The Genius Heiress' Ruthless Divorce Revenge

The heavy oak doors of the Holman Manor private memorial library yielded under Harlow's push.

She stepped inside. The main chandelier was off. Only the faint, amber glow from the wall sconces illuminated the edges of the room. The air smelled of old paper and leather, but beneath that familiar scent, there was something else. Something sharp and sour.

Harlow froze.

From the deep shadows near the back bookshelves, a sickening sound reached her ears. It was a wet, heavy panting. A woman's low moan followed, echoing off the mahogany panels.

Harlow's stomach plummeted. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin ice-cold.

She took a step forward. Her high heel came down on something hard. A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Harlow looked down. The glass face of her parents' framed photograph lay shattered on the Persian rug. The silver frame was dented.

A hot, violent surge of adrenaline rushed into Harlow's veins. Her vision narrowed. She reached out and slammed her palm against the crystal chandelier switch on the wall.

Blinding white light flooded the library.

Harlow stopped breathing.

There, on top of her late father's antique red-wood desk, was her husband. Beck's dress shirt was unbuttoned, his trousers pushed down. Beneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, was Fallon.

Harlow's chest tightened as if a massive hand was crushing her lungs.

"Get off my father's desk," Harlow said. Her voice was a harsh, guttural snap.

She didn't wait for a response. Harlow grabbed the heavy brass paperweight from the edge of the nearest table. She hurled it at the hardwood floor.

The brass slammed into the wood with a deafening crash.

Beck and Fallon scrambled apart. Beck stumbled, pulling up his pants with frantic, jerky motions. Fallon slid off the desk.

But Fallon didn't look ashamed. She slowly pulled the strap of her silk camisole back over her shoulder. A tiny, victorious smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

Beck didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and glared at Harlow.

"You should knock, Harlow," Beck snapped. He adjusted his belt. "This room? It's just wood and paper, Harlow. You attach too much sentiment to inanimate objects. Fallon and I were celebrating a business victory. You should be happy for us."

Harlow's eyes dropped to the desk. Beneath the messy stack of papers, her father's favorite gold pocket watch lay crushed. The glass was pulverized. The metal casing was bent out of shape by Beck's weight.

Harlow's hands curled into fists. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

"You bring your whore into this room?" Harlow pointed a shaking finger at the door. "This is a sacred place. How dare you do this filthy thing here?"

Beck finished buckling his belt. He rolled his eyes. "The soundproofing in here is top-tier. It's the perfect place to discuss private business."

Harlow felt bile rise in her throat. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on Fallon.

"Get out," Harlow ordered. "Get your dirty body out of my house right now."

Beck immediately stepped in front of Fallon. He puffed out his chest, creating a physical barrier between Harlow and his mistress. He shoved Harlow back half a step.

"Don't speak to her like that," Beck warned, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Fallon is my soulmate. She actually understands my massive commercial vision for the company. You don't."

Harlow let out a harsh, dry laugh. Three years. She had endured three years of a loveless, exhausting marriage to support this man. It was a massive joke.

Fallon peeked out from behind Beck's broad shoulder. She put on a fake, pitiful expression.

"I'm so sorry, Harlow," Fallon cooed. But her tone was laced with pure, unadulterated gloating. "We couldn't help it."

Beck lifted his chin. He looked down his nose at Harlow. A brief flicker of embarrassment over being caught in the act flashed across his face, but his massive ego quickly crushed it. He straightened his posture, puffing out his chest as he shifted from defensive panic to aggressive arrogance.

"You need to accept reality, Harlow," Beck announced proudly. "Fallon gave me a son. Kade is a brilliant boy. He's my heir."

The words hit Harlow like a physical blow to the head. Her pupils dilated. A violent tremor shook her entire body.

A son. He had a child with her.

Beck sneered, taking advantage of her shock. "You're like a block of ice, Harlow. Three years of marriage, and you refuse to fulfill your basic duties as a wife. You wouldn't give me a child."

Harlow forced the tears back. The burning in her eyes receded, replaced by a freezing, absolute clarity. She saw this man exactly for what he was: a selfish, hypocritical parasite.

Fallon stepped out from behind Beck. She reached out a manicured hand, pretending to be generous.

"We can all coexist peacefully, Harlow," Fallon said, reaching for Harlow's shoulder.

Harlow jerked her body away. She looked at Fallon's hand as if it were covered in disease.

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands," Harlow hissed.

Beck's face flushed with anger. "You are being completely unreasonable. You don't know what's good for you."

Harlow ignored him. She slowly looked around the library. The crushed watch. The shattered photo. The wrinkled papers on the desk.

"This room is contaminated," Harlow said. Her voice was devoid of all warmth. "It's full of trash."

She turned her back on them.

Her high heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor. Each step was precise. Each step was final. She walked toward the heavy oak doors.

"Calm down and face reality, Harlow!" Beck shouted after her, his voice echoing in the large room. "You're just throwing a jealous tantrum!"

Harlow stopped at the doorframe. She did not turn around.

She swallowed hard, forcing the nausea down. The last shred of affection she ever held for Beck Chase evaporated into thin air. Her chest felt hollow, but her mind was razor-sharp.

She would not be the submissive, perfect wife anymore. She would make them pay for every single thing they broke.

Harlow stepped out of the library and into the hallway.

Her heels sinking into the thick carpet of the hallway. She didn't stop until she reached the master bedroom.

She stepped inside and slammed the door shut. She turned the lock on the doorknob until it clicked.

Harlow marched straight into the en-suite bathroom. She turned the silver faucet all the way to the cold side. The freezing water rushed out. She cupped her hands and splashed the icy water onto her face, over and over again.

The freezing temperature shocked her system. It stopped the trembling in her hands.

She grabbed a towel and patted her face dry. Harlow looked up at the large vanity mirror. Her eyes were slightly red, but her gaze was hard as steel. Three years of a charity-case marriage. She had funded his life, and this was her return on investment.

A loud rattle came from the bedroom door.

Then came the sharp click of a key turning in the lock. Beck had used the master bedroom spare key.

Beck pushed the door open and strolled into the bedroom. He walked right past the bathroom and stopped in front of the full-length mirror. He casually began to re-tie his silk necktie, acting as if the disgusting scene in the library had never happened.

"Get yourself ready," Beck commanded, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "We have the Wall Street Chamber of Commerce gala tonight. Wear the black dress."

Harlow slowly lowered the towel. Her stomach twisted.

"How do you have the face to ask me that?" Harlow asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

Beck frowned. He turned around, adopting a high-and-mighty, lecturing posture.

"Men play around, Harlow. It's normal in our circle," Beck said smoothly. "It's just business and stress relief."

He adjusted his cuffs. "Kade is a boy. He needs a proper title. But I am a generous man. You can keep the title of Mrs. Chase. You still get to be my wife in public."

Harlow stared at him, her jaw tight.

"Let's be honest," Beck sneered, looking her up and down. "Besides the empty Holman last name, you have zero commercial value. You are useless in the business world."

He puffed out his chest. "Holman Industries is surviving because of my AI project. I am the genius holding your family's company together."

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped Harlow's lips.

Genius? The AI core architecture he was so proud of was written by her. She was the anonymous developer known as "King." She had spoon-fed him the code to save his failing department.

Harlow didn't waste another breath on his delusions. She turned sharply and walked into the massive walk-in closet.

She reached up to the highest shelf and grabbed a heavy-duty, black plastic trash bag. She snapped it open with a loud crack.

Beck followed her into the closet. He crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. "Are you throwing another princess tantrum?"

Harlow didn't look at him. She marched over to his side of the closet. She grabbed five of his custom-tailored Italian suits by the hangers. With one violent yank, she ripped them off the rack.

She shoved the expensive wool and silk into the black trash bag.

Beck's face turned a furious shade of purple. "Those are my bespoke suits! What the hell are you doing?"

He lunged forward, reaching out to grab the bag.

Harlow spun around. She planted both hands flat against Beck's chest and shoved him with all her might.

The sudden force caught Beck off guard. He stumbled backward, his expensive leather shoes slipping on the polished wood floor. He took two clumsy steps back.

Harlow lifted the heavy trash bag and threw it directly at his feet. It landed with a heavy, pathetic thud.

She stared into his eyes, her voice dead and cold.

"I want a divorce. Right now."

Beck froze. Then, a loud, mocking laugh burst from his chest. He looked at her like she was a stupid child.

He took a step closer, towering over her. "You? Divorce me? You're a spoiled trophy wife. Without me, you wouldn't even know how to pay your own credit card bills."

Harlow kept her face completely blank. She walked past him to the hidden wall safe. She punched in the code, opened the heavy steel door, and pulled out her passport, her ID, and a small velvet box containing her mother's wedding ring.

She pulled a silver carry-on suitcase from the lower shelf. She tossed the items inside and zipped it shut with a sharp, final sound.

Beck watched her pack. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes, but his massive ego quickly buried it.

"You're going to regret this, Harlow," Beck threatened, pointing a finger at her. "You'll be begging to come back."

Harlow grabbed the handle of the suitcase. The wheels dug deep into the expensive plush carpet as she pulled it forward.

She stopped inches from Beck's face. She was shorter, but her aura completely suffocated him.

Her lips curled into a sneer. "Take your true love and your bastard son, and get the hell out of my house."

Beck's mouth opened, but no words came out. The sheer, freezing intensity radiating from her body paralyzed his vocal cords.

Harlow slammed her shoulder into his chest, pushing him out of the way.

She dragged her suitcase out of the closet and headed straight for the bedroom door, leaving Beck standing alone among the garbage.

Harlow walked out of the master bedroom. The wheels of her silver suitcase clattered against the hardwood floor as she made her way toward the grand spiral staircase.

She started down the steps, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the front door.

Heavy, chaotic footsteps thundered behind her. Beck was chasing her down the stairs, yelling at the top of his lungs.

"I'm calling the bank right now!" Beck roared, his face red with fury. "I'm cutting off every single supplementary credit card you have!"

Harlow reached the center of the massive marble living room. She stopped. She reached into her designer handbag, pulled out the heavy brass spare keys to the manor, and tossed them onto the expensive marble coffee table. They landed with a sharp clatter.

Beck sprinted around the sofa and threw himself in front of her. He spread his arms wide, blocking her path. He leaned forward, trying to use his larger frame to physically intimidate her.

"If you dare file those divorce papers," Beck snarled, spit flying from his lips, "I will make sure you walk away with absolutely nothing."

He smiled then. A cruel, ugly smile. He wanted to break her spirit completely.

"You think Fallon is just some woman?" Beck taunted. "Fallon is 'Isabella'. She's the Chief Operating Officer of our biggest rival, operating under her highly-guarded industry alias."

Harlow's breath hitched. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"That's right," Beck boasted, puffing out his chest. "We are a power couple. We've been sharing resources. Holman Industries' market share will be ours soon."

The pieces clicked together in Harlow's mind. The recent, inexplicable failed bids. The leaked product designs. This wasn't just a dirty affair. This was corporate espionage. He was actively destroying her parents' legacy.

Beck saw her silence and mistook it for fear. He lifted his chin, looking incredibly smug.

"Admit you're wrong, Harlow. Apologize, and I might let you stay," Beck demanded.

He reached out his hand, aiming to pinch her chin and force her to look up at him, just like he always did when he wanted to assert control.

Harlow's eyes turned to ice.

She shifted her weight, pulled her right arm back, and channeled every ounce of her rage into her hand.

Smack!

The sound of the slap was deafening. It echoed off the high marble walls of the living room.

Harlow's palm struck Beck's cheek with brutal force. The impact snapped his head to the side. His expensive wire-rimmed glasses flew off his face and clattered onto the floor.

Beck staggered. He brought a trembling hand up to his rapidly swelling cheek. He tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

He whipped his head back around to face her. His eyes were bloodshot. He raised his hand high into the air, ready to strike her back.

Harlow didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her spine perfectly straight. She stared directly into his furious eyes.

"Touch me," Harlow said. Her voice was low, but it carried a lethal weight. "Touch me, and I will make sure you are completely ruined on Wall Street."

Beck saw the absolute ruthlessness in her eyes. The hand hovering in the air trembled. Slowly, stiffly, he lowered his arm.

"I will never sign the divorce papers!" Beck screamed, his veins popping. "I will drag this out in court until you bleed dry!"

Harlow let out a cold, dismissive laugh. She expected nothing less from a parasite.

She calmly reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She didn't break eye contact with him.

She pressed the speed-dial button for the estate's private security firm and put it on speaker.

"Send a team inside immediately," Harlow ordered, her voice perfectly steady. "Escort my ex-husband, Mr. Chase, off my private property."

Beck shook with rage. He violently yanked at his tie, loosening it. He spat a curse under his breath and turned toward the front door.

Just before he stepped out, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes were filled with venom.

"You'll be back," Beck sneered. "You'll be on your knees begging me to take you back like a dog."

Harlow didn't even look at him. She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and meticulously wiped down her right hand, scrubbing the skin that had touched his face.

The heavy front doors slammed shut behind him.

Harlow tossed the used wipe into the trash can. Her eyes were hard. The war had just begun.