Revenge: The Billionaire's Downfall

For eight years, I was the girlfriend of New York's most untouchable billionaire, Dean Lee. To the public, we were a fairy tale: the brilliant, cold CEO who was utterly devoted to me, a simple artist he had plucked from obscurity. He built a fortress of luxury and safety around me.

But it was all a lie. On our anniversary, I overheard him with another woman. He called me a "decoy," a "shield" he used to absorb the threats and scrutiny meant for his real love, Karina.

His mask came off. He allowed Karina to humiliate me publicly, destroy my dead mother's heirloom, and then, as punishment, had me force-fed soup made from my beloved cat.

His final "lesson" was to throw me into an underground fight club. As I lay beaten and bleeding on the canvas, I saw him in the VIP booth, watching with bored detachment as Karina laughed beside him. The eight years of protection weren't love; they were just maintenance on his human shield.

On the verge of death, I was rescued by his biggest rival, Brennen Finley. With my last breath, I gave him the secrets that would bring Dean's empire to its knees. In exchange, I asked for just one thing.

"Make Hayley York disappear," I whispered. "Help me die."

Chapter 1

Dean Lee was a name that commanded respect in New York City. On the cover of magazines, he was the brilliant, cold tech CEO, a billionaire who seemed to exist on a different plane from everyone else. His face was sharp, his eyes were distant, and he never smiled. People called him a machine, a genius with no time for human connection. That was his public image, carefully built and maintained.

But in private, in the sprawling penthouse that overlooked Central Park, the machine had a single, all-consuming obsession. He wasn't cold; he was a furnace of carefully controlled intensity. That intensity was directed at one person: Hayley York.

Hayley had been a struggling art student eight years ago, barely making rent on a tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Dean had found her, plucked her from obscurity, and made her his girlfriend. Not just his girlfriend, but the publicly adored partner of the city's most untouchable man.

He was intensely protective, a trait everyone mistook for love. When a rival company tried to dig up dirt on him, he built a wall of security around Hayley so thick that no reporter could get within a hundred feet of her. When a society gossip column printed a snide remark about her simple background, the publication was sued into oblivion within a week.

Everyone in their circle believed Dean Lee, the stoic billionaire, was utterly devoted to Hayley York. They saw the way he followed her with his eyes at parties, the way he personally chose every piece of her designer wardrobe, the way he sent a helicopter to pick her up if she was working late at her art studio. They saw a fairy tale.

Tonight was their eighth anniversary. They were at a charity gala, an event glittering with the city's elite. Hayley, dressed in a gown the color of a midnight sky, felt a rare spark of boldness. She leaned close to Dean, her voice a soft whisper against the clinking of champagne glasses.

"Dean," she said, "could you get me the 'Star of the Sea' necklace when it comes up for auction? As an anniversary gift?"

It was a piece she'd seen in the catalog, a simple sapphire on a delicate chain. It reminded her of her mother, who had loved the ocean.

Dean' s expression, which had been neutral, instantly turned to ice. He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning her face with a sudden, chilling disapproval.

"You have a vault full of jewelry," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Why would you want something so trivial?"

His words were a slap. A moment later, Karina Luna, the daughter of one of Dean's major business partners, drifted over to their table. She smiled sweetly, her eyes landing on Hayley.

"Hayley, your dress is lovely," Karina said, but her tone was laced with something sharp. "Though, I heard you were asking Dean for the 'Star of the Sea.' Isn't that a bit... modest for an occasion like this? It's hardly worth mentioning."

A few people at the table snickered. Hayley's face burned with humiliation. She felt Dean' s hand on her arm, not in comfort, but in warning. He didn't defend her. He didn't say a word. He just let her sit there, exposed and ridiculed.

She couldn't understand it. For eight years, he had given her everything. He had built her a world of luxury and safety. But sometimes, over small, seemingly insignificant things, this coldness would appear. This cruel, dismissive stranger would replace the man she thought she loved.

Later that evening, feeling sick with confusion, Hayley slipped away from the main hall. She needed a moment of quiet. As she passed a secluded balcony, she heard voices. Dean's voice, and Karina's. She froze, pressing herself into the shadows of a large potted palm.

"Dean, she has no right to ask for that necklace," Karina's voice was a venomous hiss, completely unlike her public persona. "She's getting too comfortable. She's forgetting her place."

"I know," Dean's reply was flat, devoid of any warmth. "It was a mistake to let her get so attached."

Hayley's heart stopped. A mistake?

"She's just a decoy, Dean. A shield. You can't start treating the shield like it's the real thing," Karina continued, her voice rising with jealousy. "I'm the one you're supposed to be protecting. That necklace should be for me."

The words hit Hayley like a physical blow. A decoy. A shield.

"The public humiliation tonight wasn't enough," Karina went on, her tone turning sadistic. "She needs a stronger reminder. That she's just a stand-in, a body to absorb the threats and the scrutiny that are meant for me."

Hayley felt the air leave her lungs. The threats. The scrutiny. All the danger she thought Dean was protecting her from... he was actually using her to attract.

"She' s a pawn, Dean. And she' s starting to think she' s the queen," Karina spat. "It' s disgusting."

Then came the words that shattered Hayley's entire world. Dean's voice, cold and final.

"I know," he said. "I'm getting tired of her. Do what you want. Just don't let it get too messy."

The sound was a roar in Hayley' s ears. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. She couldn't breathe. Her mind spun, replaying the last eight years in a nauseating, high-speed reel.

The car crash that nearly killed her two years ago, which Dean had called a tragic accident caused by a drunk driver. The food poisoning incident that had her hospitalized for a week. The stalker who had broken into her studio and destroyed her paintings. All of it. For eight years, she had been a human sponge, soaking up the danger meant for another woman.

She remembered the times Dean had held her after one of these "accidents," his face tight with what she thought was worry. He' d check her for injuries, his touch frantic. He' d murmur about increasing her security. She had thought it was love, his desperate fear of losing her.

Now she saw the truth. It wasn't love. It was a cold, calculating assessment of his asset. He was checking to see if his shield was still functional. The realization was a poison seeping into every good memory she had, turning it black and rotten. She was a tool. A disposable object.

"And Dean," Karina's voice cooed from the balcony, pulling Hayley back to the horrifying present. "If she gets too disobedient again... maybe a more permanent lesson is in order. My uncle knows some people. They run a private club. It gets very rough."

Hayley' s blood ran cold. She heard Dean' s silence, and she knew what it meant. It was approval. Cold, callous approval.

She couldn't hear any more. She turned and ran, her borrowed heels catching on the plush carpet. She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away. The beautiful gown felt like a costume for a fool. The diamonds around her neck felt like a collar.

She made it back to her suite in the penthouse, her lungs burning. Her hands shook as she threw a suitcase on the bed, pulling open drawers, grabbing clothes, her passport, anything. She had to leave. Now.

Suddenly, the door to her bedroom opened without a sound. It wasn't Dean. A man she had never seen before stood there, a cruel smile on his face. He was large, and his eyes were predatory. He worked for Karina's uncle. Hayley knew it instantly.

"Going somewhere, pretty thing?" he sneered, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

Panic seized her. She backed away until her legs hit the bed. The man advanced slowly, cracking his knuckles.

"Don't touch me," Hayley whispered, her voice trembling.

"Miss Luna said you needed a lesson," he said, his smile widening. "And Mr. Lee didn't say no."

He lunged. Hayley screamed as he grabbed her, his hand clamping over her mouth. His other hand ripped the shoulder of her expensive gown.

"I have money!" she gasped, trying to twist away. "I can give you anything you want!"

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Your money is Dean Lee's money. And he's the one who wants you punished." He leaned in, his breath hot and foul. "He thinks you're dirty. He can't even stand to touch you, did you know that? Eight years, and he's never slept with you. Just keeps you around like a pretty doll on a shelf."

The words were a fresh wave of agony. It was true. Dean had always been distant physically, claiming he respected her too much to rush things. It was another lie. He was repulsed by her. She was just a prop. Not a lover, not even a person. Just a thing.

A surge of pure, primal rage ripped through her. She was not a thing. She was not a doll.

As the man fumbled with his belt, Hayley saw her chance. Her hand shot out and grabbed the heavy glass lamp from the nightstand. With a strength born of terror and fury, she swung it with all her might.

The lamp connected with his head with a sickening crack. He grunted, stumbling back, his eyes wide with surprise. She didn't hesitate. She swung again, and again, until he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Hayley stood over him, panting, the broken lamp still in her hand. Sobs tore from her throat, raw and broken. The illusion was gone. The love was a lie. Her life was a lie.

Her eyes fell on her phone, lying on the bed. Her hands were still shaking, but she picked it up. There was one number in her contacts that Dean didn't know about. A secret she had kept for herself.

She dialed the number. It rang twice before a smooth, calm voice answered.

"This is Brennen Finley."

Brennen Finley. Dean Lee's biggest corporate rival. A man based in San Francisco who Dean hated with a passion. They had met once, a year ago, at a tech conference. He had been charming, intelligent, and had looked at her with an intensity that had unnerved her. He had slipped her his private number, "Just in case you ever need a new perspective."

"I have information," Hayley said, her voice a raw whisper. "Insider information. The kind that could cripple Dean Lee's new project."

There was a pause on the other end. "Go on."

"I'll give it to you," she said, her resolve hardening into something sharp and unbreakable. "I'll give you everything. In exchange, I want one thing."

"Name it," Brennen's voice was sharp with interest.

Hayley took a deep, shuddering breath, looking at the man bleeding on her floor and the life that was now in ashes around her.

"I want you to make Hayley York disappear," she said. "I want you to help me die."

There was another pause, longer this time. When Brennen spoke again, his voice was different. Softer.

"Hayley York will be dead by morning," he said. "I promise."