Claiming My Rival's Ex-Wife As Mine

The champagne wasn't just cold; it was a violation. It hit Evelyn's face with a stinging slap, the bubbles fizzing in her eyes, the scent of yeast and spoiled grapes flooding her senses. A collective gasp rippled through the gala, followed by the muffled sound of titters behind manicured hands.

Her vision cleared from the alcoholic blur. The first thing she saw was her husband, Jace Welch, his hand still holding the empty flute, his handsome face twisted into a mask of pure disgust.

"Evelyn, stop making a scene," he hissed, his voice a low venom meant only for her. "It's over."

Beside him, Kaya Camacho, his assistant, his mistress, clutched his arm. Her big, innocent eyes were welling with tears, a perfect picture of a wronged woman.

The words, the scene, the smell-it was a key turning in a lock deep inside her mind. A floodgate opened, and memories that weren't hers, yet were, poured through. She remembered this night. She remembered being accused of pushing a pregnant Kaya. She remembered Jace using it as an excuse to force her into a divorce, leaving her with nothing.

The memories accelerated, a nightmare on fast-forward. Smith Pharma, her family's legacy, was carved up and absorbed by competitors after Jace leaked its proprietary research. Her father, his health already fragile, died under the weight of the bankruptcy. Her mother, a ghost of her former self, was institutionalized. And Evelyn... Evelyn ended up in a sterile white room, her life extinguished by a cocktail of unknown drugs pushed into her veins by a smiling nurse.

In her final moments, a presence had appeared, a voice that called itself a 'Messenger.' It told her the ruin of her family was no accident but the result of a sophisticated biological toxin. It had taught her something-a new sense. A way to see the invisible signatures of life and decay, of intent and malice, that clung to people like a second skin.

Now, looking at Jace, she could see it. A cold, gray aura of selfish ambition clung to him. On Kaya, it was a sickly sweet, cloying pink-the color of manufactured innocence and rot.

She looked down at her hands. They were smooth, unblemished, the diamond on her left finger still sparkling. She touched her cheek, wet with champagne, not the tears she remembered. This was real. She was back. Back at the beginning of the end.

"Don't just stand there looking stupid," Jace snarled, his patience gone. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and bruising. The physical contact sent a wave of nausea through her. She could feel the slick falsehood under his skin. "You're embarrassing me. We're leaving. You'll sign the papers tonight."

The whispers around them grew louder. "Did you see that? The Welch heir..." "She always was a bit unstable..." "Poor Kaya..."

The humiliation was a physical thing, a pressure building in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. In her first life, she had burst into tears. She had begged. She had pleaded with Jace, asking him what she did wrong.

But the woman who had died in that asylum was not the woman standing here now. The pain of her family's destruction had burned away all that pathetic, misplaced love. All that was left was a cold, hard resolve. The Messenger's final words echoed in her mind: Your gift is a weapon. Use it.

She was no longer Mrs. Jace Welch, a desperate wife. She was Evelyn Smith, and she had crawled out of her own grave to collect a debt written in blood.

Jace saw her silence as submission. A triumphant smirk touched his lips. He started to pull her toward the exit, ready to dispose of her as planned.

But his pull met resistance.

Evelyn didn't just stop; she planted her feet, her entire body becoming an anchor of defiance. Then, with a sharp, violent twist, she ripped her wrist from his grasp. The movement was so unexpected, so out of character, that Jace stumbled back a step, his handsome face a picture of disbelief.

The crowd fell silent.

Evelyn ignored them all. She calmly reached over to a passing waiter's tray, took a glass of ice water, and poured it over her own head. The shock of the cold was clean, sharp, washing away the sticky champagne and the last vestiges of the woman she used to be.

She lifted her chin, water streaming down her face like a baptism, and met Jace's stunned gaze. Her eyes were no longer the eyes of a woman who loved him. They were the eyes of a stranger who had already buried him.

"You're right," she said, her voice steady and devoid of any emotion he recognized. "It's time to sober up. I've been drunk on a lie for three years."

Her gaze shifted to Kaya, and for the first time, the other woman's mask of victimhood faltered. Evelyn's look wasn't angry or hurt. It was the look of a scientist examining a specimen on a slide. "And you," Evelyn added, her tone almost conversational, "you can keep him. I've already had him. Trust me, the novelty wears off faster than his hairline."

A shocked snort of laughter escaped someone in the crowd. Kaya's face flushed a deep, ugly red. Jace's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.

Evelyn smoothed down the front of her drenched designer gown, a small, chilling smile playing on her lips.

"A divorce?" she said, the words cutting through the silence. "Of course. My lawyer will be in touch with yours tomorrow. Let's say, ten A.M.?"

Without waiting for a reply, without another glance at the man she had once loved or the woman who had destroyed her, Evelyn Smith turned and walked away. She moved through the sea of shocked faces, her back straight, her steps even, leaving a trail of water and shattered expectations in her wake.

The next morning, Evelyn didn't wait for her lawyer to make the call. She did it herself. At nine o'clock sharp, she was standing in the marble foyer of the penthouse she had once called home.

Jace, still in a silk robe, his hair a mess from a night of celebratory drinking and sleep, stared at her as if she were a ghost. He clearly expected a tearful, regretful phone call, not her physical presence. A smug, lazy smile spread across his face.

"Come to your senses already?" he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Decided you can't live without me?"

Evelyn walked past him into the living room, the space filled with minimalist furniture she had picked out and he had taken credit for. She placed a thick manila envelope on the glass coffee table. The sound was a sharp, definitive slap in the quiet room.

"The divorce agreement," she said, her voice flat. "I've already signed it."

Jace's smirk faltered. He picked up the envelope, his movements slow with a dawning sense of unease. He pulled out the papers, his eyes scanning the first page. Then the second. His face went from confused, to angry, to utterly incredulous.

"Are you out of your mind?" he finally exploded, the papers trembling in his hand. "Half of everything? And the Gramercy Park townhouse? You have no right!"

That townhouse was more than just a property; it was the cornerstone of the Welch Group's next major development project. Without it, the entire deal would collapse.

"That townhouse was my grandmother's," Evelyn stated calmly, as if discussing the weather. "It was my wedding gift to you, registered in your name as a sign of trust. A mistake I am now correcting. Legally, and morally, it's mine."

"You greedy bitch!" Jace roared, his face turning a blotchy red. He threw the papers onto the floor. "You'll get nothing! You think you can compete with Kaya? She's everything you're not!"

A genuine, cold laugh escaped Evelyn's lips. It was a sound Jace had never heard before, and it made the hairs on his arms stand up.

"Kaya?" she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Let's talk about Kaya, shall we? You really think I didn't know? The business trip to Zurich three years ago-she was in the adjoining suite. The 'client dinner' at Per Se last Christmas-you charged the five-thousand-dollar meal to our joint account. The Cartier bracelet you bought her in May, claiming it was a corporate gift-I have the receipt from the Cartier flagship store, and it has your personal credit card number on it. Shall I go on?"

With each detail, the color drained from Jace's face. He looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"How..." he stammered.

Evelyn didn't answer. She simply took out her phone, tapped the screen, and a recording began to play. It was Jace's voice, slurred with champagne from the previous night, speaking to Kaya in a secluded hallway. "...just a little more patience, baby. I'll handle the old hag. Once I've drained every asset she has, I'll kick her to the curb. She'll be begging on the street, and we'll be laughing from our penthouse in Paris."

Evelyn stopped the recording. "If you don't sign this agreement, this audio file, along with a detailed timeline of your affair and the financial fraud you've committed against the Smith estate, will be on the desk of every editor at Page Six, the SEC, and the IRS by noon. You won't just be divorced, Jace. You'll be indicted."

For the first time since she'd known him, Jace Welch looked afraid. The woman standing before him was a stranger-cold, calculating, and holding a knife to the throat of his reputation, his freedom, his entire future. He stared at her, at the calm certainty in her eyes, and a bizarre, unwelcome thought surfaced: he missed the way she used to look at him, with that all-consuming adoration. The thought was so absurd it fueled his rage.

"You have ten minutes to decide, Jace," Evelyn said, her voice pulling him back to the terrifying present. "Sign, and you save your project and what's left of your family's good name. Don't sign, and I'll make sure your father reads about your exploits in the Wall Street Journal before breakfast."

He stared at her, his jaw working, a vein throbbing in his temple. He knew she wasn't bluffing. A public, messy divorce detailing his infidelity was one thing. Federal prison for fraud was another.

With a guttural cry of fury, he snatched a pen from the desk, bent down, and scrawled his signature on the last page of the agreement on the floor. He straightened up and threw the document at her.

Evelyn caught it neatly. She didn't even glance at him. She turned and walked toward the door.

"By the way," she said, pausing with her hand on the doorknob, her back still to him. "Everything that belongs to me? I'll be taking it all back. Piece by piece. And Jace? The next time you call me a hag, remember-this hag just took you for half of everything you own. "

The heavy door clicked shut behind her.

Outside, the bright morning sun hit her face. For the first time in years, Evelyn felt like she could breathe. This was only the first step. This wasn't just about a divorce. It was about dismantling an empire built on her family's ruin.

She hailed a cab, and as it pulled into the stream of New York traffic, she methodically deleted every photo of Jace from her phone. Then, she made two calls. The first was to the city's most sought-after hairstylist. The second was to her brother, Connor.

"It's done," she said, when he picked up. "I'm divorced."

The drive out to the Smith family estate on Long Island felt like a journey to another world. The frantic energy of Manhattan gave way to manicured lawns and old-money tranquility. But as she got closer, a knot of anxiety tightened in Evelyn's stomach.

Her mother, Eleanor, had called her halfway there, her voice thin and strained. "Evelyn, darling, you need to come home. Right now."

"I'm on my way, Mom. What's wrong?"

There was a hesitant pause. "It's... Delano Quinn. He's here. He's waiting for you."

The name hit Evelyn like a physical blow. Delano Quinn. The king of Wall Street. A man so powerful and reclusive he was more myth than reality. In her past life, she had only ever seen his face on the cover of Forbes. What could he possibly want with her?

She urged the driver to go faster, her mind racing.

The atmosphere in the grand living room of her family home was thick with tension. Her brother, Connor, stood stiffly by the fireplace, his jaw set. Her mother perched on the edge of a silk sofa, wringing her hands.

And standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tall silhouette against the afternoon light, was him.

He turned, and the air in the room seemed to compress. Delano Quinn was more imposing in person than any photograph could convey. He had dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to see right through her, and an aura of absolute power that was both terrifying and magnetic.

He didn't waste time on pleasantries. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that commanded attention.

"Miss Smith. Your father's company, Smith Pharma, is three weeks away from defaulting on a debt of three hundred and eighty million dollars."

The words hung in the air, cold and sharp. Evelyn and Connor exchanged a shocked glance. They knew things were bad, but not this catastrophic. From upstairs, the sound of their father's weak, rattling cough served as a grim underscore to Delano's pronouncement.

"Quinn Group is prepared to acquire the full debt," Delano continued, his gaze unwavering. "And we will inject an additional five hundred million in capital to stabilize the company."

A flicker of desperate hope lit up Eleanor's eyes. Connor took a half-step forward.

"However," Delano said, and his dark eyes locked onto Evelyn, pinning her in place. "My offer comes with one condition."

He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle before he spoke them.

"You will marry me."

Silence. It was so absolute, Evelyn could hear the frantic pounding of her own heart. Her mother let out a small, strangled gasp.

Evelyn's mind went completely blank. It made no sense. Why her? Why this?

"That's impossible!" Eleanor cried, finding her voice. "Evelyn... she just got divorced. Today!"

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Delano's eyes. "I'm aware," he said calmly. "That is precisely why I am making the offer now. I have been waiting for her to be free. "

The words landed like stones dropped into still water. He hadn't said he'd been "interested" or "watching." He'd said he'd been waiting. The implication was staggering-this was not a business proposition born of convenience. This was a move he had planned, perhaps for years.

He knew. He knew everything. A chill traced its way down Evelyn's spine. This wasn't a whim; it was a calculated move.

"Mr. Quinn," Connor said, stepping in front of Evelyn, his protective instincts kicking in. "I don't understand. Why would you..."

Delano cut him off, not with rudeness, but with the finality of a judge passing sentence. "This is the only solution on the table. Accept it, or your lawyers can begin preparing the bankruptcy filings."

Evelyn looked at her mother's pale, terrified face. She heard her father's labored breathing from the floor above. The choice wasn't hers to make. The fate of her entire family rested on her answer.

As if reading her thoughts, Delano added one final, crushing piece to the puzzle.

"Furthermore, thirty years ago, the Smith family incurred a debt of honor to the Quinns. It is time for it to be repaid."

That was it. The final blow. This wasn't just business; it was personal, rooted in a history she didn't even know existed.

Delano placed a sleek leather portfolio on the table. "You have until tomorrow to give me your answer," he said. Then, his gaze softened, just for a fraction of a second, and his voice dropped to something quieter. "But know this, Evelyn. I am not Jace Welch. When I make a promise, I keep it. Marry me, and I will spend the rest of my life ensuring you never have to beg any man for anything ever again."

He gave a slight, formal nod and then he was gone, leaving a vortex of shock and despair in his wake.

Evelyn stared at the portfolio. Inside, she knew, was a business proposal and, impossibly, a marriage contract. Her life had just been sold. But the man who had just bought it... he had spoken to her with something that sounded dangerously like reverence.