The Billionaire's Rival: My Sweet Revenge

The townhouse on the Upper East Side was silent as a tomb. Angelina entered, carrying the dry cleaning bags like a penitent carrying a cross.

Brittain was in the living room, nursing a scotch. He didn't look up.

"You're late," he said.

"Traffic was awful," Angelina lied smoothly. She walked over and kissed his cheek. He smelled of alcohol and another woman's perfume-something floral, cheap.

"Is Harrison coming tonight?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

Brittain scowled. "That prick? No. But I need to call him about the board vote."

He pulled out his phone and dialed. He put it on speaker, tossing it onto the coffee table. A power move. He wanted an audience.

Harrison answered on the second ring. "Kane. If you're calling to beg, save your breath."

Angelina's heart skipped a beat. His voice sounded different through the phone-colder, metallic.

"I have the votes, Harrison," Brittain blustered. "Just concede."

"You have nothing," Harrison said. "By the way, enjoy the gala. I assume you're bringing the trophy wife?"

Brittain glanced at Angelina. She lowered her eyes, playing the part.

"Leave Angelina out of this," Brittain said, puffing out his chest.

"Why?" Harrison's voice dripped with mockery. "Is she there? Listening? Like a good little dog?"

Angelina's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She forced the reaction, the slight tremor in her shoulders, the quick intake of breath. Inside, she was cold stone. Harrison was playing his part perfectly, reinforcing the very image she needed Brittain to believe in.

"Woof," Harrison said softly.

Brittain frowned. "What did you say? You're drunk, Juarez." He hung up the phone angrily. "He's jealous," Brittain muttered to Angelina. "He's alone and miserable."

Angelina nodded, turning away to hide her face. "I'll go get ready."

She walked up the stairs, her legs steady. Once inside the walk-in closet, she checked her phone.

A text from Harrison.

Woof.

Angelina stared at the screen. A laugh, half-hysterical, escaped her lips. She typed back a single emoji: The middle finger.

A second text came through almost instantly.

He has to think I despise you. It's the only way you're safe.

She looked at the red dress Brittain had laid out for her. It was backless, revealing. A display piece. She stripped off her clothes and stepped into it. Tonight, she wasn't dressing for Brittain.