The Billionaire's Secret: Two Million Dollars to Ruin My Ex

Tags: Wife and Mistress Team Up, Undercover Revenge, Scumbag Bankrupted, Female Solidarity, Sweet Revenge The boyfriend I loved with all my heart turned out to be a married piece of trash. When I tracked down his house, his wife didn't scream at me. Instead, she named her price: "Two million dollars. Help me ruin him. Are you in?" Hell yes! Why wouldn't I be? Getting payback and walking away rich? That was the best deal on the planet. So, I quit my job, went undercover at his company, and joined forces with his wife to push that arrogant jerk straight into the grave we dug for him. Don't talk to me about love. Right now, I only care about cold hard cash and sweet revenge. Valentine's Day. Roses, champagne, and the warm traces of his lips still lingering on my collarbone. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom as Carter Vance washed away the fatigue of the day. Everything was picture-perfect. Until the phone he’d left on the nightstand buzzed, shattering the mood. The screen lit up, and my eyes instinctively darted toward it. [Lily's fever spiked to 103.6°F. Where the hell are you?] Who was Lily? High fever? My mind went completely blank. Maybe a niece? A younger cousin? Then a second text popped up, completely annihilating every shred of denial I had left. [Carter, what kind of father are you?! If you want a divorce, just say it!] *Carter. Father.* Those words hit me like a slap to the face. The man I’d been dating for three years was married. And had a kid. In a split second, the romantic fairy tale he’d built for me crumbled to dust. The man who had sworn I was the only light in his life, the man who claimed he wanted to stay strictly child-free for me—he already had a family. No wonder he was happy to be "child-free" with me. He already had a child. The bathroom door creaked open. Carter stepped out with a towel slung low around his waist, water droplets tracing the defined lines of his abs. With his eyes half-closed, he habitually opened his arms toward me, his voice low, raspy, and infuriatingly sexy. "Chloe, come here. Give me a hug and blow-dry my hair." Running on pure instinct, I tossed the phone back where it was and walked over, my limbs stiff as wood. The hum of the blow-dryer was deafening. The warm air blew through his hair, but I felt nothing but ice coursing through my veins. Suddenly, he scooped me up by the waist and threw me onto the soft mattress, his hot breath descending on me like a wave. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby." His kiss was aggressive, demanding and desperate. A violent wave of nausea surged from my gut. I couldn't hold it down. I shoved him off with all my strength. "Your phone... it buzzed earlier," I stammered, scrambling for an excuse, my voice trembling. "It looked urgent." A fleeting flicker of annoyance flashed across Carter's handsome face, but I caught it. "What could possibly be more important than you?" He gave a low chuckle, his large hand sliding back onto my body. "Tonight, you're all mine." Just as his fingers reached for the waistband of my shorts, his phone shrilled loudly, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. Carter’s expression darkened instantly. I scrambled off the bed, grabbed the cursed phone, and shoved it into his face, a defiant glint in my eyes that even I didn't fully realize was there. He glared at me, snatched the phone from my hand, and stormed onto the balcony, slamming the sliding glass door shut behind him. I couldn't hear what he was saying. I could only see the stiff, frantic tension in his back. A few minutes later, he came back inside, fully dressed. "Something urgent came up at the office. I have to head over right now." He leaned down to kiss me, but I instinctively turned my head away. He froze for a second, then muttered, "Be good. Wait for me to come back." The moment the front door clicked shut, the entire world went dead silent. Two hours later, at two in the morning, my best friend—an ER nurse at the downtown hospital—called me. "Chloe! I just saw Carter! He ran into pediatrics drenched in sweat, holding a little girl, with an exhausted-looking woman trailing right behind him! The little girl... she wouldn't stop crying and screaming for her daddy!" The line went dead. I collapsed onto the floor. I was the other woman.I didn't sleep a wink that night. Only one thought consumed my mind: *I'm going to destroy Carter Vance.* At the crack of dawn, I drove straight to the hospital. I spotted her immediately in the pediatric wing. Victoria. She was sitting on a metal chair—gorgeous, but worn down to the bone. I walked over. The sharp click of my heels made her look up. She stared at me, her eyes dead and emotionless, as if she had been expecting me all along. "Are you Carter's wife?" I asked, cutting straight to the chase. A pathetic part of me desperately hoped she’d shake her head—or at least say "ex-wife"—just to lift an ounce of the crushing guilt off my chest. Instead, she simply gave a faint nod. "I know who you are, Chloe Bennett. Three years ago, when I had just gotten pregnant, he started sleeping with you." *Holy shit.* I felt like the biggest, most pathetic clown on earth. The epic romance I thought I had lived was built entirely on another woman's pregnancy nightmare. "Let's talk somewhere else," I squeezed out through gritted teeth, barely keeping my composure. In the coffee shop downstairs, I ordered an iced water. She did the same. I braced myself for her to splash it in my face. Instead, she just sat there, quietly studying me. Her silence made my stomach knot even tighter. "You should divorce him," I blurted out. She finally raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. "The side chick wants to move up? That eager to take my place?" "You've got it all wrong," I scoffed, slamming my glass onto the table. "Carter told me he was single. Now that the truth is out, that man is dirtier than a dumpster. If you don't want him, I sure as hell don't want his leftovers!" My blunt honesty caught her off guard. The suspicion in her eyes shifted into curiosity. "You think I don't want out?" She let out a bitter laugh. "You flatter yourself, sweetie. The women he keeps on the side sprout like weeds. Cut one down, and another pops up. You're just the freshest cut." Another sledgehammer to my chest. I wasn't even the special mistress. I was just another nameless number in his rotation. Seeing my expression—looking like I had just swallowed a live fly—Victoria's eyes softened. It was the mutual recognition between two victims. Rage burned straight to the crown of my head. "So you're just going to take it?" I asked. "Carter won't let me divorce him easily. His company needs the facade of a stable, happy family to secure investors," she said, cutting right to the bone. "So you're trapped?" "We're both trapped," she corrected. It hit me then. Both of us had been played for fools by the exact same bastard. In that instant, wife, mistress—to hell with all those stupid labels. We were in the same boat, and our only real enemy was the monster trying to sink it. "I'll help you," I said, locking eyes with her, speaking each word with deadly precision. "I'll help you dig up evidence, create a public scandal, and strip him down until he has nothing left. I don't want a dime. I just want him ruined." Victoria stared at me for half a minute. Then, she opened her mouth. "I want him bankrupt. I want him walking away with zero," she said, a wicked smirk finally bringing life back into her face. "Help me pull this off, and I'll wire you two million dollars. Deal?" *What? Two million bucks?* Getting sweet revenge and walking away a millionaire? That was the best damn deal on earth. "Deal!" I answered without a second of hesitation. We pulled out our phones, skipped the small talk, and added each other on SnapChat. The moment the request was accepted, I knew the game was on. Our mission: drag the mighty Carter Vance down from his pedestal and stomp his face into the dirt.The very next day, Victoria sent over two files on SnapChat with a short text: [These two are victims too. If you can get them on our side, do it. The more knives in his back, the better.] I tapped the first file: Nora Lane, an independent graphic designer. According to the file, Carter had stolen a massive national design award last year, basking in endless praise. Turns out, the entire concept was ripped straight off Nora. He hadn't just stolen her blood, sweat, and tears—he’d gone out of his way to sabotage her studio's contracts, nearly driving her into bankruptcy. The second file was Harper King, a former financial analyst at Carter's firm. Her story was even worse. Because she was pretty, Carter tried to force himself on her. When she refused his advances, the bastard framed her for embezzlement, fired her, and blacklisted her across the entire industry. Reading through their files, my blood boiled. Carter Vance wasn't just a cheater; he was a full-blown predator. Victoria’s strategy was crystal clear: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I reached out to Nora first. We met at a secluded coffee shop near an industrial park. The moment she saw me, her walls went up. "Who are you? What do you want?" "I'm... another one of Carter Vance's victims," I said, skipping the sugarcoating and laying out Victoria’s and my plan. "We're going to take him down. We're going to put him behind bars and bleed him dry. That design he stole from you? We have a way to get your credit back and make him choke on his own greed. You in?" Nora froze, clearly stunned by how direct I was. She stayed silent for a long time, her eyes slowly welling with tears. That stolen design had cost her countless sleepless nights. It was her baby. "Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice cracking. "You don't have to trust me," I said, sliding my phone across the table, showing Victoria's SnapChat profile. "Trust her. She's his wife. Right now, what we need is a dagger to pierce his corporate facade. You are that dagger." Nora stared into my eyes. Finally, she gritted her teeth and nodded. "Count me in. I kept the original draft files and the bogus non-disclosure agreements he tricked me into signing!" One down. Next was Harper. Harper was a tougher nut to crack. Carter had thoroughly traumatized her; she visibly flinched at the mere mention of his name. It took three attempts before she finally agreed to meet me at a noisy fast-food joint. "I don't want anything to do with him anymore. Please, just leave me alone," she whispered, her head down, voice barely audible. "Leave you alone? In your dreams!" I slammed my hand on the table, turning heads around us. "You think hiding in a hole will fix anything? The mud Carter smeared on your name will follow you for the rest of your life! Everywhere you apply, people will whisper behind your back! Do you really want to spend the rest of your life living like a coward?" My words hit her like daggers. She snapped her head up, tears spilling over her lashes. "What else can I do...?" "What can you do? Throw the mud right back in his face!" I leaned in close, lowering my voice. "We're taking him down, and we're going big. You were in finance. You know how rotten his books are better than anyone. You don't even need to show your face. Just point us to his weak spots. Which accounts are dirty? Which shell companies is he running?" I looked dead into her eyes. "We aren't begging you. We're handing you an opportunity. A chance to take back every ounce of humiliation and pain he inflicted on you, with interest." Harper's breathing turned ragged. Finally, as if making a life-altering choice, she pulled a sleek USB drive from her purse and pushed it toward me. "I kept backups before I left. It contains proof of his off-the-books shell accounts. I was too terrified to use it back then..." She sucked in a shaky breath. "Take it. Destroy him."With the squad assembled, the next phase was execution. Victoria’s plan was crude but effective: I had to infiltrate Carter’s company to dig up the real dirt. Which worked out perfectly. Carter had already begged me multiple times to work as his executive assistant, claiming it would "make it easier for us to see each other whenever we wanted." I had found it suffocating back then and made up every excuse to dodge him. Now? I couldn't wait to walk through those doors. The very next morning, I threw my resignation letter onto my boss's desk at my dead-end marketing firm. While I was packing my cardboard box, Ashley, the resident office mean girl, started sneering. "Oh, must be nice having a sugar daddy. Quitting your job to stay home and count his money all day." I was already running on pure rage, and she just volunteered as tribute. Without a word, I marched over and slapped her across the face with everything I had. *SMACK!* The entire office went dead silent. "Keep running that trash mouth, Ashley. Did you forget to brush your teeth after blowing the manager in the break room last night?" I leaned down, giving her my best villain smile. "Oh yeah, I saw you. Quite the show." Ashley's face drained of color, her hand clutching her burning cheek, unable to utter a single syllable. I picked up my box and strutted out under the stunned gazes of the entire floor. I was done playing nice. That evening, Carter heard the news that I’d quit. He showed up at my apartment practically drooling, his eyes shining with greedy excitement. "Chloe, baby, you finally came to your senses!" He wrapped his arms around me, thrilled out of his mind. "Come work as my private assistant. We can be together all day, every day. Office quickies whenever we want..." Fighting back the urge to vomit, I put on my sweetest pout and traced circles on his chest. "Stop it, you naughty boy... you're making me blush." In my head, I was thinking: *Quickie this, you piece of garbage.* Driven wild by my teasing, he dragged me straight toward the bedroom. Realizing I couldn't keep this act up physically, inspiration struck. I squeezed my legs together and winced in dramatic agony. "Babe, wait... I can't. My period just started." Carter froze, his lust instantly morphing into frustration and suspicion. "Didn't you just have it last week?" "Ugh, I've been so stressed out lately, my cycle is completely messed up..." I blinked up at him with wide, innocent doe eyes, mentally awarding myself an Oscar. Annoyed as he was, he didn't force the issue. He grunted and stomped off to the bathroom to take a cold shower. The following day, I officially started at Vance Enterprises as the Executive Assistant to the CEO. The second I stepped onto the executive floor, countless eyes locked onto me—jealous, condescending, waiting for me to fail. Whatever. I wasn't here to make friends. I was here to burn the place down. Relying on Carter's obsession with me, I quickly mapped out the entire corporate landscape. Which departments held real power, which executives were his ride-or-die lackeys, and which hallway blind spots had broken security cameras. Everything was running smoothly. Until the afternoon of my third day. I was pretending to bring Carter a fresh cup of coffee when I passed a half-closed conference room and heard a familiar voice inside. Harper. My heart skipped a beat. Hadn't she been fired ages ago? What was she doing here? I pressed my ear against the crack of the door. Inside, Carter’s head of operations was talking to someone on speakerphone: "...Don't worry, the Harper situation is completely buried. Every core ledger she ever touched has been overwritten three times on the new cloud servers. Even the IRS couldn't find a damn thing now."