Divorce: A Sweet Revenge

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the private foyer of my true home—a sprawling penthouse that occupied the entire top floor of one of Manhattan's most exclusive buildings. I stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and lemon polish, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the apartment I'd shared with Tyson.

"Welcome home, Ms. Wagner," said the doorman, who had been instructed to expect me. "Your assistant arrived about twenty minutes ago."

"Thank you, James," I replied, handing him my coat. "Please ensure we're not disturbed."

The penthouse stretched before me—thirty thousand square feet of unobstructed luxury with panoramic views of Central Park. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a living painting, the autumn leaves creating a tapestry of gold and crimson against the urban landscape.

"Legacy." Emma Chen rose from the leather sofa in my study, a stack of folders already arranged on the mahogany desk. Her sleek black hair was pulled into a severe bun, her expression as focused as always. "Everything is prepared."

I nodded, setting my bag down and moving toward the desk. "Let's begin."

Emma's efficiency was one of the many reasons I valued her. Within minutes, she had laid out detailed files on Ellis Corporation—financial reports, partnership agreements, overseas investments, and Tyson's upcoming projects.

"Ellis Corporation's biggest vulnerability is their reliance on overseas investments," Emma said, pointing to a spreadsheet. "Their domestic operations are stable, but their growth depends entirely on these three international partnerships."

I studied the numbers, noting the familiar names. "Singapore, London, and Dubai."

"Exactly." Emma's eyes gleamed with the predatory satisfaction of a strategist who'd found her opponent's weak spot. "They've been considering increasing their investment by thirty percent over the next quarter."

I traced my finger along the edge of the document. "And what would happen if those investments suddenly... disappeared?"

Emma's smile was razor-sharp. "Ellis Corporation would lose their largest source of capital. Without those funds, they wouldn't be able to complete their expansion into the Asian market. Their stock would plummet."

"And Tyson?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Would be left with nothing but the shell of what he built."

I leaned back in my chair, considering the scope of what we were planning. "Make the calls, Emma. Discreetly."

---

"The Dubai partnership is the most vulnerable," Emma reported three hours later, her phone pressed to her ear as she paced my living room. "Mr. Al-Rashid mentioned concerns about Ellis Corporation's leadership... Yes, exactly. He's considering other opportunities."

I watched her work, admiring how effortlessly she navigated these conversations. Emma had been with me for five years, one of the few people who knew my true identity and the extent of my holdings.

"London is more complicated," she continued, switching seamlessly to another call. "But I've arranged for Mr. Harrington to receive some... enlightening information about Ellis Corporation's financial management."

By evening, Emma had contacted our entire international network—business associates who owed me favors, partners who respected my judgment, and investors who trusted my discretion. Each conversation was carefully crafted to seem casual, each piece of information planted like a seed that would soon sprout into doubt.

"Singapore will be the hardest nut to crack," Emma said finally, setting down her phone. "But I've arranged for Mr. Lim to receive an anonymous report questioning Ellis Corporation's sustainability practices."

I nodded, satisfied with our progress. "Perfect. Now we wait."

---

Across town, in a private dining room at Le Bernardin, Tyson raised his champagne flute in a toast.

"To us," he said, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he gazed at Mercy. "And to freedom."

Mercy clinked her glass against his, the diamonds on her wrist catching the light. "To new beginnings."

I watched them through the eyes of my business associate seated at the next table—a woman who'd recognized me from previous auctions and now worked as my eyes and ears in social settings where I couldn't be present.

"Legacy took it better than I expected," Tyson was saying, cutting into his wagyu beef. "No tears, no begging. Just signed the papers."

"How much did you give her?" Mercy asked, examining her reflection in a compact mirror.

"Five million and a house in the Hamptons." Tyson shrugged as if it were nothing. "More than generous for someone who was just... keeping my bed warm."

Mercy laughed, a sound that carried clearly to nearby tables. "Well, she was useful for something."

Neither of them noticed the quiet click of a phone camera capturing their conversation, or the satisfied smile of the woman pretending to check her messages.

I received the video an hour later, watching it with Emma in my study as we sipped nightcaps.

"They have no idea what's coming," Emma murmured.

"No," I agreed, pausing on a frame of Tyson's smug expression. "But they will."