The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback

Denice sat in the small, temporary office Jairo had set up for her at Slater Dynamics, a place for her to handle his "miscellaneous" tasks. She glanced down at the diamond on her finger-a ring she had fished out of the drawer this morning, not as a symbol of love, but as a weapon for the performance ahead. The employees who walked by cast glances at her, a mixture of pity and poorly concealed schadenfreude.

They had all heard the rumors about Jairo and some woman named Alyssia. They all thought Denice was the poor, clueless fiancée.

She ignored their stares. She opened the project management software on her desktop and located the file for a core project codenamed "Phoenix."

It was the company's key to profitability for the next quarter, a plan she had spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. Jairo had staked his reputation on it.

She moved the mouse. Without a flicker of hesitation, she clicked the "Terminate Project" button.

In the reason-for-termination field, she typed: "Core design contains irreparable flaws."

A system prompt appeared, warning that the action was irreversible.

She clicked "Confirm."

The entire project vanished from everyone's worklist.

Almost instantly, her phone began to scream, the screen flashing with Jairo's name.

She didn't answer. She declined the call, switched her phone to silent, and tossed it onto the desk.

The office was suddenly quiet. Everyone was stunned by what she had just done. Whispers erupted. "Is she crazy? That's the Phoenix project!"

Denice stood up, picked up her handbag, and prepared to leave. Her sole purpose for coming here today was complete.

Just as she reached the main entrance, the elevator doors opened on her floor. Denice looked up and saw a figure step out of the elevator. She immediately recognized the face-Alyssia.

Alyssia also saw Denice, having seen her photo in Jairo's phone before. Her eyes widening in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked jealousy. But she quickly masked it, flashing a sickly sweet, triumphant smile. She wore an ill-fitting, off-season Chanel tweed suit that screamed "nouveau riche trying too hard." She gripped a gaudy designer handbag. When she saw Denice in her deep-blue silk gown, her eyes widened in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked envy. But she quickly masked it, putting on a sickly sweet, triumphant smile.

She straightened her back and puffed out her chest. She walked straight up to Denice, her voice cloyingly saccharine, laced with feigned innocence and gloating. "Miss Montgomery, are you here for Jairo? He's probably busy right now. An urgent meeting came up."

Denice looked at her coldly, as if observing a pathetic, show-off insect. "I'm just here to take out the trash." Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Alyssia. A flicker of irritation crossed Alyssia's face.

Then Alyssia strode past Denice, deliberately trying to bump her with her shoulder. At that moment, Denice sidestepped. Alyssia's footing wavered, and she stumbled backward in her cheap high heels. She lost her balance and landed hard on the hallway carpet, her Chanel bag spilling open, lipstick and receipts scattering everywhere.

Denice looked down at her, her eyes icy cold. Alyssia's eyes were bloodshot with anger and humiliation; she struggled to get up but fell back again. She pointed at Denice, her voice sharp enough to pierce the air: "You're nothing but a stand‑in! Jairo doesn't love you at all! He gave me fifty million dollars yesterday, and he's going to marry me next month!"

Denice looked down at her, who was slumped on the floor. "That Chanel suit is a spring 2019 outdated style," Denice said, her voice flat and bored. "If you're going to steal fifty million dollars, at least buy something that fits."

Alyssia's face went pale. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

"Remember your place, Miss Stuart." Denice's voice was soft but carried an unmistakable authority. "As long as this engagement ring is on my finger, I am Jairo's legally recognized fiancée. And you," she paused, letting her gaze sweep contemptuously from head to toe over Alyssia, "are nothing."

Without another glance, Denice turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving Alyssia staring after her elegant, resolute back. As the elevator doors slowly closed, Denice saw Alyssia's face contort with rage.

The elevator descended smoothly. Only then did the cold mask on Denice's face crack, revealing a hint of weariness.

Jairo's calls and texts kept flooding her phone. Without a single glance, she cleared them all.

She knew he must be frantic. The Phoenix Project was his biggest promise to his investors. But she also knew that he wouldn't dare break up with her now. Not now. Because without her, he couldn't explain the core design of the project to anyone. He needed her. And that was her greatest leverage.

Stepping out of the office building, the New York sunlight felt harsh. Denice put on her sunglasses, hiding her eyes and every ounce of emotion within them.

She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of one of New York's most exclusive private clubs. She was going to see Culver Collins, heir to the Collins family. She needed a new, more powerful ally.

The taxi merged into the flow of traffic. Denice leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

She was going to make Jairo understand that he had lost far more than just a project.