He Cheated With My Sister, I Took His Fortune

At twenty-five, Evelyn married the living legend of Wall Street—Adrian Vale. To the financial world, he was a ruthless predator, feared and unchallenged. But to Evelyn, he was the only man who possessed a soft side. He saved his entire heart just for her. When she casually mentioned how beautiful the cherry blossoms looked in Central Park, she woke up the next day to the keys to a luxury penthouse. When she opened the French doors, a breathtaking sea of pink blooms stretched out beneath her. When crippling period cramps left her curled up in bed, Adrian walked out on a ten-billion-dollar M&A negotiation, flying overnight from Boston to New York just to brew her a warm cup of ginger tea. And in their most intimate moments, he would cup her face, his low, gravelly voice whispering, "Darling." But on their third wedding anniversary, that perfect illusion shattered. Adrian had claimed he was leaving for a business trip. Instead, Evelyn caught him with his arm wrapped around her half-sister, Layla, guiding her straight into the home Evelyn and Adrian shared. Standing frozen outside the door, Layla's whiny, flirtatious pout drifted through the c***k, "You only like me because I look like my sister, right?" "Darling, if my family hadn't blocked us because of your illegitimate status, I would have never married her," Adrian's voice replied, smooth and dripping with affection. "Your sister is nothing but a placeholder. You have to believe me. Every night I'm with her, I'm only picturing you." The repulsive, filthy words sliced through Evelyn's heart like a blade, until the agonizing pain gave way to a chilling numbness. Tears streamed down her face unbidden. Her nails bit so deep into her palms that they drew blood, but she couldn't even feel it. So, all his warmth, all his consuming passion... it was all because she resembled Layla? No wonder. No wonder when she had brought up how Layla's mother had poisoned her own mom to climb the social ladder, Adrian hadn't shown a flicker of rage. Instead, his eyes had filled with a strange, lingering regret as he sighed, claiming Layla's mother just had "bad luck." The red flags had been there all along. He had shown his true colors long ago—she had just been too blind to see them. How could she have been so blind? Evelyn blankly wiped away her tears, her shattered logic suddenly snapping back into sharp focus. She pulled out her phone and called her lawyer. "Nathan, I need a divorce agreement drafted. You have ten minutes." Next, she dialed a contact in the paparazzi circuit. "Adrian—the man with the pristine 'devoted husband' brand—is putting on a live adult show right now," she said, her voice chillingly calm. "Get your cameras here fast if you want tomorrow's front page." She walked back to her car and waited. Within minutes, a swarm of paparazzi descended on the property. Finding the front door unlocked, they barged straight in. Inside, camera flashes cut through the room like lightning. Caught completely exposed and tangled in the sheets, Adrian and Layla dissolved into instant panic. "Stop shooting! Get the hell out!" Adrian roared. But the paparazzi were like starving wolves catching the scent of fresh blood; there was no stopping them. Desperate, Adrian threw a blanket over Layla, shielding her as she scrambled out the back door, leaving him behind to face the absolute chaos alone. From her car, Evelyn watched the spectacle unfold with cold detachment. Only after the paparazzi filed out, thoroughly satisfied with their haul, did she finally step back inside. Adrian was frantically throwing his clothes on, looking utterly drained. "Evelyn? You're back? Did you... run into anyone at the door just now?" She simply shook her head and slid a document across the table. "Sign this." Adrian blinked, a faint, clueless smile touching his lips. "An anniversary gift? Well, this is unique. Let me see what you bought me." He picked up the papers, but before he could read the first line, his phone blared. He answered instantly, and Layla's frantic sobbing filled the room. Panic seized him. "Don't cry, baby. Shh, I'm on my way..." Adrian's voice trembled. Still soothing his mistress over the line, he grabbed a pen and hurriedly scribbled his signature on the final page, completely blind to what it actually was. Tossing the pen down, he rushed to shove his feet into his shoes. "Something urgent came up at the office, babe. I gotta handle it. I'll make up the anniversary to you another day, okay?" Evelyn just nodded, her face a perfect, expressionless mask. Adrian frowned, sensing a shift in the air, but the panic over Layla won. He bolted out the door like his pants were on fire. The heavy thud of the door slamming shut left Evelyn entirely alone in the cavernous living room. She looked down at the messy, rushed signature on the divorce papers. Ironically, this was probably the most decisive and efficient this man had ever been in his entire life—and it was to sign away his marriage. Her mind drifted back to three years ago, when he had chased her across continents for three months, carrying a thick stack of prenuptial agreements. From New York to London, London to Tokyo, he had practically begged her on his knees to sign the dotted line. Back then, he had looked into her eyes and promised, "Evelyn, once you sign this, you're my wife. And I'm yours for the rest of my life." Who would have guessed that wasn't the start of her happily ever after, but her first step into the abyss? Suddenly, Julian—her childhood friend—came to mind. He was the one who had always told her, "Evelyn, the moment you want out, just say the word. I'll take you away from all of this." Right on cue, Julian's name flashed on her screen. She picked up the video call to see his frantic face. "Evelyn, I just got word. Adrian and Layla... they were caught by the paparazzi. I know he's already trying to pay them off to bury the story, but... are you okay? God, please tell me you're okay. You have to believe me, it's true!" A cold, bitter smirk played on Evelyn's lips. "I know," she said quietly. "Don't worry, Julian. He and I won't be married much longer." She hung up, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the signed agreement, and texted it to her lawyer: [File it.] 'Adrian, I'm going to show you exactly what it costs to play me!'