THE BILLIONAIRE'S REVENGE: RUTHLESS REDEMPTION

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

The door slammed open so hard the walls trembled, and I nearly dropped the glass in my hand. My heart leapt, then softened when I saw Derek in a tuxedo. For a fleeting second, relief warmed me—maybe, just maybe, he remembered. Our anniversary. He’d been late every year, but he always came home eventually.

I smoothed my dress and took a step toward him, a smile tugging at my lips. See? He came.

“Hey, baby, you’re late for our anniversary again. Every ye—”

The words died in my throat as he cut me off—not with an apology, not with flowers, not even with a kiss. But with a sharp flick of his hand. A stack of papers landed on the coffee table with a loud smack, their edges fanning out like a cruel slap to my face.

“That there,” Derek said, his voice cool and final, “means your time is up in this house.”

I blinked, the words stinging harder than the papers ever could. “What do you mean?”

That’s when I saw her. A woman, standing smugly behind him. Black dress, short enough to be indecent, clinging to curves she clearly knew how to use. Her lips curled into a scoff, her eyes glinting with victory—as if she had been waiting for this moment, savoring it.

My stomach dropped. My breath hitched. And for the first time this evening, I realized the tux wasn’t for me.

Derek’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over me like I was nothing but a stranger in his house.

“I’ve already found the true love of my life,” he said, voice sharp enough to slice me open. “Her name is Tasha Monroe. And she’s going to be my wife—and the mother of your kids—very soon.”

My breath caught. My knees nearly gave way, but I held myself upright, nails digging into my palm. Mother of my kids? The audacity burned through me like fire.

Tasha—or whatever her name was—stepped forward then, all painted lips and smugness. She smiled like the devil had kissed her and whispered his secrets in her ear.

I opened my mouth, the words trembling on my tongue, but before I could speak, the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs made my heart skip.

“Dad?”

Maxine. My beautiful girl. My last hope. She bounded down the stairs, her phone in one hand, glossy hair tumbling over her shoulders. She barely looked at me before her eyes lit up at Derek. “Oh, Dad, you’re back!”

Relief swelled in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—she’d see this madness for what it was. Maybe she’d remind her father of the family he was breaking apart.

But instead, Maxine’s gaze flicked over me, her brows knitting in confusion.

“Why’s Mom’s face like that?”

The crack inside me deepened. She didn’t see. She didn’t care.

Derek turned to answer, but another voice cut through.

“Hey, Dad.”

Marcus. Maxine’s twin. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hair messy from gaming, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. His dark eyes scanned the room before landing on the woman clinging to Derek’s side.

His brows rose, casual as ever. “Who’s she?”

Finally. Finally, someone noticed. Marcus wasn’t always the most expressive, but at least he was smart enough to see the chaos unraveling in front of us.

Derek cleared his throat, tightening his arm around Tasha’s waist like she belonged there.

“Her name is Tasha Monroe,” he said with pride, like he was unveiling a trophy. “And she’s going to be your new mom.”

For a second, silence filled the room. Maxine and Marcus just stared at him, their faces unreadable, and my heart thudded so loud I thought it would burst.

Then he dropped the final bomb.

“Because… me and your mom are getting a divorce.”

The words stabbed deep, but before I could even breathe, Maxine’s squeal pierced the air.

“Oh. My. God!” Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide as stars. She turned to Tasha with pure excitement. “You’re… you’re Tasha Monroe! The model for R.A.S Beauty? The one on the billboards?”

Tasha’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, her head tilting just enough to show off her perfect profile. “Guilty as charged,” she purred.

Maxine clapped like she’d just won the lottery. “You’re going to be our new mom?” she asked breathlessly, practically bouncing. “This is… this is amazing!”

I froze, the ground tilting beneath me.

Derek chuckled, that smug, poisonous chuckle. “I’m glad you love it, sweetheart. Now, if only your mother would be a sweetheart too and sign those papers.”

Before I could respond, Maxine whipped around to me, her smile fading into a scowl.

“Just sign it already, Mom.”

My chest burned. My vision blurred with rage.

“How could you…” I choked out, staring at my daughter like I didn’t even know her anymore.

Maxine rolled her eyes, groaning like I was being dramatic. “Come on, Mom! You and Dad were never happy to begin with. You always argued, always fought every day. A new mom won’t be that bad… mummm.”

Her whine sliced deeper than any blade.

I looked at Marcus. My only hope. The one who always seemed to see me, even when everyone else chose not to. When his eyes finally met mine, I held my breath, waiting—begging silently—for him to defend me. To tell his father that this was wrong.

But instead, his lips trembled, his voice low and weary.

“I... I… I mean, Maxine isn’t wrong. You and Dad have never seen eye to eye. I guess... a new mum won’t hurt.”

My heart cracked so loudly I could almost hear it. My son. My baby boy. Speaking like he was already tired of me, of us. Tired of my pain.

I was speechless, frozen, like my voice had been stolen from my throat.

“Sign it already, Mum!” Maxine squealed, her excitement too much for her little body to contain. “I can’t wait to see Maddy’s face when I tell her my mum’s Tasha Monroe!”

Tasha Monroe. That name rang in my ears like poison, slicing me open with every syllable. And my daughter—my own daughter—wore it like a crown.

My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. Slowly. Too slowly. But they all watched me, expectant. My husband with his smug smirk, my daughter practically glowing with joy, and my son—silent but defeated.

I signed.

That was it. A name scrawled on paper, and suddenly, I didn’t belong here anymore.

No one wanted me. Not my kids. Not my husband. Not even the house that had held me together through years of fighting and forgiving.

Derek’s voice was cool, final.

“Your luggage is already packed.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I turned away. My feet felt heavier with every step, but I forced them forward, carrying me to the door. Away from the life I had built. Away from the children I had carried.

I walked slowly—silently—leaving behind the place I had called home. Leaving behind the pieces of myself that no one seemed to need.

I only had one place left to go. The only place that had ever been mine.