CEO’s Revenge I Exposed My Wife’s Affair at the Annual Gala

"However, this year we have one more award... a very special one."

A ripple of curiosity stirred through the audience, whispers spreading like wildfire.

I gave a slight nod to the secretary standing at the side of the stage.

She approached carrying a square gift box draped in deep blue velvet, a silver ribbon tied around it that caught the light with understated elegance. Her steps were measured, unhurried. She placed the box on the podium before me.

It wasn't large, but it was exquisite.

Dean's face—which had been dark with barely contained fury—shifted the moment he saw it.

The resentment and rage drained from his eyes like a receding tide, replaced by rekindled anticipation. He straightened in his seat and glanced toward Mary.

Mary's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. But within seconds, she gave Dean an almost imperceptible nod—part reassurance, part signal.

I reached out and let my fingers glide over the smooth velvet surface.

"This award has no monetary value attached. It's not tied to performance metrics." My voice was steady, even carrying a hint of warmth. "It simply represents the company's... appreciation for one employee's rather unique contributions."

Dean's spine went ramrod straight. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, impossible to suppress.

A look of smug certainty flashed in his eyes—I knew it.

He probably assumed the hundred thousand dollars and the car were just window dressing, and that this "special award" was the real prize prepared specifically for him.

Perhaps a check with an obscene number of zeros. Or something even more valuable—stock options, property deeds?

The audience seemed to share his speculation, their gazes ping-ponging between Dean and me.

I lifted my head, caught his eyes with precision, and smiled.

"Dean Gilbert. Assistant Gilbert."

I called his name.

In that instant, the anticipation on Dean's face peaked.

He drew a deep breath and smoothed the lapels of his midnight-blue velvet suit, trying to project an air of composure. But the eagerness and triumph in his eyes were practically spilling over.

He walked to the front and stopped before me, a dazzling smile spreading across his face.

"Chairman Dickerson."

His voice rang out, vibrating with barely contained excitement.

I said nothing more. I simply gestured toward the box on the podium.

Dean stepped forward and lifted the velvet box with both hands.

It was lighter than expected.

A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but it was quickly buried beneath a fresh wave of anticipation.

He turned to face the audience, holding the box aloft like a trophy. His gaze found Mary's direction for a brief, triumphant moment.

Then, projecting to the entire room, he declared:

"Thank you, Chairman Dickerson! Thank you for the company's recognition! I will continue to work hard and never disappoint this... special favor the company has shown me!"

Scattered applause trickled through the audience.

It was obvious—he wasn't well-liked here.

In her seat, Mary's face relaxed into a relieved smile. She clapped along, soft and measured.

Dean, brimming with self-satisfaction, couldn't wait any longer. His fingers attacked the silver ribbon.

They trembled slightly with excitement, and it took him several seconds to undo the elegant knot.

The velvet lid finally lifted.

The smile on his face froze solid the instant he saw what lay inside.

The host and the secretary, standing closest on stage, saw it first.

The secretary's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes going wide as saucers.

The host's professional smile calcified into something almost comical—pure, undisguised shock.

The front rows began to see it too.

The whispers ignited like water hitting hot oil—a sharp sizzle, then a rapid spread into an uproar that could no longer be contained.

Someone adjusted the spotlight. The beam tightened, centering on the box in Dean's hands.

No check inside. No keys. Nothing of value.

Just five chicken butts.

Cleaned and cooked, they gleamed with that distinctive pale-yellow sheen of braised meat. Arranged in a perfect circle on the white silk lining at the bottom of the box.

Each one plump. Glistening with oil.