My Husband Called Me A “Stupid Wife” While Spending Millions On His Mistress. Then Her Billionaire Husband Showed Up At My Door With A $150 Million Offer. Should I Take The Money Or Go For Total Destruction?
She was jealous to see Mark with me in public. When I excused myself to the restroom, I deliberately took my time reapplying my lipstick in the mirror.
When I came out, I saw Mark and Chloe arguing heatedly in a quiet corner of the corridor near an emergency exit. I hid behind a large pillar, eavesdropping.
Chloe hissed, her voice strained but full of emotion. “You promised you’d divorce her last month, Mark. I’m tired of hiding. Julian is acting weirder and weirder. He’s blocked all my credit cards. I need some certainty.”
Mark sounded frustrated. “Just be patient, Chloe. You think it’s easy? Eleanor… she’s been strange lately. She’s too calm. I’m afraid she’s planning something. If I ask for a divorce now, she might demand half of everything and my company could collapse.”
Chloe snapped. “Excuses! Just admit you’re still in love with her. If you haven’t filed for divorce by next week, I’ll leak our video to the gossip sites. Let’s see everything burn.”
Chloe stomped off, leaving a stressed-out Mark running his hands through his hair. I smirked in the darkness. “Good, Chloe. Keep pressuring him. Make him panic even more.”
When Mark returned to the ballroom, his face was ashen. He immediately came over and grabbed my arm roughly. “We’re leaving now.”
I protested softly. “But the party’s not over, Mark. Mr. Garrison wanted to talk more.”
He snapped, loud enough for a few people to turn and look. “To hell with Mr. Garrison. We’re leaving.”
The silence in the car was suffocating. Mark drove recklessly, occasionally slamming his fist on the steering wheel.
I asked, my tone bored, not worried. “What’s wrong with you, Mark?”
Mark slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt on a deserted side street. He turned to me, his eyes red and furious. “What’s wrong with you, Eleanor? Why are you so quiet, huh? You used to be suspicious every time I came home late. You always asked who I was with. Now you don’t care. You’re like a statue. Are you having an affair? Answer me!”
He yelled, unleashing his frustration on me. The accusation was so absurd I wanted to laugh.
How funny: the thief shouting, “Thief!” I looked him straight in the eye, channeling the cold aura I had learned from Julian.
My voice was low and steady, without a hint of tremor. “Mark! Isn’t this what you wanted? A wife who doesn’t ask questions? A wife who gives you freedom? Now that I’ve given it to you, you’re still angry? What is it that you really want?”
Mark was silent. He seemed confused by my non-hysterical reaction.
He had expected me to cry or defend myself, but instead, I had cornered him with cold logic. He mumbled, his voice weakening. “I just feel like we’re growing apart.”
I said, patting his hand briefly, like a boss calming an employee, not a wife to her husband. “That’s just you being tired from work. Come on, let’s go. I’m tired.”
Mark started the car again, but I knew his mind was in turmoil. The pressure from Chloe and my cold demeanor were making him paranoid.
He felt like he was losing control of everything. And sure enough, the next day, Julian’s mole in Mark’s office reported something fatal.
Panicked by Chloe’s deadline and afraid I would sue for assets in a divorce, Mark made a huge blunder. He transferred $50 million of the company’s operational funds to a private offshore account he thought was safe and untraceable.
He intended to hide the asset from me before the divorce. He didn’t know that the “safe” bank in the Cayman Islands was managed by a firm whose majority shares had just been acquired by Croft Enterprises.
That afternoon, I met Julian at his secret apartment. Julian laughed—a rare, crisp, and slightly wicked laugh—as he read the report.
Julian said, pouring wine into two glasses. “He just dug his own grave. Moving company assets to a personal account without a board meeting is a federal crime. And because he did it in a panic, his digital footprint is a complete mess.”
Julian handed me a glass of wine, his eyes sparkling with victory. “Congratulations, Eleanor. Your husband just handed his neck to the hangman. One more month and we pull the lever.”
I sipped the dark red liquid. It tasted bitter but left a sweet aftertaste on my tongue, just like the revenge we were brewing. “Mark Peterson, your suspicions were right. There is a storm coming, and I am its center.”
The Final Confrontation
The sky over New York seemed to be in mourning, or perhaps in a rage. For three consecutive days, rain had fallen relentlessly, flooding parts of the city.
Major roads turned into murky rivers, traffic snarled everywhere, and the chorus of honking horns became the city’s symphony of stress. The chaotic scene outside was a perfect reflection of what was happening inside my marriage.
This was the final week—the crucial week before the 90-day deadline ended. The tension in our Tribeca penthouse was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Mark was becoming more and more unraveled. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced; he was often lost in thought, and his temper flared over trivial things.
His business was starting to falter, thanks to Julian’s subtle sabotage, and Chloe was relentlessly demanding a resolution. On the other hand, I had to be extra careful.
One small mistake at this final stage could ruin the entire meticulously crafted plan. That night, the rain was torrential, accompanied by strong winds.
The power in our building went out completely after a transformer was struck by lightning. The large apartment was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the gloomy flicker of candles.
I sat in the living room, pretending to read a magazine by candlelight. Mark paced the room like a caged animal.
His phone was glued to his ear as he yelled at his subordinates about a shipment stuck in the flood. “I don’t care! Find another truck! If that shipment doesn’t arrive tomorrow, we lose millions!”
He barked, then slammed his phone onto the sofa. He turned to me, breathing heavily. “Can you stop reading that trashy magazine? Your husband is losing his mind and you’re just relaxing!”
I replied calmly, not looking up from the page. “And what am I supposed to do, Mark? Yell along with you?”
Mark ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Ugh!”
Suddenly, the sound of a phone vibrating filled the air. It wasn’t Mark’s phone, nor was it my primary phone, which was on the table.
My blood froze. It was my secret phone—the one from Julian—which I had hidden between the sofa cushions.
I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, Eleanor. You’re so stupid.
The vibration sounded incredibly loud in the dead silence of the powerless apartment. Mark fell silent.
He turned toward the sofa where I was sitting. “What was that sound?”
I answered quickly, my heart feeling like it was about to burst from my chest. “I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it’s the building.”
Mark strode toward me, his eyes filled with suspicion. “That was a phone vibrating, Eleanor. I’m not an idiot. Your phone is on the table. My phone is here. Whose phone is that?”
He started tossing the sofa cushions aside violently. I tried to stop him. “Mark, stop it! Don’t look for trouble!”
But Mark shoved my hand away. “Get out of my way!”
He lifted the last cushion, and there it lay: the slim black device. Its screen lit up in the darkness, displaying a new message notification: “Julian: Final briefing tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Don’t be late.”
The name was displayed clearly: Julian. My world felt like it was collapsing around me.
Mark snatched the phone, his hands shaking. His expression shifted from confusion to a terrifying fury. “Julian? Who the hell is Julian?”
He screamed in my face. “So this is why you’ve been so quiet? You’re cheating on me? You have a lover?”
He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. “Answer me! Who is this bastard? You’ve been playing me all this time, haven’t you?”
Fear seized me. A cornered Mark was capable of anything.
But at the same time, my disgust peaked. He was accusing me of cheating when he was the ultimate traitor.
I yelled, trying to break free. “Let go of me, Mark! You’re hurting me!”
He shouted. “I’m not letting you go until you confess! Unlock it! I want to see what’s inside!”
He shoved the phone in my face, trying to force me to unlock it. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a tremendous crash.
Crack! The sound of splintering wood thundered through the room, louder than the lightning outside.
We both flinched and turned. Standing in the doorway was a tall, imposing figure, soaking wet, flanked by two burly bodyguards.
A flash of lightning from outside silhouetted him, making him look like the angel of death. It was Julian.
How could he be here? Had he bugged me and known I was in danger? “Take your hands off her, Peterson.”
