The Billionaire’s Ex: Her Coldest Revenge

“AHHH! She stabbed me! Help!!!! She’s trying to kill me!” I stumbled backward in shock. “What the hell—” Footsteps thundered outside. The door flew open. Two security guards burst in, followed by Damian. Victoria collapsed into his arms like a well-rehearsed performance. “She… she tried to kill me!” she gasped, blood soaking his shirt. I stood frozen. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Damian, she stabbed herself! She’s lying! Look at the angle, look at the damn knife!” But he didn’t look at anything. He only focused on her. “Zara, what the hell is wrong with you, why would you do this?!” “I didn’t, listen to me! Charles is home alone! He’s not well!” He turned away. “Get her out of here!” The guards grabbed my arms. The cold grip on my arms reminded me of another hand— smaller, warmer, gentler. My son, Charles. This morning I stepped into the living room and was slammed with sadness. Bang! The front door slammed against the wall as I rushed in, cake box wobbling in one hand, balloons tangled around my wrist like a battlefield prize. “Charles?” Silence. The living room was too still, too decorated—streamers sagged under their own weight, the cartoon banner barely hanging on. The candles were still unlit, the cake plates untouched. I spotted him on the couch. His tiny body curled into the cushions, wearing the birthday shirt he picked himself. “Hey, baby…” I knelt beside him, my voice trembling. “I’m here.” “Mom… it’s almost dark. Dad isn’t home yet.” His tender voice hit me, it was soft but the weight of disappointment could be felt. He came close to me and sat on my lap, his little fingers curling the split of my dress, his cute blue eyes filled with a kind of hope only kids had, the hope of celebrating his birthday with a complete family. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer to myself while silently trying to calm the tremble in my chest. He had patiently waited for his father… It felt like an eternity. He believed his father would come, that he did remember today was his birthday and that promises were meant to be kept. “Daddy is on his way, baby, “ I whispered, as soon as I felt his arms on me, dragging me out of my thoughts. I gave him a smile, barely convincing and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Let's give daddy a little more time okay? Daddy doesn't like breaking his promises and he promised you he would be here, right? He gave a sad nod. “That's my boy”, I said to him. The lie scraped my throat like broken glass. I wasn't saying this for Charles, I was saying it for myself, I was saying it to still assure him, because if Damian had forgotten again then what did that make me? How will my son look at me now? I turned to look at my phone on the table once again, hoping to see a notification, but still nothing. After so many calls, so many messages yet no reply, not even a damn emoji. It was 6:30 PM already and the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across our beautifully decorated living room.Charles tugged at my sleeve again, “Mom… is Dad not coming again?” His voice cracked. I could see the tiny beads of tears he was trying to hold back. The exact same look I had on last night when I stared into the bathroom mirror late at night, questioning myself of how I ended up here. In a house filled with silence and a marriage, I wasn't loved. “No, darling,” I managed to say, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Daddy’s just… busy.” He didn’t believe me. He was five, not blind, not stupid. He walked back to the couch and buried his face in it, like hiding could make the pain disappear. I took another look at the cake— white icing mixed with blue, now formed a puddle on the glass table. The candles remained unlit and the matches untouched. I snatched my phone from the table. One last text. Just one. Please come home. Our son is sick and worried, he needs you. And just like the previous ones, delivered. Read. No reply. Something inside me snapped. Enough was enough. I stood abruptly, grabbed my car keys, and bent down to kiss Charles’s forehead. “Stay here, baby. Mommy’s going to get Daddy. I’ll be back really soon.” He didn’t answer. Just curled deeper into the couch like a forgotten package. His tiny back shook with silent sobs. Twenty Minutes Later – Damian’s Office The drive was wrapped in static silence. The kind that screams louder than shouting. I gripped the steering wheel tighter with every turn, fury battling disbelief in my chest. When I arrived at Damian’s company parking lot, his car was parked in its usual spot which only confirmed that he was still in the building. Inside the lobby, the receptionist, Sophia, looked up with forced brightness. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Damian.” I didn’t return the smile. “Is he in?” She nodded, hesitant. “He’s in a board meeting right now… but you can wait in his office if you’d like.” I didn’t wait for her to finish. My heels echoed against the marble as I strode toward the elevator. The top floor smelled like polished wood and synthetic calm, everything clean and lifeless. Through the glass wall ahead, I saw him. Damian, leading a meeting like he wasn’t an hour late to his son’s birthday. Like nothing existed outside this world of suits, screens, and shallow smiles. Still, I gave him one last chance in my mind. One last thread of grace. I entered his office, typing in the code I wasn’t sure I still had the right to use. And then I saw her. Victoria. Sitting behind his desk like she belonged there — legs crossed, smirk painted in place, eyes as cold as polished steel. She didn’t flinch when I walked in. Didn’t stand, just tilted her head, amused. “I was wondering how long it would take you.” Her voice dripped venom. “Your desperation is like clockwork, ticking every second.” I didn’t turn or answer her. I walked straight to the window and stared out, trying so hard to calm the raging storm of anger boiling inside me. She stood, and walked towards me, her arms folded. “He left his phone with me,” she said letting out a chuckle. “I saw every message, watched it pop up over and over again. “You’re really persistent when ignored, aren’t you? She asked, closing the gap between us. I clenched my fists hard, my knuckles whitening. “I don’t care what you saw.” “Oh, but you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, dressed up like the main character in a tragedy that no one wants to finish watching.” I turned to her slowly. Our faces were inches apart. “I’m still his wife, the mother of his child. Not the office w***e who threw herself at a married man just to feel important.” Her face twitched, briefly. The mask cracked. Then returned, crueler than before. “You think you’ve won something?” she whispered. “You’re just the stain he couldn’t scrub out, the pity project. He never loved you.” “Then why are you so threatened by me?” I snapped. And then it happened. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a silver knife.“Without warning, she twisted the blade inward — no hesitation, no flinch and drove it into her shoulder. The sound of tearing fabric, the wet thud of steel meeting flesh, froze me in place. My breath hitched but it was too late. Blood bloomed across her blouse like a red flower. She let out a scream that made the walls tremble, then dropped the knife and kicked it expertly toward my feet. The beep on the elevator door snapped me back to reality. She had just stabbed herself and blamed it all on me. Yes, I was angry, but I’d never do that. Damian didn’t even look twice. What was I doing here? What was the point? He wouldn’t listen. He never did. My screams were drowned by the chaos. She didn’t need to win, she just needed me to lose. As the elevator doors slid shut, I caught one last look at Victoria, still bleeding but smiling and in that split second, a voice I barely recognized whispered in my ears: If they want a villain… give them one….