“Do you really have to play this dirty game to take revenge on me, Demi?" her ex-husband asked at last. And Demi grinned with such seductive power. “Oh no, It’s not a game, Jeff. It’s just giving you the same doze of your own medicine.” she replied with fiery glare in her eyes. by the look on Demi's face, she was determined to take her revenge just as Jeff, her ruthless ex-husband, has said earlier. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In her hope that real love would blossom free from the shadow of her wealthy and strong family background, Demi Perez had to subtly hide her own identity from her husband, Jeff Ortega. And for the past five years of marriage, all that she ever did was pour all that she has to offer into their marriage, only to be met with cold indifference—and divorce papers that would end things between them. With Demi’s beauty and brains along with her wealth, she had completely conquered the corporate world and made some great impressions everywhere she went, and that includes dominating the failing company of her ex-husband. And in just a year after her divorce, Demi came back powerful and famous. No longer was she the once naive ex-wife that Jeff left behind, because right now, Demi has once again reclaimed her status as the elite and powerful heiress of the Perez clan. But as their old flames rekindle, Jeff wasn’t sure if he still wanted retribution or if he wanted her back. While Demi, on the other hand, has to decide whether she would finish what she started, or risk her heart all over again.
Lihat lebih banyak(Demi’s POV)
The divorce papers were glaring back at me from the mahogany table like some sort of a nasty reminder of my shortcomings as housewife. My trembling fingers brushed over the ink where my husband, Jeff Ortega’s, signature glared at me, bold and resolute.
His decision was final, and it was unyielding just as the man himself.
However, Jeff was standing in front of the window even as I turn and witnessed how the soft afternoon light shining on his erect figure. His eyes were as cold and far away as before, and his sharp facial features were etched with resolve. The distance between us was heightened by his coldness, even with his back facing my direction.
“I’ve already signed the papers. You should hurry and sign them too,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “I want everything finalized before Stella returns.”
Stella. The name cut through me like a blade. My throat tightened as I fought back tears.
Jeff didn’t even glance in my direction. “We’ve agreed on the partition of assets before marriage, so there shouldn’t be any disputes. But I’ll compensate you with fifty million dollars and a house near the border. My father…” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “He would expect me to offer you something substantial.”
“Does… does your dad know you’re divorcing me?” My voice cracked as I finally forced the words out.
Jeff’s laugh was humorless. “Does it matter? Do you think if he knew it would change anything?”
The weight of his words pressed down on my chest. My grip on the table tightened as I tried to steady myself. “Jeff,” I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “Can we not get a divorce?”
At that, he spun around, his eyes blazing with frustration. “I’ve had enough, Demi! Every second of this marriage has been torture. A loveless, miserable relationship—that’s all you’ve given me.”
His words tore through the weak hope I had held onto for so long like a mallet. Even though tears were streaming down my cheeks, I resisted showing him how helpless I was.
“It was a mistake from the start,” he continued. “You knew I loved someone else, yet you agreed to this charade. Now that the five-year agreement is over and Stella is returning, it’s time for you to step aside give her the position of being my wife where it truly belongs.”
Step aside. He was quick to address me that way as though my feelings, sacrifices, and my existence were nothing to him at all. At this point, all that I wanted was to cry out loud, to demand that he acknowledge everything I’d endured for years. But Instead, I could only afford to lower my head as my tears continued to soak the divorce papers lying beneath me.
And then, Jeff’s phone buzzed, cutting through the suffocating silence between us. His behavior quickly changed and it shifted immediately into someone completely different as he answered the call.
“Hello, Stella,” he said softly, his voice dripping with warmth that I had never heard directed at me. “What?! You’re already at the airport? I thought your flight is scheduled tomorrow evening? Alright. I’ll pick you up right now then. Wait for me.”
Without another glance in my direction, he strode out of the room, leaving me with the papers and the shards of my broken heart.
***
I watched that evening from the sideline while everyone seemed too busy especially as Jeff entered the manor cuddling Stella in his arms. The joy of the workers filled the house, and I couldn't help but feel out of place in my own house.
My heart ached at the sound of Stella's laughter that filled the corridors of the manor. "Jeff, do you think all of this seems off? I mean, Demi might hate me for this.”
With a disdainful tone, he reassured her, "Oh, no worries. She won't. This marriage was never real to begin with. She knows her place.”
The words made my chest hurt even more. Even though I had given him everything, he still only saw me as a duty he must fulfill as part of the marriage arrangement.
And for that reason, I made up my mind later that night. I packed a little suitcase and sneaked out of the house without a word. Without looking back, I quickly hopped into the black Porsche waiting outside the gates. As I got inside, I instantly felt my heart tensed.
There, I was met with a worried smile by my childhood friend, Brent, who was handling the wheels.
"Hey Demi, are you certain about this? There’s no turning back once I move the car.” He inquired quietly.
Even though my hands were shaking, I nodded and spoke firmly. “Yes. Just go. I can’t stay in this place for another moment longer.”
***
The sound of the engine had drowned out my racing thoughts especially as Brent's car sped through the streets. In spite of the excruciating pain I was feeling deep within my chest, It would seem like I felt free for the first time in so many years.
“Where to?” Brent asked gently, his eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror.
I hesitated. “Anywhere but here.”
He understood and nodded. I had known Brent in the past, and he had always had faith in me. He hadn't thought twice about helping me when I had called him earlier, feeling hopeless and broken.
"You know that you deserve more than this." He whispered beside me.
Although I wasn't entirely sure I believed what he was meant with those words, I simply let it sink in. After everything, my heart still ached for Jeff. but despite this, I simply just couldn't get risk pushing myself to be with someone who only saw me as a hindrance to his happiness.
Brent dropped me off at the Imperial Hotel, far from the prying eyes of the Ortega family. Compared to the stuffy atmosphere of the Blue Manor, the air was clear and fresh.
"Just feel free to stay as long as you want to," Brent said, maintaining a steady gaze at my face that it makes me awkward for some reason. “Demi, you always underestimate how strong you are. Also, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
I nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. I silently promised myself something as soon as I entered the villa. Without Jeff Ortega, my life would be rebuilt piece by piece. A ray of hope appeared in my life for the first time in years.
The hotel turned into a haven for me, a healing space. Brent came back after parking his car, his presence a comforting reminder that not everyone in my life had abandoned me.
"You're doing better than I anticipated," he said in a playful tone.
With a tiny smile tugging at my lips, I answered, "I have to. For myself."
However, a part of me continued to yearn for the man who had broken my heart even as I moved on. Jeff Ortega might have discarded me, but he would never truly be gone from my thoughts.
The crisp night air brushed against my skin as Brent guided me onto the elevator. He had demanded this surprise in the hopes that it would cheer me up. The building was surrounded by glistening city lights.
I questioned in frustration, "Brent, what are you trying to show?"
He leaned against the railing and grinned. He looked at his watch and said, "My secretary planned this. Fireworks start in...three, two, one."
The night sky was painted with purple fireworks as a loud boom filled the air. Below us, couples gathered on the balcony, their faces beaming with joy. I grinned in spite of myself.
"Your secretary has terrible taste," I shook my head.
Brent chuckled. "Better than his past attempts. And there’s more. Gifts from everyone are waiting in your room. You’re loved, Demi. It’s time to focus on the people who truly deserve your love."
His words brought a lump to my throat. I turned away, blinking back tears.
The black-gold rose on the dashboard pulsed once, a silent, victorious heartbeat, then the screen went dark again. The message had been delivered. The conquest was complete.I stared at the blank screen, the weight of it crushing me. The soil. I was the soil.Marcus groaned from the driver’s seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What the hell was that?” he muttered, his voice thick with pain and confusion.“The end of the world,” I replied, my voice hollow. “And the beginning of hers.”We drove in silence after that, through streets lit only by the moon and the occasional flicker of emergency flares. The scale of the destruction was immense. Eleanor’s final act had torn a wound in the city’s heart. But it was a physical wound. The one Lina had inflicted was far deeper, a sickness in the city’s very nervous system.Marcus found a derelict auto-body shop on the industrial outskirts, its windows boarded, a faded ‘FOR LEASE’ sign swinging in the wind. He broke the lock on a sid
The world narrowed to the cold, unyielding pressure of Marcus’s grip and the faint, hellish glow in his eyes. The gun was useless. I couldn’t shoot him. He was a victim, a puppet on strings of light and code.“Marcus, fight it!” I begged, pulling against his iron hold. “It’s me! Demi!”“Designation: Thorn. Status: Corrupted. Directive: Purge.” The words came out of his mouth, but the voice was all wrong—a flat, synthesized echo of his own.He began to pull me, not toward the city, but toward the dark, churning water of the river. The intent was clear, horrifying. A quiet disposal.I dug my heels into the mud, my mind racing, scrabbling for purchase against the sheer, nightmare reality of it. The protocol in me was silent, overridden by the garden’s stronger, alien signal. All I had was my own failing strength and a terror so complete it was a physical weight.His other hand came up, not to strike me, but to clamp over my mouth, cutting off my scream. His strength was immense, augmente
The silence after the screech was absolute. The only light was the faint, sickly glow from the elevator shaft, where the coalescing code pulsed like a diseased heart. The air itself felt charged, thick with a malevolent static.Eleanor’s breath was a shallow rasp in the dark. “Reaper,” she whispered, the word dripping with a dread I’d never thought her capable of. “She’s not just pruning. She’s scorching the earth.”A new sound began—a low, rhythmic thumping from the elevator shaft. Not mechanical. Organic. Like a massive heartbeat.Thu-thump. Thu-thump.“What is that?” I hissed, my gun aimed into the shifting shadows of the shaft.“The core,” Eleanor said, her voice hollow. “She’s not just in the systems. She’s rewriting them. Making a body.” She fumbled at her console in the dark, her fingers finding a manual override. A single monitor flickered back to life, showing a horrifying thermal image of the elevator shaft.A humanoid form of incandescent heat was forming, woven from the bl
The distorted voice hung in the air of the high-tech penthouse, a digital specter that sucked all the oxygen from the room. The garden is awake. The words were a key, turning a lock deep in the code of my very being. A cold, black-gold awareness surged through my veins, a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating.Eleanor stared at the comms console, her face a sheet of pale marble. The unflappable queen of the boardroom was gone. In her place was a woman facing a ghost.“Lina,” she breathed, the name a curse and a prayer.On the main monitor, the satellite image of Whitlock’s tower flickered. The external attack on its systems wasn’t just continuing; it was accelerating. Firewalls fell like wheat before a scythe. Security protocols were rewritten in real-time, their codes twisting into strange, thorny patterns that were horrifyingly familiar.“She’s not just targeting Whitlock,” I said, my voice sounding distant, filtered through the static now humming in my mind. I could feel it—th
The cold, humming purpose that had filled me shattered. The gun in my hand was no longer a tool; it was a dead weight. Whitlock hadn’t sent me to kill Eleanor. He’d sent me to die with her. To tie up both his loose ends in one bloody, deniable operation.The sound of booted feet and shouted commands echoed up the grand staircase. They were coming. Fast.Eleanor didn’t flinch. She simply watched me, her eyes calculating, waiting to see what her son’s weapon would do.I made a choice.I lowered the gun.In one fluid motion, I swept the heavy lead-crystal paperweight from her desk and hurled it through the large window overlooking the back garden. The glass exploded outwards in a cascade of shimmering fragments.“They’ll be covering the back!” I snapped, my voice cutting through the noise from downstairs.“Obviously,” she replied, her voice dripping with contempt. But she was already moving, surprisingly agile for her age. She pressed a hidden switch under the lip of her desk. A section
The message hung in the air of the command van, a digital ghost in the machine. *The thorn is ready.* I had thrown a switch inside myself, shutting down the fear, the grief, the love. All that remained was a cold, humming purpose. The Demi Protocol, online.Marcus stared at me, his expression a mixture of horror and awe. “Perez… what did you just do?”I ignored him, my eyes fixed on the phone’s screen. Seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. Had I misjudged? Was Whitlock’s offer already rescinded?The phone buzzed. A single word appeared.Excellent.Then, a data packet followed. Schematics. Blueprints. Security codes. A name and address.It wasn’t Whitlock’s penthouse. It wasn’t a corporate stronghold.It was a brownstone. A private residence in one of the city’s oldest, most moneyed neighborhoods.The target was Eleanor Ortega.A cold, sharp laugh escaped me, a sound that didn’t feel like my own. Of course. This was his move. He couldn’t get to Jeff directly, not after Eleanor’s spe
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