Candy White wore a mask of bewilderment, allowing herself to be dragged away like a lamb to the slaughter.

Christian, on the other hand, was unraveling.

"Mia, what the hell do you think you're doing with them?"

I poured myself a glass of Merlot, watching the crimson liquid swirl against the crystal. "Employing them."

"Do you honestly believe they love you, Christian?" I took a slow sip. "Georgia pulled in an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar commission last month. Her only true love is her bank account."

I set the glass down with a sharp clink.

"Candy's family is buried under a mountain of debt. She doesn't love you—she loves the lifeline you represent." I stepped closer, my voice dropping to ice. "You're the only one delusional enough to think you're some kind of Casanova."

Christian trembled, fists clenching as impotent rage shook his frame. "Mia! You're insulting my feelings!"

"Feelings?"

I stepped into his space, reaching up to smooth his crumpled collar with deliberate, mocking care.

"Christian, your feelings mean absolutely nothing to me." I patted his chest lightly. "As long as you keep scouting this caliber of talent for the company, I don't mind if you keep a few more mistresses on the side."

He shoved me away, eyes bloodshot. "You don't have a heart at all!"

He turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frames rattled. I watched his retreat, the polite smile on my face freezing into frost.

A heart?

Five years ago, I had one.

Back then, I stood by his side while he built this empire from nothing. We lived in a damp basement and survived on instant noodles. To secure his initial funding, I drank with potential backers until I was vomiting blood, landing myself in the hospital for two weeks.

Back then, he'd held my hand and promised, Mia, I swear I'll make you the happiest woman in the world.

And like a fool, I believed him.

The reality?

The moment the company went public, he brought Georgia home.

That very day, I'd been clutching a positive pregnancy test, breathless with the joy of telling him we were starting a family. Instead, I stood outside his office door and heard him laughing with her.

"Mia's a boring old crone. Useful for balancing the books, but useless in bed. If I didn't need her to run the company, I'd have kicked her to the curb years ago."

In that instant, whatever love I held for him died.

The stress took its toll. I hemorrhaged and lost the baby.

Lying in that hospital bed, staring at the sterile white ceiling, I made a vow. I would take back everything Christian Delgado owed me—principal and interest.

Since he treated women like toys, I'd let him play to his heart's content. But this time, I'd be the one setting the rules.

After storming out, Christian ran straight to his second mistress for comfort: Elena Pruitt.

Elena was my masterpiece.

Cool, sophisticated—an MBA from a top-tier university, former mid-level management at a Fortune 500. But she had a fatal flaw: she was a romantic. Christian's smooth talking had seduced her to the point where she was ready to tank her career for him.

A classic case of love-induced stupidity. Until I intervened.

I'd met with Elena privately—not as a jealous wife, but as a headhunter. No screaming, no crying. Just a career trajectory laid bare.

"Ms. Pruitt, what's the point of being a canary in a cage?" I'd slid a contract across the table. "If he can betray me for you today, he'll betray you for someone else tomorrow."

She'd stayed silent. Listening.

"What can Christian actually give you? An apartment he holds the deed to? An allowance he can cut whenever his mood sours?" I leaned in. "Work with me. Make a million a month. Why be a pet when you can be your own queen?"

Elena was smart. Once the fog of infatuation lifted, her sharp intellect returned with a vengeance.

Now she was a top-tier career influencer with millions of followers. More importantly, she was my rook in the game to take down the king.

In her apartment, Christian paced back and forth, venting his spleen.

"Elena, you're the only one who understands me. Mia is a monster! Completely cold-blooded!"

Elena poured him a whiskey, her other hand sliding her phone onto the table—audio recording already running.

"Don't be angry," she cooed, voice soothing. "She's not worth ruining your health over."

She handed him the glass, eyes innocent. "By the way, I heard your company's bidding on that massive development project in the south?"

The alcohol had already loosened his tongue, and his ego did the rest. "Yeah. The profit margins are insane. I'm determined to win it."

"What's the reserve price?" Elena traced a slow circle on his chest, looking up with feigned admiration. "Tell me—I want to see how brilliant you are."

Christian chuckled darkly, drunk on power and whiskey. He held up his hand, splaying five fingers.

"Fifty million. It's in the bag."

Elena Pruitt flashed a dazzling, worshipful smile.

"Mr. Delgado, you're brilliant. Truly, no one in the industry comes close."

Ten minutes later, the audio file landed on my phone.

I forwarded it to the rival bidding firm's CEO without hesitation.

[Bid: $49 million. Guaranteed win.]

By morning, news of Christian's humiliating defeat had swept the industry.

He stormed into the office, smashing a vase against the wall.

"Impossible! We missed by a single million! Who leaked the floor price?"

I sat in my office, filing my nails, watching him rampage through the glass partition like a clown performing for an audience of one.

Elena's message popped up: [Mia, how was that?]

I wired her a bonus instantly. [Well done. Expect a raise next month.]

That night, Christian dragged himself home, defeated.

In the living room, Candy was live-streaming while Georgia directed from the sidelines. The atmosphere was electric—a stark contrast to Christian's gloom.

"Thanks for the rocket, Top Supporter!" Candy chirped at the camera.

The cheerfulness snapped Christian's fragile temper.

"Shut up! Is this a house or a circus?"

Candy flinched, nearly dropping her phone.

Georgia stepped in front of her immediately, shielding the younger woman with a glacial stare.

"Mr. Delgado, we're working. Show some professional respect."

"Working? You call shaking your ass for strangers 'work'?" Christian sneered.

Georgia's expression darkened.

"Watch your mouth. We make money with our own talent—there's no shame in honest work." Her eyes narrowed. "But you, the great CEO, can't even win a simple bid. You only know how to take your failures out on women. What kind of man does that make you?"

Stung by the truth, Christian raised his hand.

"Stop."

My voice sliced through the air as I descended the stairs.

"Christian, if that hand lands, tomorrow's livestream title will be 'CEO Beats Pregnant Mistress.' Do you have any idea what that'll do to the stock price?"

His hand froze mid-air. He knew I didn't make idle threats.

He lowered his arm, chest heaving.

"Fine. You think you're all so smart?" He glared at us, cornered. "Just wait until my birthday banquet. I've got a big announcement. You'll regret everything."

He tried to look fierce, but I smelled the fear on him.

A big announcement? At most, he planned to publicly humiliate me or legitimize one of his women.

Poor Christian. He didn't realize his birthday party wasn't a celebration.

It was his funeral.

And I had prepared a gift he'd remember for the rest of his miserable life.

Christian's birthday banquet was a who's-who of the business world—half the city's elite, desperate to witness drama.

I slipped in wearing a sleek black evening gown. Fitting attire for a mourning widow.

On stage, Christian beamed under the spotlight. Beside him stood Candy, draped in white haute couture, hands cradling her rounded belly. Delicate. Pitiful. Expensive.

"Thank you all for coming," Christian announced. "Today, I want to introduce someone special. Miss Candy White... who is carrying my child. She is my future—"

A murmur ripped through the crowd.

Hundreds of eyes shifted to me. Pity. Mockery. Anticipation.

Christian expected me to weep. To rush the stage like a deranged shrew so he could label me crazy and oust me from the company.

He calculated wrong.

I stood at the foot of the stage, caught his eye, and raised my champagne glass. A cold, pitying smile played on my lips.

Christian's brow furrowed.

"Mia Fox, don't you have anything to say?"

The question hung thick with expectation. I set my glass down on a passing tray. Crystal chimed softly. With deliberate steps, I climbed the stage and took the microphone.

"First, I'd like to wish Mr. Delgado a happy birthday." My voice betrayed nothing. "Second, I've prepared a rather significant gift."

I clapped once. Sharp. Echoing.

Behind me, the massive LED screen flickered. The romantic montage of Christian and his 'devoted' life stuttered and died. Stark spreadsheets replaced it.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Bank transfers. Offshore accounts. Gambling debts. Evidence of Christian Delgado embezzling company funds to feed his addiction.

Suffocating silence.

Christian's face turned the shade of old ash.

"What is this? Turn it off! Turn it off now!"

He lunged toward the controls, but two burly guards blocked him like a concrete wall.

"Christian," I said, calm against his frantic shouting. "For years, you've used the company's reputation to live like a king. You funneled public funds into casinos and private vices."

I paused. Let it settle.

"Did you think your accounting was flawless? I've been tracking every cent."

I turned to the stunned guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in light of Mr. Delgado's criminal misconduct—" I straightened my spine. "I hereby announce that Christian Delgado is stripped of all titles and removed from Resonance Entertainment, effective immediately."

Christian's mouth opened and closed. A fish out of water.

"Furthermore, I've contacted the authorities."

On cue, the double doors swung open. Uniformed officers marched in.