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?
Julian’s voice was low but boomed through the room, filled with a deadly authority. Mark gawked, his grip on my shoulders loosening.
He looked at Julian, then at me, then back at Julian. “You… you’re Julian Croft. From Croft Enterprises.”
Mark clearly recognized the face of the tycoon he often admired in magazines. The confusion on his face deepened. “What’s your business in my home? Why are you sending messages to my wife?”
Julian strode in casually, as if he owned the place. His two bodyguards swiftly and efficiently separated Mark from me.
Mark was pushed down onto the opposite sofa while Julian stood before me, his sharp eyes scrutinizing me. He whispered low enough for only me to hear. “You were careless, Eleanor. Good thing I was tracking your GPS and saw your heart rate spike on the smartwatch I gave you. I knew something was wrong.”
He then turned to face the still-shocked Mark. Julian lied, but it sounded utterly convincing. “Your wife isn’t cheating on you, Mark. She works for me.”
Mark gaped. “Works? Doing what at this time of night?”
Julian said dismissively, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Acquisition consultant. And about that message: we were discussing a business strategy that involves your company. Your wife is trying to save your failing business, and you repay her with accusations.”
Mark was silent, his slow brain trying to process the information. His fear of Julian Croft was overriding his jealousy. “Save my company? What do you mean?”
Julian smirked, a terrifying smile. “Your company is on the brink of collapse, Peterson. Debts everywhere. Cash flow is a disaster. Eleanor begged me to inject some funds. She was willing to work overtime as a go-between for her ungrateful husband.”
Julian twisted the facts so brilliantly I almost believed him myself. He made Mark feel guilty and small.
Mark stammered, looking at me with guilt in his eyes. “I… I didn’t know. Eleanor, is this true?”
Having been trained in this charade for 2 months, I immediately caught Julian’s cue. I put on a sad, disappointed expression. “You really thought I could betray you, Mark? I’ve been so quiet because I was sick with worry, trying to figure out how to help you. I asked Mr. Croft for help secretly so your pride wouldn’t be hurt.”
Mark hung his head, his face flushed with shame. “I’m so sorry, honey. I lost my temper. I’ve been under so much stress.”
Julian looked at Mark with disgust. “You don’t deserve her. But because Eleanor pleaded, I’ll give you a chance. Come to my office tomorrow. We’ll discuss the capital injection. Bring all of your company’s legal documents.”
Mark’s eyes lit up. He saw this as his salvation.
He had no idea he had just been invited to his own execution. “Yes, sir! Thank you so much, Mr. Croft. I’ll definitely be there.”
Julian stepped toward Mark, patting his shoulder gently but with a firm pressure. “And one more thing. Never raise your voice at Eleanor again. If I hear that you’ve been rough with her, the deal is off.”
Mark nodded obediently, like a dog being scolded by its master. “Yes, sir. I promise.”
Julian gave me a look. His eyes said, “Hold on just a little longer. Tomorrow we finish him.”
That night, after the power was restored and Julian left, Mark was incredibly sweet to me. He massaged my feet, apologized profusely, and praised me as the best wife in the world.
I just smiled faintly, feeling a rising tide of revulsion. He didn’t know that tomorrow, at the shareholders’ meeting, the person he would meet was not a savior, but an executioner.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. My eyes were cold, my face hard.
The old Eleanor, the gentle, naive one, was dead. All that was left was a woman ready to watch her husband’s world burn to ashes.
The Day of Reckoning
Three months were over. It was time to collect.
The day of reckoning had finally arrived. The sky over New York, which had been gray for days, was now clear and bright, as if the universe itself approved of what was about to happen.
I stood before a large mirror in the hotel suite where the annual shareholders’ meeting for Peterson Industries was to be held. Mark had insisted we stay at the hotel the night before so he could be fully prepared.
I knew he was just trying to avoid any chance of being late due to his overwhelming nervousness. I wore a black, knee-length sheath dress that hugged my body perfectly.
Its cut was simple yet elegant, a design from a local couturier whose price could feed a family for a month. Around my neck was a diamond necklace—not a gift from Mark, but one from Julian, delivered this morning with a small card that read: “To celebrate your freedom.”
Mark entered the room in his finest suit. His face was tense, but there was a glint of arrogance in his eyes.
He felt he was on top of the world. He believed that today, Julian Croft would arrive as a savior, injecting fresh capital, saving his company from bankruptcy, and making him look brilliant in front of the shareholders who had begun to doubt his leadership.
He asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror next to me. “Are you ready, honey?”
He smiled—a smile I was about to wipe off his face forever. “Today is a big day. After Julian signs the investment contract, our stock will skyrocket. Everyone who ever underestimated me will eat their words.”
I answered calmly, applying a final coat of dark red lipstick: the color of courage, the color of blood. “I’m ready, Mark. Perfectly ready.”
We walked toward the grand ballroom. The plush hotel corridor carpet muffled our footsteps.
Mark held my hand tightly, as if I were his trophy. He didn’t know that this trophy was actually a ticking time bomb.
Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere was already tense. Dozens of shareholders, board members, and a few business associates were seated at neatly arranged round tables.
The air conditioning was on full blast, but I could smell the cold sweat and anxiety in the air. Rumors of the company’s dire financial state had spread, and today they demanded answers.
Mark took the podium with forced confidence. The spotlight was on him.
He began his speech, presenting growth charts that I knew were mostly manipulated data. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mark’s voice echoed through the speakers. “I know there have been rumors, but I assure you, Peterson Industries is entering a new golden era. Today, I will announce a strategic partnership with a major investor who will take us to the international stage.”
Murmurs spread through the audience. Some were skeptical, others hopeful. A vocal minority shareholder shouted. “Who is the investor, Mister Peterson? Don’t just give us empty promises!”
Mark smiled broadly. “Patience. He is on his way. He is a man you all hold in the highest regard.”
Just as Mark finished his sentence, the grand double doors of the ballroom swung open slowly. Every head turned.
The room fell silent. Julian Croft strode in.
The man’s presence was overwhelming. He didn’t walk; he commanded the space.
Following him were six lawyers and assistants carrying thick stacks of documents. Julian wore a custom-tailored navy suit that fit his powerful frame perfectly.
His face was blank, cold, and intimidating. There was no friendly smile.
Mark descended from the podium to greet him with an outstretched hand, like an old friend. “Welcome, Mr. Croft! It’s an honor to have you here.”
Julian did not take Mark’s hand. He glanced at it dismissively, then walked right past him toward the podium.
Mark froze, his hand hanging in the air. His smile began to fade, replaced by confusion.
Julian stood at the podium, taking the microphone. He surveyed the entire room with the eyes of a hawk. “Good morning.”
His deep, authoritative voice mesmerized the room into silence. “I am Julian Croft, and I am not here as a strategic partner or an investor.”
My heart pounded. This was it.
I sat up straight in my front row seat, holding my breath. Julian continued, signaling an assistant to distribute documents to the board members. “As of 8:00 a.m. this morning, Croft Enterprises has officially acquired 85% of Peterson Industries’ outstanding debt from its three primary lenders. As per the credit agreement clauses signed by Mr. Mark Peterson, the payment defaults over the last 6 months grant the primary creditor the right to convert that debt into equity.”
An uproar began. Mark’s face turned ghost-white. “Wait, Mr. Croft! What is this? We had an agreement about a capital injection!”
Julian ignored him. “Therefore, as of this moment, I am the absolute majority shareholder of this company. And my first decision as the new owner is to completely overhaul the board of directors.”
Mark screamed in panic. “This can’t be happening! You set me up!”
He tried to get to the podium, but Julian’s two bodyguards easily restrained him. Julian looked at Mark with contempt. “Set you up? You set yourself up with your own incompetence, Peterson. You falsified financial reports, embezzled operational funds for personal use, and mortgaged assets that weren’t yours to begin with.”
Julian pressed a button on a remote. The large screen behind the podium, which had been displaying Mark’s doctored business charts, went black for a second, then displayed a video.
It wasn’t a business presentation. It was CCTV footage from a luxury hotel room and recordings from a hidden camera inside Mark’s car.
The image was crystal clear on the giant screen. Mark and Chloe were shown in various intimate embraces.
Their laughter, their conversations about divorcing me, and their insults toward me and Julian were broadcast clearly for everyone to hear. Mark’s voice echoed clearly from the video. “Eleanor is so stupid. She’ll never realize I’m using her money to buy you an apartment, babe.”
Chloe’s voice chimed in. “So what about Julian? When are you going to deal with that stiff of a husband?”
Mark’s recording replied. “Don’t worry. Julian is too busy with work; he’ll never care. Once my company is big enough, I’ll kick Eleanor to the curb and then we’ll get married.”
