All Chapters of I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

MIACHEL'S POVThe safe house was quiet, the kind of deep quiet that comes after a storm. I stood by the large window in the living room, watching the last of the evening light bleed through the trees. My phone was heavy in my hand.Marcus’s report had come in an hour ago. Asset delivered to authorities as instructed. No complications.I knew what that meant. Stacy had handled Clara. She’d done exactly what she’d set out to do. The cold, clinical details in the report—extraction, interrogation, delivery—should have worried me. Instead, a fierce, proud heat spread through my chest. She did it. She took a piece of her past and broke it.But I didn’t call her. I didn’t go to her. She hadn’t asked for my help. She’d used the resources I’d given her access to, but the plan, the execution… that was all her. To barge in now, to demand a report… it would feel like taking it from her. Like I was another man trying to control her narrative.So I waited. I made sure the team watching her was doub

STACY'S POVThe silence in the boardroom was thick enough to carve. My question hung in the air, a lit fuse. I watched their faces, my heart a cold, hard stone in my chest.There. That’s the fear.I could see it, clear as a signature. Eliza’s defiant gaze flickered, just for a second, before hardening again. Bronson, the older investor with the greedy eyes, went pale. His fingers tightened around his pen. A few others—Aris, a woman named Iris who’d always been quiet—looked at the table, at their hands, anywhere but at me.The loyal ones, Benjamin Croft and Mr. Finley, stared back at me with open, steady concern. They were surprised, yes. But not guilty.“I’m waiting,” I said, my voice low. “Who has sold their stake?”Eliza broke first. She smoothed her already-sleek hair, a nervous gesture she tried to mask as arrogance. “This is an outrageous accusation, Stacy. We are shareholders, not children to be scolded. You have no proof.”“I will have the proof,” I said, not moving. “Lydia is

MIACHEL'S POVThe drive home felt longer than it should have. The city lights blurred past the car window, but I didn’t really see them. My mind was stuck in that grainy video feed, hearing those cold voices plot Stacy’s ruin.They see her as incompetent. The thought was a hot coal in my gut. After everything she’s built. After surviving Matt, the kidnapping, the boardroom… they just see a woman to be pushed aside.My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I’d told my assistant to keep digging, to track every shell corporation, every payment. But I was driving away from the operation. I needed to see her. I just didn’t know how to explain what I’d found.How do you tell the woman you love that a pack of vultures is circling, ready to pick apart the life she’s fought for? That my own blood might be funding it? She’d be heartbroken. And furious. The sadness would be worse—that deep, quiet hurt of betrayal.She worked so hard to get here. And someone just wants to take it.The anger boil

STACY'S POVThe memory hit me like a physical slap, sharp and sudden, stealing the air from the glittering room.That office. Small, too warm, smelling of cheap coffee and ambition. My hands had been shaking as I laid out the business plan, my voice too bright, too eager. He’d sat behind a big desk, not saying a word, just watching me. His eyes—the same piercing, cold eyes now scanning the banquet hall—hadn’t looked at the charts. They’d traced the neckline of my thrift-store blouse, the curve of my hip in my only good skirt.“A compelling proposal, Stacy,” he’d said finally, leaning back. His voice was smooth, like oil. “You have passion. I like that in a partner.”He’d promised funding. A real investment. My heart had soared. Then his hand had covered mine on the desk. His thumb stroked my knuckles. “Of course, partnerships require… intimacy. Trust. A meeting of minds. And bodies.”The meaning had dripped, cold and slimy, into the space between us. I’d jerked my hand back. “I’m just

MIACHEL'S POVThe satisfaction was a cold, clean thing in my chest. I watched the committee head make the announcement, saw the shock on David’s face turn to rage, then to a kind of sputtering, public humiliation as security escorted him out. The applause felt distant. I already knew. I’d known there would be foul play. The organizers were in David’s pocket. But I’d found their dirt—financial skeletons, hidden affairs, the kind of leverage that makes men go pale. I didn’t threaten them into giving me the win. I made them see that giving it to the best candidate was their only clean way out. And that was still me.The crowd swarmed us. Handshakes, backslaps, empty congratulations. I accepted them with a tight smile, my eyes tracking Stacy. She was glowing, laughing with a group near the champagne fountain. The fear from the alcove was gone, replaced by a brilliant, triumphant light. It made my chest ache.My assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Iris, materialized at my elbow. “It’s hand