Destroying My Ex With His Worst Enemy

Chapter 01

My husband is a piece of shit.

I spent five years of my life building his company from a dusty garage into a thirty-million-dollar firm, surviving on cold coffee, sixteen-hour workdays, and zero salary because he convinced me we were investing in "our future."

I raised his seven-year-old son, Leo, packed his school lunches, and stayed up through fevers, believing the boy was an orphaned nephew we’d taken in.

Turns out, the financial report glowing on my laptop screen didn't lie.

Fifty thousand dollars, transferred out of Apex Media’s core operational account for the third month in a row to an offshore trust fund.

Destination: Elena Thompson—Julian’s biological son's mother, and his secret wife of five years.

They were married before I even met him.

I hadn't been his business partner, and I certainly wasn't his wife.

I was just the gullible, unpaid caretaker running his company and raising his mistress's child while he built an empire on my back..

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. A cold, quiet stillness settled over me.

I plugged a black flash drive into my laptop and downloaded every line of software architecture, server key, and security protocol I’d written for Apex Media. Then, I initiated a complete wipe of my master administrator account, revoking every remote access key tied to my name.

I printed out the trust agreement, closed my laptop, and packed one small bag with my clothes.

When I walked into the living room, Julian was sitting on the couch with a glass of scotch, scrolling through his phone.

"Where’s dinner?" He asked, not bothering to look up. "Leo’s hungry, and I have an investor meeting early tomorrow."

I walked over and dropped the printed papers onto his lap.

Julian frowned, picking up the sheets.

As his eyes hit the marriage certificate and the trust transfers, the color drained from his face. He set the paper down slowly, his jaw tight.

"Allison," he started, his voice flat. "It’s not what it looks like—"

"I know about Elena.” I said. "I know Leo is yours. And I know you've been using company funds to support her in London."

Julian stared at me.

Slowly, the shock on his face melted away, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer. He leaned back against the cushions and crossed his legs.

"So you found out.” He said, dropping the act entirely. "What are you going to do about it, Allison? Leave? You don't have a dime to your name. Your name isn't on the business registry because you let me handle the legalities. If you walk out that door, you walk away with nothing."

"I know.” I said, picking up my bag. "Which is why I'm leaving right now."

Julian let out a sharp, amused laugh. "Go ahead. Let's see how long you survive out there without my card. You'll be back on your knees in forty-eight hours begging for a second chance."

"Don't hold your breath.” I replied quietly.

I opened the front door and walked out into the cool night air.

As the door slammed behind me, my phone buzzed in my pocket with a automated alert from the company server: [CRITICAL ERROR: Main operating system offline. Master key required.]

I turned the phone off and kept walking.

___

The next four days were a blur of cold reality.

I checked into a cheap, quiet hotel downtown, paying cash from the emergency stash I’d kept in my desk.

I spent my mornings with a corporate attorney, ensuring that my remote server wipes and proprietary code retractions were legally airtight. Julian had already called twelve times, his initial arrogance dissolving into frantic voicemails as Apex Media’s core infrastructure ground to a complete halt without my master keys.

By Friday evening, the sheer exhaustion of burning my old life to the ground finally caught up to me. I didn't want to think about code, betrayal, or my non-existent future.

I just needed one night where I didn't feel like the gullible, broken idiot who had wasted five years on a lie.

I walked into The Velvet Lounge—a dimly lit, high-end hotel bar downtown—and slid onto a leather stool near the far corner.

"Double bourbon, neat.” I told the bartender.

"Make that two.” A low, deep voice said from the stool right beside mine.

I turned my head.