He thought he could use me…but he came begging. Quentin had been cheating on me ever since with multiple women and I knew about it all along, however, I patiently waited for the right time to strike. I served him a gift on his company gala day… a gift that ruined his life. The once tough guy, the strong and nonchalant billionaire, came begging at my feet. When the lines between love, betrayal, power and identity are crossed, the game of survival is left for the fittest. The millionaire question remains if love will be able to triumph above all. Find out more in this amazing novel packed with lots of plot twists and cliffhangers that will always keep you at the edge of your seat.
View MoreThora's POV
It ends now
I squeezed hard on the clothes, holding Quentin’s shirt like an exhibit for a crime scene.
“Hmmm. Cherry Kiss.” I observed the lip gloss very well. This wasn't mine.
“Not even trying to hide it anymore, right?”
Interesting then.
I tossed the shirt over on the bed, still examining it like a doctor on his patient.
This is the third time in two months.
Damn!
My darling husband, Quentin has been cheating on me ever since with a woman I don't care to know her name. I knew all these while, I was just waiting for the right time, or perhaps, hoping he'd change.
But since he's a bitch, it's better I treat him like one.
With a beautiful smile and mild but angered heart, I opened the drawer and pulled a folder, that's my wonderful master piece; Our divorce papers.
I looked at his face, those mischievous ears glowing still on the portrait.
“Three days ago, Quentin, I've been ready.” I wish he could hear these words in that gala, it would help him a lot. He needs to be prepared.
“Oh poor Quentin.” I mocked, mimicking a silly version of myself.
“It's alright, baby. It's for the best…”
Slimy bastard!!
I ain't gonna cry for him, not even going to shout. For what in particular?
I'll just deal with him accordingly.
I folded his shirt carefully and placed it over the folder, where I found it.
“I really hope she's worth half your estate…”
My posh car pulled over at the venue, the queen has arrived.
My face flushed with a beautiful smile, the cameras flashing. Security scaring them away and made way for me.
I walked in, the champagne flowing, all eyes on me, my aura and glowing beauty dominated the area.
Quentin was at the center, drowning in questions and attention.
I raised my hands, just so he'll notice.
That old silly smile played out again on his sexy face.
He's just…
“Baby!” He hugged me tightly,I wanted to whisper it in his ears, no, let me give him some time.
“You made it.”
“Of course.” He kissed my cheek. “Wouldn't miss it. Not for anything in the world.” I smiled. “I've got something for you. A gift…”
He giggled and raised me up in the air, swinging me around in joy.
I gulped in my champagne and took a glass of whiskey.
“You'll need it…” I whispered.
I pulled out my masterpiece from my back, and served him grandly like the King he was.
I know his bitch would be here, I don't care, I'm happy she's here to witness it.
I tapped my glass softly, calling attention.
“I appreciate you all for coming to grace this event.” He was surprised.
“But today, my baby and I are celebrating. And we want you all to be part of it…”
He squeezed my hand, raised his eyebrows, seeking an explanation. You won't be getting any, today, baby boy.
“Here's to new beginnings. Yours… and mine.”
“To new beginnings…” They all cheered.
I did not even allow the drinks to go down their throats completely and I handed him the divorce papers.
He spat out his and choked.
We're just beginning.
“What the hell are you doing?” He whispered.
I just smiled and walked away.
He tried to grab my wrist, cameras flash, I don't flinch, not anymore.
I yanked his hand away and smiled with ice cold eyes.
"Touch me again, and I’ll add assault to the petition."
He froze…
Paparazzi were definitely gonna spread it. That's just what I wanted.
I walked away gallantly, shaking my ass for him to see what he's lost, if his mistress is any closer, my heels clicking on the cold floor that was consumed with whispers and murmurs.
I heard them.
“... She's bluffing… She'll go back… They always do…”
Then you all think I'm joking…
I reversed my car without blinking, “it's over.”
The next day, I was standing in front of bare walls, new keys jingling in my hands, a new air, a fresh start.
My phone was buzzing with messages. Annoying text messages.
“Please tell me you're not serious.”
Oh hell yeah! I'm serious, mom.
“Stop this madness. You're embarrassing yourself.” No, Blythe, my lovely sister. Thank you for your concerns, but I'm fine.
I tossed the phone on the chair and opened my jewelry box.
There's still more to do.
The gem on the ring glowed in my eyes, but it stunk to my nose.
The ring glints under the light.
"You were just a lie on my finger." I winked. “I'll miss you little friend.”
I went outside and crushed it on the pavement and threw away the pieces.
“Goodbye, Quentin.” I grinned. I've had enough.
The crackling sound of the burning photos was soothing to my soul.
I gulped in some champagne.
“To freedom. To a new me...”
“Goodbye, weak girl.”
I'll miss you.
Aha, I scurried back to my phone and dialed a number.
I had deleted his contact long ago. I dialed a new number.
"Vexler & Co, how can I help you?"
The receptionist greeted me.
"Tell Mr. Vexler I accept the offer. Full-time."
We're just beginning.
Later that afternoon, I went to pick up Avis from school.
I noticed her long face, she must've heard about it.
She sat quietly in the backseat, sipping from her juice can.
"Mommy?"
I knew it. Let it out baby.
"Yes, baby?"
She leaned in closer.
"Why was Daddy crying on TV?"
I blinked, my heart skipped a beat. How did she see that part? Well, it's still good.
"He was holding your picture. He said he lost his whole world." She explained, tears almost dropped from her eyes.
I drive slower now, after a brief pause and a deep breath, I gave her my presidential speech.
"Sometimes... people don’t know what they have until they destroy it."
I smiled and wiped away her tears.
"Is he sad now?"
She asked innocently.
"Very. But we’re not."
That part always gave me joy.
I held the steering wheel with one hand and reached out for her hand and squeezed it into mine.
"We’re starting something better, sweetheart. You’ll see."
Suddenly, my phone beeped with a text message.
“You can't leave this marriage! I'll hunt you down…”
Thora’s POV The noise began even earlier than I was awake. Not the common reporters screaming in the street--this was more to the point. My cell-phone continued buzzing on the nightstand until it dropped on the ground. The screen was illuminated with the name of Cara: CALL ME NOW. My stomach sank. I sat up, and my heart already racing, and the heavy ache of dread crawling under my skin. Her voice was quick and monotonic, as lawyers have when they are attempting never to panic. Please do not open your email, do not check the social media. Just—listen.” “What happened?” “There’s a leak. Photos of you at an out-patient clinic last month. The story is already all around. “What narrative?” The reason you were there was a breakdown. There are stores which are claiming that it is substance based. One’s hinting self-harm.” I went silent. The image of that occasion came back, the little clinic, the 30-minute visit, the check-up of the pregnancy. I had come early so I could get
Luke’s POVThe text kept replaying in my head.Tell her the next one’s mine.It didn’t matter how many times I read it—three words, eight letters of threat—and I could hear Quentin saying them. Calm, certain, the way he used to announce a business merger.I ought to have been frank with Thora. I just had a feeling that maybe it was a mind game, a bluff. The other part knew better.I was sitting in my car, outside my office, with my hands around my steering wheel, the engine off. The wind-glass was falling down the rain in long fine hair. The whole city appeared to be on tenterhooks.My phone buzzed again—Cara’s assistant. I ignored it. I’d already learned that whoever touched Thora’s case ended up under Quentin’s microscope. I had to know the depth of that microscope.Inside, my office still smelled faintly of varnish and old coffee. The receptionist waved; I nodded without stopping. My desk light glowed over a stack of contracts I hadn’t touched in days. None of it mattered now.I to
The following morning was different. It was still the gray and weary city, yet the sounds outside my window could not be heard as sharp. Perhaps the reporters were tired, or perhaps I had lost the hearing. Anyhow, all was quietness, and it was like breathing space, the first in weeks. Before noon Mark Leland told him that he would be here. I half-expected him not to. People had made promises previously, people who had more to lose and less to care. But just before eleven I heard a knock--two quick strokes, and then one more, quiet and unmistakably certain. On opening the door, he was standing in a maintenance uniform, hat in his hands, nervous, yet firm. Late forties perhaps, the type of man you would run by every day and never pay any attention to yet there was something kind about his eyes, the kind that looked directly at you rather than to the side. “Ms. Greenwood,” he said, nodding. “Mark Leland. From Vexler. I, uh, called last night.” “I remember.” I stepped aside. “Co
Thora’s POVBy the time I got on to the steps of the courthouse the air was already buzzing. Sidestreet reporters were lined up, and the microphones looked like guns. Flashes of the camera were so brilliant that they blurred the morning into a white haze.“Ms. Greenwood, do you think you’re losing?”“Any comment on your witnesses backing out?”“ Do you fear meeting Quentin Palmer in court?Their voices mangled on one, ugly note. I kept walking. Eyes forward. Clenching my hands on the folder which contained the rest of my evidence. The courthouse was dusty and paper-smoking. My heartbeat was drowned in the humming of the fluorescent lights. At the metal detector, I was met by my lawyer, Cara, who was sharp, but kind. “You ready?” she asked. “No,” I said honestly. She smiled faintly. “Good. They claim they will never live to see the first day. We forced our way along the passage. Each door that we went through had echoes--it is the fights of other people, it is other grievings
Thora’s POVThe first call came just after breakfast.I was still helping Avis get ready for school cardigan when my phone buzzed across the counter. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local, so I answered.“Ms. Greenwood? This is Dr. Patel’s office.”My chest lifted, hopeful. “Yes, hi, thank you for calling back. I just wanted to confirm—”“I’m sorry,” the receptionist interrupted, voice clipped and rehearsed. “The doctor has decided he can’t provide written testimony or appear in court. It’s a matter of clinic policy.”“Clinic policy?” I repeated. “He’s written a dozen statements for custody cases. I, I only need a letter confirming my daughter’s regular checkups.”“I understand,” she said, not unkindly. “But Dr. Patel won’t be able to assist further.”Click.The line went dead.I stood there holding the phone like it was something fragile I’d just dropped. Avis tugged my sleeve. “Mama? We’ll be late.”“Right,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Quentin’s POVMost people think destruction comes with fire or fists. They’re wrong.The real art is in pressure. Gentle, steady, constant — like water finding cracks in stone until the whole wall collapses. That’s how you break someone. That’s how you break Thora.And that’s exactly what I was doing.The first brick I pulled was Dr. Patel. The man had seen Avis since she was a baby, had charts and notes that painted Thora as nothing but careful, attentive, responsible. If he testified for her, it would look ironclad. Judges loved pediatricians — “neutral professionals,” as lawyers called them.But neutrality was a myth. Everyone had pressure points.I waited outside his office that morning, my car idling across the street. Patel emerged looking haggard, his phone glued to his ear, his other hand raking through thinning hair. I cracked the window, just enough to catch his words.“…No, I don’t want to be dragged into this. Of course I care about the child, but this—this is a custody wa
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