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Revenge & Riches: My Ex Left, My Billionaire Stayed
img img Revenge & Riches: My Ex Left, My Billionaire Stayed img Chapter 3 She is merely a decorative item.
3 Chapters
Chapter 7 Your taste in men is truly tragic img
Chapter 8 You are not my daughter img
Chapter 9 Her husband wants to turn her into a mental patient img
Chapter 10 You just became your own worst PR crisis img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 3 She is merely a decorative item.

Ayla sat in the driver's seat of her parked Porsche, her fingers hovering over the steering wheel.

She had just dialed her best friend Chloe's number when a text message popped up on her screen.

It was from Axel.

If you don't show up to the Silicon Valley Innovation Summit tonight, I will freeze every credit card and trust account tied to your name within sixty seconds.

Ayla stared at the glowing words. Her breathing hitched.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. She needed cash to hire a ruthless divorce lawyer. If he cut her off now, she would be paralyzed.

She shifted the car into drive and forced herself to turn the steering wheel toward San Francisco.

By evening, Ayla stepped out of a black town car in front of the Moscone Center.

She wore a minimalist, custom-tailored black evening gown that clung to her curves, looking every bit the untouchable billionaire's wife.

Axel was already waiting at the entrance of the VIP red carpet lane.

The second he saw her, his face transformed. The angry tyrant from the morning vanished, replaced by a mask of overwhelming, sickening devotion.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her waist.

His fingers dug into her ribs so hard a sharp pain shot up her spine.

"Smile," Axel whispered directly into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Don't you dare ruin the company's stock rating for next week."

The heavy double doors to the red carpet swung open.

A wall of blinding camera flashes exploded in their faces. Reporters screamed their names.

Ayla's facial muscles shifted instantly. She flashed the flawless, untouchable smile she had perfected as a top-tier PR strategist.

Axel stopped right in the middle of the red carpet.

He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a custom velvet Cartier jewelry box.

A collective gasp rippled through the press line.

Axel opened the box, took out a blinding, multi-million-dollar diamond necklace, and stepped behind Ayla to fasten it around her neck.

The cameras fired like machine guns. Reporters shouted praises about the Farrell CEO's legendary love for his wife.

Axel leaned in and kissed her cheek. Ayla smiled for the lenses, but her stomach violently cramped with nausea.

They walked off the carpet and entered the massive, glittering ballroom.

Within seconds, Axel was swarmed by a group of Wall Street investors.

Ayla immediately stepped backward, retreating into the shadows near the edge of the room. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and watched Axel play the crowd.

From across the room, she noticed something.

A faint vibration buzzed in the breast pocket of Axel's tuxedo.

Axel pulled out his private phone. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes darkened with a specific kind of hunger.

He offered a quick, charming apology to the investors and turned away, walking briskly toward the staff corridors at the back of the venue.

Ayla set her champagne glass down on a high-top table.

She knew the layout of the Moscone Center perfectly. She had designed the PR security routes for this exact event.

She slipped through the crowd, staying completely out of sight, and followed him.

She navigated through the noisy, chaotic kitchen hallways until she reached the dimly lit VIP lounge sector.

At the end of the corridor, one of the heavy lounge doors was left slightly ajar.

Low, breathy laughter echoed from the crack in the door.

Ayla slowed her steps. She pressed her back against the cold wall and slid closer, peering through the narrow gap.

Inside the lounge, Axel had a woman pinned against the back of a leather sofa. He was kissing her aggressively.

The woman was wearing a plunging red evening gown.

It was Kristal. The brilliant, beautiful Director of Overseas Operations for the Farrell Group.

Kristal giggled and pushed Axel back slightly. She ran her manicured fingers down his jawline.

"You were a little too convincing on the red carpet out there," Kristal complained, pouting her lips.

Axel let out a dark, mocking laugh. "It's just PR for the old fossils on the board. Ayla is nothing but a prop."

Outside the door, Ayla felt like a sledgehammer had just caved in her ribs.

It wasn't just the physical betrayal. It was the complete, utter destruction of her human dignity.

Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely grip her phone.

She pulled it out, switched it to video mode, and held the lens up to the crack in the door.

She recorded ten seconds of them tangled together on the sofa. Clear, undeniable proof.

Ayla hit stop. She slipped the phone back into her clutch.

She didn't kick the door open. She didn't scream.

She turned around and walked back down the hallway, her footsteps completely silent.

When Ayla stepped back into the blinding lights of the ballroom, the pain in her chest was gone.

Her eyes were dead, filled with nothing but cold, calculating murder.

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