Betrayed, I Burned His Empire

The lock on my pre-marriage apartment clicked open. I pushed the door wide, stepping into the dark, silent penthouse. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight cutting through the blinds.

My phone buzzed in my hand before I could even reach for the light switch.

"Nora," I answered, dropping my keys onto the marble kitchen island.

"You're at the old place?" my lawyer friend asked. Her voice sounded tight, lacking its usual professional polish.

"I still own it. Did you pull the financial records like I asked?"

"I did. You need to sit down, Elowen."

"I prefer standing," I said. "Give it to me straight."

"Killian has been siphoning funds for the past twelve months. He completely drained the joint investment accounts."

"How much?"

"Seven figures. Elowen, the transfers go directly to a private offshore account."

"Let me guess. Blair?"

"Yes. And it gets worse," Nora said, the rustle of papers coming through the speaker. "He used the thirty percent equity you gifted him last year to secure a massive shadow loan."

A sharp laugh escaped my throat. The sound echoed off the empty walls, harsh and dry. I didn't feel like crying. I found it almost funny in a twisted, sickening way.

"I built his entire empire," I told her, tracing a line through the dust on the counter. "I used my family's capital to fund his startup. I handed him a flawless corporate network on a silver platter when he was nobody."

"I know, El."

"I paid for Blair's college tuition ten years ago!" I yelled, my composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "She was a broke intern, and I pitied her. I gave him thirty percent of my own company because he felt insecure about my success overshadowing his."

"No good deed goes unpunished," Nora muttered. "He bought a townhouse in the marina district. The deed is completely in Blair's name. There are also recent charges for Cartier diamond jewelry and a brand-new Porsche."

"He's funding his new life with my sweat," I whispered.

A chime interrupted our call. A notification popped up at the top of my screen.

"Hold on, Nora. I have an email from Leo's kindergarten teacher."

I switched the call to speaker and tapped the video file attached to the email. Ms. Davis had added a brief note: *Thought you should see this. It happens every afternoon.*

The video started playing. Blair crouched in front of Leo by the school gates.

"Where is Mommy?" Leo asked, kicking his little sneakers against the pavement.

"She's too busy making money, sweetie," Blair said on the recording. She adjusted his backpack with practiced care. "She doesn't care about our family. She only loves her credit cards."

"She doesn't love me?" Leo pouted, his lower lip trembling.

"I love you," Blair cooed, pulling him into a tight hug. "I'm your real family now. You don't need her. She just abandons us."

I paused the clip. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of my phone.

"Nora, are you still there?" I asked, picking the device back up.

"I'm here. What was that noise?"

"A video of my husband's mistress brainwashing my son. She picks him up every day just to tell him I don't love him."

Before Nora could offer sympathy, my screen lit up again.

A text message from Blair.

"She's texting me now," I announced.

"Read it," Nora commanded.

I opened the message. "'Elowen, I am so sorry. I never meant to break your heart or ruin your home.'"

"What a liar," Nora scoffed.

"There's more," I said. "'But Killian and I just have a connection we can't ignore. He promised to marry me as soon as the divorce is final. He even talked to his lawyers today. He said Leo is going to legally change his last name and adopt me as his mother. It's better for everyone this way. Please don't make this hard.'"

Silence stretched over the line.

"She's taunting you," Nora finally snapped. "Do you want me to file a restraining order? We can bar her from the school grounds."

"No. A restraining order is a slap on the wrist. I want a guillotine." I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the sprawling city lights below. "Give me Marcus's number."

"The private investigator? Elowen, he operates strictly in the gray area."

"I need the gray area. Send the contact."

"Fine. But be careful. He doesn't play by the rules."

The text arrived a second later. I ended the call with Nora and dialed the new number immediately.

A gruff voice answered on the second ring. "Marcus."

"This is Elowen. Nora sent me."

"I know exactly who you are. What do you need?"

"I need you to dismantle a man's life." I pressed my fingertips against the cool glass of the window. "My husband, Killian. I want every text message, every offshore bank record, and every piece of footage you can find of him and his mistress."

"Infidelity is standard," Marcus replied, chewing on something crunchy. "Easy work."

"I don't just want the cheating," I corrected him. "He's been transferring marital assets. He's running shadow loans through my company's equity. I want undeniable proof of corporate fraud, embezzlement, and illegal asset hiding."

"That kind of digging takes serious resources. It won't be cheap."

"I have billions at my disposal. Money is not an object. I want him bleeding on paper."

"When do you need the file?"

"Monday morning."

"Monday? That's two days away."

"Then you better start right now," I said.

"You want to ruin him in family court?" Marcus asked.

"I want him to walk into that courtroom thinking he holds all the cards," I replied. "And then I want to watch his entire world burn to ash. I want him in a cell, and I want her back on the streets."

"I'll send the contract." The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, the screen casting a pale glow across my face. I didn't feel like the woman who had walked in here ten minutes ago. The betrayal had burned away all my hesitation.

A sudden, sharp knock pounded against the front door of the apartment.

I frowned. No one knew I was here. I hadn't lived in this penthouse for five years.

I crossed the living room and tapped the security monitor mounted on the wall.

The screen flickered to life, showing the hallway outside. A man stood there, wearing a sharp charcoal suit and clutching a thick manila folder.

It was David, Killian's right-hand man and lead corporate attorney.

And he was raising his fist to knock again.