Chapter 3: The Demolition
Chapter 3: The Demolition
"Victoria, please," Elliot stammered, dropping his briefcase onto the floor as he rushed toward me, his hands raised in a desperate plea. "It’s not what it looks like. Julianna is just a consultant, we were just coming here to review some confidential company documents—"
"Do you take me for an idiot, Elliot?" I interrupted. I opened the blue leather folder, tossing a stack of high-resolution photographs onto the marble island. They were pictures of them at a boutique hotel in Manhattan, dating back six months. "I’ve had a forensic accountant and a private investigator on your payroll since the moment you started changing your password."
Julianna looked at the photos, her face draining of all color. "Elliot... you said she didn't know. You said you had a pre-nup that guaranteed you half the company!"
"He does have a pre-nup," I said, looking directly at my husband, whose breathing had become shallow and frantic. "An infidelity clause, to be exact. The moment you punched that security code into my door, Elliot, you triggered a complete liquidation of your shares. You don't own half the company. As of ten minutes ago, you don't even own your office desk."
"Victoria, you can't do this!" Elliot roared, his desperation turning into an ugly, defensive anger. "I built that firm with you! You can't just throw me out with nothing!"
"I can, and I did," I said, tapping the final document in the folder. "The Westport estate belongs to my maiden name. The corporate accounts are frozen. The lease on your luxury sedan is under the company name, which means my security team is currently outside removing your belongings from the trunk."
Right on cue, the heavy thud of two large security guards closing the front iron gates echoed through the house.
Julianna snatched her coat from the floor, her eyes wide with frantic, selfish terror as she looked at Elliot. "You lied to me! You told me you were the billionaire! You're broke!"
"Julianna, wait—" Elliot reached out, but she violently slapped his hand away, turning on her heels and sprinting toward the front door, her designer heels clicking in a frantic, humiliated rhythm.
May you like
Elliot turned back to me, his knees visibly shaking as he realized the absolute finality of the trap he had walked into. "Victoria... please. We can talk about this. Two years of marriage... it has to mean something."
"It means you got to live like a king for twenty-four months, Elliot," I said, calmly closing the blue folder and picking up my cold cup of coffee. I walked toward the hallway, not giving him a single glance back. "But the playground is officially closed. My lawyers will email you the eviction timeline. You have exactly ten minutes to pack your clothes before the locks are changed."
