His Will Betrayed Me, I Took My Baby Away

I was reclining lazily against my personal trainer's perfectly sculpted abs, absentmindedly scrolling through my phone when a post tagged with my villa's location suddenly appeared on my feed. Wendy: Guys, what am I supposed to do if I accidentally ruined my boss's wife's haute couture dress? I'm only a maid. There's no way I could ever afford to pay her back! The account belonged to "WannieOnTheGrind," who also happened to be my marriage-of-convenience husband's little mistress. She was utterly incompetent at her actual job but strangely gifted when it came to playing the victim online. The comments underneath were already exploding. A: [What do you mean? You pay for it. Isn't that common sense?] B: [Oh please. This fake innocent act is exhausting. You ruined someone else's dress and now you're crying poor to guilt-trip people out of compensation?] Wendy replied almost instantly. Wendy: I really did want to compensate her, but after my boss found out, he made me "repay" him another way instead. It lasted the entire night. Those final few words practically radiated implication. I laughed outright. Then I forwarded the post directly into my private group chat, "The Harem." Claire: Whoever manages to crash Goodwin Group's stock by five points today gets to replace my useless husband. Less than an hour later, my assistant Sophie Sutton called. "Ms. Jensen, Goodwin Group's stock really did drop five points." I leaned back against the leather seat and glanced at the candlestick chart displayed on my tablet. Goodwin Group's stock had started plummeting sharply at exactly two in the afternoon. Trading volume surged violently behind it, and by now the stock was already down 5.3%. "Got it." I ended the call and opened w******p. The Harem group chat had already exploded with hundreds of unread messages. Marcus: Claire, I've already got three finance bloggers pushing stories about Goodwin Group's questionable Q3 receivables. Leo: Contacted an asset evaluation firm. They're drafting the report now. Derek: Digging into Goodwin Group's environmental violations. I can have it trending by tomorrow morning. The final message came from Sebastian Shaw, heir to Shaw Capital and one of my oldest friends. Sebastian: Done. Five points. Not a cent more, not a cent less. A faint smile curved my lips. Claire: That was fast. His reply came almost instantly. Sebastian: Been waiting three years for you to say the word. Of course I moved fast. I had just started typing a reply when my phone suddenly lit up with an incoming call from Adrian Goodwin. The moment I answered, his furious voice exploded through the line. "Claire, did you have something to do with Goodwin Group's stock crashing?" "Mr. Goodwin," I replied lazily, drawing out every syllable, "the market carries risk. Investments should be made cautiously. What does your company's stock price have to do with me?" "Who else could it possibly be?" he snapped. "All because I didn't force Wendy to compensate you for that lousy dress?" "Lousy?" I laughed coldly. "Adrian, that 'lousy dress' was worth eight hundred and seventy thousand pounds. It was my mother's coming-of-age gift to me." My voice sharpened. "Your little mistress deliberately ruined it, and somehow I'm the unreasonable one for being angry?" "She was only trying too hard to do her job!" Adrian shot back immediately. "Besides, she saved my life once. Even if I gave her a car as compensation, it would still be the least I could do." "Trying too hard to do her job?" I interrupted with a mocking laugh. "So hard that she posted a sob story online at two in the morning? Tagged with my home address? Complaining that I 'trampled her dignity'?" Sarcasm practically dripped from every word. "She saved your life, Adrian. Not mine. Did you ask for my permission before using my belongings to repay your personal debt to her?" Ever since Wendy Lynn's post went viral, the hashtag #DressScandalBetweenJensenHeiressAndMaid had rocketed straight to the top of trending topics. The entire internet had rushed in to feast on the drama. Some people mocked Wendy. Others flooded Jensen Group's social media accounts claiming they were "defending workers' rights." After several seconds of silence, Adrian finally spoke again. "She only posted that because you pushed her too far." His voice turned colder. "Claire, I know you look down on her, but she works for everything she has with her own two hands. She deserves more respect than someone like you who was born with everything." I almost laughed myself breathless. "Adrian," I said slowly, "do you even hear yourself right now? Since when have you ever earned a living with your own two hands?" "I know exactly what I'm saying." His tone hardened. "Claire, ours is nothing more than a business marriage. You've already benefited from the resources the Goodwin family gave you. The least you can do is act like a proper lady." Then he added sharply, "Wendy is just a maid. What exactly do you gain from targeting her like this?" I stared silently at the shifting clouds outside the car window and suddenly realized how unbearably boring this entire situation had become. "Adrian," I said calmly, "since you brought up our marriage, let's talk business instead." He paused. "Business?" "Yes. Business." I slowly sat upright. "The Jensen Group and the Goodwin Group currently share six joint development projects with a combined valuation of thirty-seven billion." My tone remained perfectly calm. "Today, because of your little mistress's post, Jensen Group's stock also dropped three points." I let out a faint laugh. "Do you know how much money three points represents?" The other end fell into silence. "One point one billion," I said clearly. "One point one billion in market value vanished because your mistress decided to perform online." Adrian stopped speaking entirely. "I'll give you two options," I continued. "First, Wendy publicly apologizes, admits she deliberately ruined my dress and intentionally used social media to smear me, then leaves Northport permanently." "Impossible!" Adrian rejected it without hesitation. "Wendy didn't do anything wrong! She was only…" "Second," I interrupted coldly, "we divorce." The line went dead silent. "Clause Seven of the prenup," I reminded him softly. "You still remember it, don't you?" I could hear his breathing suddenly grow heavier. Clause Seven of the prenuptial agreement stated that if either party's gross negligence led to the dissolution of the marriage, the party at fault would be required to transfer fifteen percent of their shares to the other party. "Claire," Adrian said at last, his voice dangerously low, "are you threatening me?" "No," I replied calmly. "I'm giving you a choice." Then I smiled faintly. "You have three days. I'll wait for your answer."