Ring Off, Boss On

Our seventh wedding anniversary. I sat at the dining table—alone.My phone buzzed, lighting up with two messages.First, from Tom: [Working late at the office tonight.]Second, anonymous: [Tom is incredible. Can you even keep up?]Attached was a picture of him, lips locked with a woman I didn't recognize.I blew out the candles on the anniversary cake, my chest hollow. No reply from him. Typical. Probably "working overtime" in someone else's bed.Outside, the weather was just as miserable—cold, drizzling, and perfect for making my knees ache worse than usual.At the print shop, the guy handing me the divorce papers hesitated. "You should think this through before making rash decisions."I forced a smile, clutching the papers. "I've thought about it long enough."Long enough.Tom's secretary—the homewrecker—had been pulling every trick in the book to push my buttons.It worked—for a while. She drove me to hysterics, paranoia, and desperation. But now? I was done. She could

I wandered down the streets, the rain making my knees ache with every step. No big plans, just a vague idea: find a motel for the night, then figure out a job and maybe an apartment. Solid life plan, right?Digging through my wallet, I was counting my meager cash when something caught my eye—a membership card. Soirée. Back in the day, it was my stomping ground as the Spencer family heiress. High-end, exclusive, dripping in luxury. Tom used it for business schmoozing later on, but I hadn't set foot there in years.The card gave access to private rooms. Could I crash there? On a couch? The idea made me snort. At sixteen, I'd stacked champagne glasses there to celebrate piano wins. Now I was scheming how to freeload for the night.I hopped on a bus and headed to the club. Inside, it was all sparkle and shine, with glitzy carpets and chandeliers. My rain-soaked clothes stuck out like a sore thumb, but the receptionist didn't blink. Polite, professional.The room wasn't huge, but hey, i

When I got home, it wasn't even mealtime, but the table was already set, dishes steaming.Right in the center was a huge plate of shrimp—my favorite. Tom was allergic to seafood, and it hit me: I hadn't eaten shrimp in seven years.The moment my mom saw me, tears spilled down her cheeks."Let's eat first," she said, brushing them away, like she didn't want to ruin the moment.I nodded, sitting down. It had been so long since I'd tasted my mom's cooking that I'd forgotten what it was like. But the second I took a bite, memories came rushing back.Blinking fast, I swallowed hard, holding back tears as I quietly kept eating."What's all the crying about?" My dad's voice came from the living room.He walked in, stiff and cold, his coat still carrying the chill of winter."Crying, crying, always crying," he said sharply. "I warned you this would happen, but no—you just had to go your own way. Determined to marry that guy, and now look at you. Crying over the mess you made.""Enough

I woke up in an abandoned factory.Tied to a chair, my head throbbed like I'd been clocked pretty hard. I scanned the room, spotting two massive guys in black standing guard.Stay calm, I told myself. Reason with them. "How much do you want? My family can pay. Just don't—""Shut up!"A sharp voice cut me off, and Fonda stormed in, looking like hell. Her eyes burned with pure rage.She didn't waste a second—walked right up and slapped me. Hard.The sting was brutal, blood pooling in my mouth with that gross metallic tang.She grabbed my collar, her face inches from mine as she screamed, "Why? WHY? Even after you divorced him, he still thinks about you! I'm the one carrying his child! And he made me get rid of it—killed my baby because he wants to crawl back to YOU! WHY?"Her words hit like a truck. For a second, everything went fuzzy.Tom. Again. I hadn't seen him in two months, yet here I was, still stuck in his orbit of chaos.Fonda's rant turned messy, spiraling into jabs a

Fonda got a life sentence, thanks to my legal team.Afterward, I subtly steered public opinion, spinning the kidnapping into high-society scandal gold. People couldn't get enough of the messy drama, diving into my history with Tom like it was a soap opera.Unsurprisingly, Tom Luke's name blew up online, trending for all the wrong reasons. His company took a massive hit from the infidelity backlash, while I became the poster woman for independence and resilience. With all the positive press, SP Corp's stock soared.It didn't take long for Tom's struggling company to end up on the chopping block. I was right there at the table, knife and fork in hand, ready to claim my share.Tom tried to contact me at first—calls, emails, even showing up uninvited. But eventually, he gave up and disappeared.As for Fonda, I heard years later that she got an early release for good behavior. Not that it mattered. By then, we were in entirely different worlds, and I never saw her again.I buried myse