My Best Friend Planned My Death to Steal My Man

The Watson Industries boardroom had never felt so cold. I sat at the head of the table, fingers tracing the embossed company logo on the folder before me. The loan agreement inside was worth twenty million dollars—enough to save the Gardner Corporation from complete collapse.

"Miss Watson," my assistant's voice came through the intercom, "Mr. Gardner is here."

I took a deep breath. "Send him in."

Darren entered alone, looking nothing like the confident man who'd thrown me into that pool. His suit hung loosely on his frame, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling slightly.

"Scarlett," he began, his voice cracking. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

I gestured to the chair across from me. "Sit down, Darren."

He obeyed instantly, a far cry from the man who'd once commanded rooms with his presence.

"I've reviewed your company's financials," I said, opening the folder. "Twenty million would indeed solve your immediate problems."

Hope flickered across his face. "Then you'll—"

"I didn't say I'd give it to you," I cut him off. "I have conditions."

His expression hardened slightly. "Name them."

"You'll meet me tonight at the old Watson warehouse on Pier 17. Come alone."

---

The warehouse loomed against the night sky, its windows dark and broken. I'd had it prepared specially for this occasion—a circle of glowing coals in the center, their heat making the air shimmer.

Darren arrived precisely at midnight, his car headlights cutting through the darkness before going dark.

"Scarlett?" he called, stepping into the warehouse. "What is this place?"

"A reminder," I replied, stepping from the shadows. I wore black tonight—a dress that absorbed light rather than reflected it. "Do you know why I chose this location?"

He shook his head, wariness in his eyes.

"This is where I used to volunteer," I said, circling him slowly. "Before I met you. Before I started walking on eggshells for three years, trying to be perfect for someone who saw me as nothing but a tool."

"Scarlett, please—"

"Strip," I commanded.

His eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me." I gestured to the bed of coals. "Down to your underwear. Then crawl across those coals."

"You can't be serious," he whispered.

"Twenty million dollars," I reminded him. "Or you can leave now and watch your company collapse tomorrow."

For a moment, I thought he might leave. Then, with trembling hands, he began removing his clothes.

---

The coals glowed orange in the darkness, their heat visible in waves of rising air. Darren stood before them in his underwear, his body pale and vulnerable.

"Crawl," I ordered, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

He dropped to his hands and knees. The first touch of coals against skin made him gasp. Then, inch by excruciating inch, he began to crawl.

I watched without flinching as his skin blistered and burned. Each cry he made was music to my ears—payment for every time he'd made me feel worthless.

When he reached the other side, he collapsed, sobbing openly. Burns covered his hands and knees, his underwear singed and stained with blood.

"Now," he gasped, looking up at me with tears streaming down his face. "Give me the check."

I smiled then—a cold, empty smile as I pulled the check from my purse. Twenty million dollars, made out to the Gardner Corporation.

"This is what you reduced me to," I said, holding it up. "Something to be used. Something to be discarded."

With deliberate slowness, I tore it in half.

"No!" he cried, lunging forward only to collapse again.

I dropped the pieces onto his bleeding back. "Your pain is only beginning, Darren. And money can't buy forgiveness."

---

The car ride back to the Watson estate was silent until we reached the gates.

"You're shaking," Cillian observed quietly.

I hadn't even realized. My hands trembled in my lap, my whole body vibrating with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Is it satisfaction?" he asked.

"I thought it would feel better," I admitted. "Seeing him like that."

Cillian reached across the console and took my hand. His touch was warm, steady—an anchor in the storm of my emotions.

"Revenge rarely brings the peace we hope for," he said softly.

I leaned my head against his shoulder, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability. "What now?"

---

The next morning brought news I hadn't expected.

"Miss Watson," Marcus Chen's voice came through my office phone, "we've intercepted communications between Iris Morales and Victoria Gardner."

I sat up straighter. "What kind of communications?"

"They're planning something," he replied grimly. "A kidnapping, to force your father to sign over assets."

My hand tightened on the phone. "A kidnapping? Of me?"

"Yes. Iris has contacted a criminal gang. We could shut this down immediately, but I thought you might want to use this opportunity."

I smiled slowly. "Yes. Don't stop them yet."

This wasn't just about revenge anymore. This was about justice—and ensuring they could never hurt anyone else again.