near a therapist or meds—he disappeared for a week.

Turns out, he’d spent days teaching himself how to solder and shape amethyst, just to make that pendant from scratch. Said if I wouldn’t take meds, maybe I’d wear something made with love instead. Something to hold onto when things got bad.

And now, because of a baseless accusation, he wanted to take it back—from me—for the very person who used to make my life hell.

How could I say yes to that?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kirsten’s gaze flicking to me, her lashes lowering just enough to hide the shift in her expression.

She took a slow step forward, and with a sweet voice I knew she was just faking, she said, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, Chantelle. The kids and I will just tough it out.”

Her fingers brushed my arm. Then, without warning, she dug in and twisted—right where the old injury still flared up on bad days.

She looked me in the eye, her fake sweetness slipping for half a second—long enough for me to see the smirk hiding underneath.

And that was it.

No warning. No words.

I shoved her.

Hard.