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?

The audience gasped. A wave of shock, disgust, and mocking laughter filled the room.

The flashes of cameras from reporters—invited by whom, I didn’t know—began to mercilessly capture Mark’s face, now as pale as a corpse. Mark stared at the screen, his eyes bulging.

He turned to me. “Eleanor, this is fake! Eleanor, don’t believe it!”

I stood up slowly. All eyes were now on me.

I didn’t cry. There were no more tears for this man.

I walked toward Mark, who stood trembling near the director’s table. My steps were steady, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor like a death knell for our marriage.

I asked, my voice calm but sharp, amplified by the still-active microphone at the podium. “Fake?”

I continued. “I’m the one who planted those cameras, Mark.”

Mark’s eyes widened as if they would pop out of his head. “What?”

I opened my purse and took out a thick manila envelope—the envelope I had been preparing for 3 months. I said loudly, making sure everyone could hear. “3 months ago, I was going to divorce you the moment I found out about your affair. But I waited. I waited not because I still loved you, but because I wanted to see just how far you would go to destroy yourself.”

I threw the envelope at his chest. The papers inside scattered to the floor.

I commanded. “Those are the divorce papers. Sign them. Also in there is the evidence of your embezzlement transfers. Mr. Croft’s lawyers already submitted copies to the SEC this morning. So after this, you won’t be going home to our penthouse. You’ll be going to a jail cell.”

Mark collapsed to his knees, his legs giving out from under him. He tried to grab my hand. “Eleanor, please! I’m your husband! Think of my mother!”

I snapped, my composure finally cracking for a moment. “Don’t you dare speak her name! You’re the one who almost made my parents lose their home! You’re the one who mortgaged my family’s legacy for that whore!”

I took a breath, regaining control. I looked down at him, at the man I once loved who now looked so pathetic and small. “We’re done, Mark. You’ve lost your wife, your company, and your dignity in a single day. Enjoy it.”

I turned to look at Julian, who was still standing at the podium. He looked at me, not with an exaggerated smile of victory, but with a small, respectful nod—a nod that said, “You did it.”

Without waiting any longer, I walked out of the ballroom. Behind me, I heard chaos erupt: Mark’s desperate screams, the angry shouts of the shareholders, and the faint, approaching wail of police sirens.

I walked out of the hotel lobby and into the hot New York air, which felt incredibly fresh in my lungs. A weight of a trillion tons had just been lifted from my shoulders.

I was free. Truly, finally free.

A New Beginning

One month later, the morning in New York felt different. Perhaps because last night’s rain had washed the city’s dust away, or perhaps because my heart had finally found its own peace.

I sat at a corner table in a small, vintage-style cafe in the West Village, not far from my parents’ home. The aroma of freshly ground coffee and toasted bread filled the air, creating a cozy, homey atmosphere.

In my hands was the morning paper. The headline on the business page was still about the massive Peterson Industries scandal.

Mark’s face was plastered there, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. His legal process moved swiftly thanks to the comprehensive evidence compiled by Julian’s team.

Mark was charged with multiple felonies: corporate embezzlement, fraud, and document forgery. Chloe’s fate was no less tragic.

Without financial support from Mark and with her status as Julian’s wife revoked, Julian had divorced her and sued for damages for violating their prenuptial agreement. Chloe was completely broke.

Her social media accounts, once adored, were now flooded with hate from netizens. The last I heard, she was being hounded by debt collectors for a hedonistic lifestyle she could no longer afford.

I closed the newspaper and set it on the table. I felt no pity, but also no more burning hatred.

All that remained was an immense sense of relief. It was all over.

My father’s debt was paid, the deed to the brownstone was safe in the family vault, and my parents’ health was gradually improving as their worries disappeared. A familiar baritone voice made me look up. “May I sit here?”

Julian Croft was standing there. This time, he wasn’t wearing a stiff, formal suit.

He wore a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and casual chino pants. His hair wasn’t slicked back as usual; a few strands fell across his forehead, making him look 5 years younger and much more human.

I greeted him with a faint smile. “Mr. Croft. Or should I call you my savior?”

Julian chuckled softly, pulling out the chair opposite me and sitting down. “Just Julian. Our business contract is over, isn’t it? No need for formalities.”

The waitress came and brought Julian his order: a black coffee, no sugar, of course. He asked after taking a sip, his eyes fixed on me. “How are you?”

The intensity of his gaze hadn’t diminished since our first meeting in the rain. I answered honestly. “Better than I’ve been in the last 10 years. It feels like I can breathe again. Thank you, Julian. Without you, I would have been destroyed.”

Julian corrected gently. “You saved yourself, Eleanor. I just provided the tools. You were the one with the courage to use them. Not many women could withstand the mental pressure you did for 90 days.”

I stirred my cappuccino, watching the swirl of foam on top. “So what brings you to a small cafe in the West Village? A man like Julian Croft surely doesn’t have the spare time for a casual coffee.”

Julian leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the tree-lined street. “Actually, I’m looking for a new partner. Another business partner.”

My eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, I’ve retired from the world of corporate intrigue.”

Julian looked back at me. This time, his gaze was different—warmer, deeper. “Not for business. I’m looking for a life partner.”

My heart skipped a beat. Julian continued, his voice lowering slightly. “You know, at first, my approach to you was purely a business calculation. You were the perfect pawn to take down Mark and smooth my acquisition. But over those 3 months, watching you control your emotions, seeing your intelligence in Napa, witnessing your fierce protection of your family… I realized something.”

He extended his hand across the table, his palm open, waiting. “I realized I don’t want this partnership to end. I want to write a new book with you. One without contracts, without timelines, without pretense.”

I stared at his hand—the hand that had pulled me from the brink of despair, the hand that was cold to the touch but had given me a sense of security I had never felt before. My mind drifted to the small moments over the past 3 months: when he shielded me in Napa, when he sent me my favorite food when I was stressed dealing with Mark, when he looked at me with pride at the shareholders’ meeting.

Behind his cold mask was a sincere heart, long hidden behind walls of power. Was I ready?

The trauma of my marriage to Mark was still fresh. But looking at Julian, I didn’t see Mark.

I saw a man who respected me as an equal, who saw my potential, and who waited patiently for my storm to pass. I said slowly, trying to hide the smile that was beginning to form on my lips. “That’s an interesting offer. But I have a condition.”

Julian replied quickly. “Name it. Anything. Stocks, assets, a private island?”

I laughed softly. “No. The condition is this: time. No more secrets, no more scripts. We take it slow. I need time to fully heal my old wounds.”

Julian smiled—a genuine smile that reached his eyes, making his face incredibly handsome in the morning light. “I have all the time in the world, Eleanor. I’m a patient businessman, remember? I waited 3 months just to take down an enemy. I can wait much longer to win the heart of the woman I love.”

The word “love” hung in the air, sweet and promising. Slowly, I reached out my hand and placed it in his.

He clasped it tightly, warm and strong. I teased. “All right, Mr. Partner. Let’s work on the first draft of this new chapter.”

Julian laughed and raised his coffee cup. “To new beginnings.”

I echoed, clinking my cup against his. “To new beginnings.”

Outside, the sun shone brighter, filtering through the leaves of the trees and creating beautiful patterns of light on our table. New York was still bustling with all its drama, but in this small corner of the West Village, I had found my peace.

My story of revenge was over, sealed shut behind the prison doors that held Mark.