He Stole My Empire, So I Married His Enemy

I walked through the glass doors, my head held high despite the whispers that started the moment I stepped into the lobby.

"Whore," someone muttered near the reception desk.

"Gold digger," another voice hissed from the elevator bank.

I ignored them. I kept my eyes fixed on the elevator doors, my hand clutching my briefcase. I had a job to do.

When I reached the executive floor, my office—the corner suite with the panoramic view—was gone. My nameplate had been removed. Jennie was sitting at my desk, her feet propped up, sipping a latte.

"Oh, look who's back," she smirked, not bothering to get up. "Paul said you're in the supply closet now. Down the hall."

I didn't argue. I didn't scream. I just nodded.

"Thank you, Jennie," I said calmly.

I walked to the small, windowless room at the end of the corridor. It smelled of toner and stale coffee. A single desk was crammed between boxes of paper.

Perfect. No one would bother looking in here.

I sat down and opened my laptop. Paul thought he had stripped me of my power. He thought I was just a disgraced wife trying to earn her keep. But he had forgotten one thing: I built this company with him. I knew every password, every loophole, every hidden account.

For the next six hours, I worked in silence.

I accessed the encrypted server. I downloaded the client list. I copied the offshore account details. I found the hidden contracts that proved Paul was embezzling from the pension fund.

Click. Send.

Every file went straight to Ysmael’s secure server. Every asset, every secret, every weakness. I was dismantling Paul’s empire from the inside out, one email at a time.

Around 4 PM, I needed to get Paul’s physical signature on a transfer document to finalize the "merger" he thought I was working on. I walked down the hall to his office.

The door was slightly ajar.

"Mmm, Paul..."

I froze.

Through the crack, I saw them. Jennie was bent over his desk, her skirt hiked up. Paul was behind her, his hands gripping her hips, his face buried in her neck.

"You like that?" he groaned. "Better than my useless wife?"

"So much better," Jennie moaned. "When are you going to kick her out?"

"Soon," Paul promised, biting her shoulder. "Once I get the last of her shares. Just play along a little longer."

I pulled out my phone. My hand was steady. I recorded ten seconds of video—enough to prove adultery in any court, enough to destroy his "devoted husband" act.

I saved the file and backed away silently.

I returned to my closet office and sent the video to Ysmael.

Evidence secured, I typed.

His reply came instantly. Good girl.

That evening, Paul insisted we visit his grandfather at the family estate.

"He wants to see you," Paul said in the car, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. "He's heard the rumors. You need to be humble, Olivia. Apologize. Grovel if you have to. He controls the trust."

We walked into the grand library. The old man, Alistair, sat in a leather armchair, looking frail but fierce.

"Grandfather," Paul said, bowing slightly. "I brought Olivia."

Alistair’s eyes snapped to me. They were cold, filled with disgust.

"So," he rasped. "The whore returns."

I flinched. "Grandfather, I—"

Slap.

His hand connected with my cheek, hard and fast. My head snapped to the side. The sound echoed in the silent room.

"Don't you dare speak to me!" Alistair roared, shaking with rage. "You disgrace this family! You spread your legs for a contract like a common streetwalker! And now you carry a bastard child?"

I touched my stinging cheek, tears springing to my eyes.

"Grandfather, please," Paul interjected, stepping between us. He put a protective arm around me, his voice soothing. "Don't hit her. She's pregnant. She made a mistake, yes, but she's trying to fix it. She's in therapy. I've forgiven her."

"You are too soft, boy!" Alistair spat. "She should be thrown out on the street!"

"She is my wife," Paul said firmly, squeezing my shoulder. "And she carries the next heir. Even if the paternity is... questionable, the child will be raised as ours. For the sake of the family."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, looking at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Grandfather. I'll do better. I promise."

"Get out of my sight," Alistair growled.

Paul led me out, his arm still around me. As soon as the library doors closed, he shoved me away.

"You see?" he hissed. "You see what I have to deal with because of you? You're lucky I defend you."

"Thank you, Paul," I said meekly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He smirked, adjusting his cuffs. "Exactly. Now go wait in the car."

For the next three days, I played the part perfectly.

I cooked his dinner. I ironed his shirts. I sat silently while he berated me over breakfast. I went to my closet office and worked diligently, sending more and more data to Ysmael.

I was the perfect, broken, obedient wife.

Paul relaxed. He stopped locking my door at night. He started leaving his phone unlocked on the counter. He thought he had won.

On the fourth morning, I was pouring his coffee when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I checked it under the table.

It was a message from Ysmael.

It's done. The papers are filed. The assets are transferred. You are legally divorced as of 9 AM this morning. The judge signed the emergency order based on the abuse and adultery evidence.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

A second message popped up.

Prepare. Let's get married, so you can leave that damn bastard.