Revenge Seduction: Captivating The Wall Street Monster

The air in the hallway turned to lead. Arron stared into the dimly lit suite behind Corrine. The shadows seemed to hide monsters he couldn't afford to fight. The silence from inside the room was deafening.

His hands, hanging by his sides, curled into tight fists. His fingernails dug into his palms. The veins on his forehead throbbed with the sheer humiliation of being locked out.

Arron's mind raced, trying to list the Wall Street titans who had access to The Penthouse. Every single name terrified him.

Corrine watched the fear bleed into his eyes. She shifted her weight, letting the silk robe fall open just a fraction more. It screamed post-coital laziness.

She raised her hand and lazily brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingertips intentionally trailed down her neck, tracing the red bruise on her collarbone.

The micro-movement acted like a needle driven straight into Arron's optic nerve. His breathing turned ragged. Jealousy chewed through his remaining logic.

"Are you insane?" Arron hissed, keeping his voice low. "You let some old, fat billionaire touch you just to make me mad?"

Corrine let out a sharp laugh. It echoed harshly in the quiet corridor. She looked at him with pure pity.

"He's not old," Corrine purred, her tone thick with fake satisfaction. "And he is a thousand times the man you will ever be."

The words shattered Arron's ego. He took a violent step forward, his chest almost touching hers.

Corrine didn't back away. She tilted her chin up. Her eyes turned to ice.

"Take one more step," she warned softly. "Wake him up, and I promise you, the Mayer family won't be able to save you."

Arron's foot stopped in mid-air.

She had hit his ultimate weakness. He was only an adopted son. If he caused a scandal that offended a real power player, his cold-blooded adoptive father, Cassius, would strip him of his trust fund by morning.

A visible shiver ran down Arron's spine at the thought of Cassius. The rage drained out of him, replaced by cold sweat.

Corrine saw the retreat in his posture. The bluff was working perfectly. She just needed to push him off the cliff.

She pulled her phone from the pocket of her robe, holding it up to her ear as if she had just answered a call. She lowered her gaze, her voice dropping into a soft, sickeningly sweet whisper.

"Honey, I'm just dealing with some trash at the door. I'll be right back to bed," she murmured.

Arron's face went paper-white. He practically jumped backward, putting three feet of distance between himself and the door. He looked at the dark opening like a loaded gun was pointed at his head.

Elma saw Arron losing the upper hand. She stepped forward, her eyes wide with fake sympathy.

"Corrine, please," Elma said, her voice trembling. "Don't ruin yourself like this. You don't have to throw your body away just because you're angry."

Elma was trying to remind Arron that Corrine was damaged goods now.

Corrine slowly turned her gaze to Elma. There was no anger, only clinical disgust.

She looked at the custom designer gown Elma was wearing. Corrine knew Arron had bought it using the Mayer family supplementary card.

"Save the tears, Elma," Corrine sneered. "You're just a high-end parasite living off a supplementary credit card. Don't pretend you have morals."

Elma gasped, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. She immediately looked at Arron, tears welling up in her eyes.

Arron puffed his chest out, trying to reclaim his masculinity. "Watch your mouth, Corrine! Stop acting like a crazy bitch!"

Corrine looked at the man defending his mistress. The last lingering ghost of her six-year relationship burned away into nothing.

She stood up straight. The lazy posture vanished. Her eyes sharpened into blades. It was time to end this.

"We are done, Arron," Corrine stated. Her voice was flat, carrying the weight of a judge's gavel. "From this second on, you are nothing to me. Do not ever speak to me again."

The absolute finality in her voice hit Arron like a physical blow. He froze, his mouth slightly open, completely unable to process that he was the one being dumped.