Chapter 5: When the World Starts Watching
1163 Words
Power doesn’t fall privately.
It falls when everyone is pointing and looking at you.
I ain't using knives or bullets against Adrian.
It would be too quick.
Too kind.
Instead, I let the world do what it does best—watch, judge, and tear apart.
I want him to suffer.
I want him to realize what really the hell called.
And I give it something delicious, tasty.
Everyone think the truth is what destroy you.
They’re wrong.
Perception does.
Adrian Vale is untouchable because the world sees him as a god in a tailored suit—a billionaire philanthropist, tech visionary, self-made empire builder with a tragic past and a flawless public image.
A man who donates millions to orphanages.
A man who married a nobody and “saved” her.
A man who could never hurt anyone.
That illusion is the armor.
So I don’t attack the man.
I crack the armor.
For two weeks, I play my role.
I attend galas.
Smile for cameras.
Wear his ring like it means something.
I laugh when he speaks. I touch his arm in public. I let him place his hand on my back like he owns me.
The media eats it up.
Power Couple.
Unexpected Love.
The Billionaire and His Mystery Bride.
They call me lucky.
They have no idea.
---
She grows bolder.
She stop hiding.
She walks beside him at events—not officially, of course. Always just close enough to be noticed, never close enough to be questioned.
She wears dresses Adrian buys.
Jewelry Adrian gives.
Confidence Adrian feeds her.
She believes the wife is a decoration.
She believes the mistress is the truth.
She’s wrong.
---
Not to a reporter.
Not yet.
First, I call a woman named Mara Chen.
Mara Chen is not famous.
She’s worse.
She’s respected.
Investigative journalist. Awards. Lawsuits. Enemies.
She doesn’t write gossip.
She writes downfalls.
When she answers, her voice is bored.
“Make it worth my time,” she says.
I smile.
“Oh,” I reply softly. “It will ruin a billionaire.”
Silence.
Then: “I’m listening.”
---
I don’t hand over proof.
Not yet.
I give her threads.
Dates that don’t line up.
Shell companies.
Charity funds that loop back into private accounts.
Security footage that disappears.
A mistress hidden as a “personal assistant.”
A wife with no prenuptial agreement.
A death ruled an accident that wasn’t.
Marcus Hale’s name lands between us like a corpse.
Mara exhales slowly.
“This isn’t a story,” she says.
“It’s a war.”
“Yes,” I agree. “And I’m very patient.”
---
That’s what everyone thinks.
A soft piece.
A Closer Look at Adrian Vale’s Inner Circle.
No accusations.
Just questions.
Why so many executives resign quietly.
Why so many assistants sign NDAs and vanish.
Why Vale Industries donates millions—but audits are sealed.
Adrian reads it at breakfast.
Unbothered.
“Fishing,” he says dismissively.
He kisses my temple.
“You see?” he murmurs. “The world can’t touch me.”
I smile.
Neither can a storm—until it’s already inside the house.
---
Not by name.
Just a woman.
A long-term companion.
A private residence not listed under Vale assets.
Photos taken from a distance.
Blurry.
Suggestive.
The internet does the rest.
Mistress rumors explode.
Stock dips slightly.
Adrian snaps at his assistants.
Lila cries.
I watch.
That night, he corners me in the study.
“Did you speak to anyone?” he asks calmly.
I tilt my head.
“About what?”
“The articles.”
I meet his gaze without flinching.
“Why would I?” I ask. “I’m your wife.”
The word tastes like poison.
He searches my face.
He finds nothing.
Because I’ve already burned that part of myself away.
---
Mysterious Death Reopened: Was Marcus Hale Really a Suicide?
This one hits like a bomb.
Old photos surface.
Financial ties between Hale and Vale Industries.
A timeline that makes no sense.
Anonymous sources suggest coercion.
Blackmail.
Silence bought with money.
Adrian doesn’t eat breakfast.
His phone never stops ringing.
Vale Industries drops five percent in a day.
Board members demand meetings.
Sponsors hesitate.
The armor cracks.
---
She confronts me in the garden.
Tears. Panic. Desperation.
“You did this,” she accuses. “You’re trying to destroy him.”
I step closer.
“Destroy?” I repeat softly. “No. I’m just letting him be seen.”
She shakes.
“He’ll protect me,” she insists. “He loves me.”
I lean in until she can hear my breath.
“He doesn’t protect,” I whisper. “He sacrifices.”
Her face drains of color.
---
Inside Adrian Vale’s Marriage: Who Is Evelyn Vale?
My past—carefully curated.
Abandoned childhood.
No family.
No connections.
The perfect wife to silence suspicion.
The internet turns savage.
Gold digger.
Pawn.
Victim.
Conspirator.
I read every comment.
I welcome the hatred.
Because attention is fuel.
---
He slams a glass against the wall.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says quietly.
“No,” I reply. “I’m enduring it.”
His eyes darken.
“You need me,” he says. “Without me, you’re nothing.”
I step closer.
“So prove it,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hit me.
He doesn’t have to.
Power like his prefers to rot slowly.
---
Vale Industries Under Federal Investigation.
That headline circles the globe.
Authorities confirm inquiries.
Assets freeze.
Partners flee.
Charities distance themselves.
The board turns hostile.
Adrian Vale—the untouchable—becomes toxic.
And in the middle of it all—
A wife who never speaks.
Never defends.
Never denies.
The silence screams.
---
Paparazzi swarm.
Questions turn sharp.
“Mrs. Vale, did you know?"
“Mrs. Vale, are you afraid of your husband?”
“Mrs. Vale, will you testify?”
I say nothing.
I let the world imagine.
And imagination is far more lethal than truth.
One night, he stands in the doorway of our bedroom.
Not angry.
Not calm.
Afraid.
“You did this,” he says.
I don’t deny it.
“I warned you,” I reply softly. “You thought I needed you.”
He laughs bitterly.
“You think this ends me?”
I meet his gaze.
“No,” I say. “This introduces you to the ending.”
Stocks fall.
Allies vanish.
Lila disappears—sent away, discarded, erased.
The world smells blood.
And it wants more.
MORE RED.
I sit alone in the dark, phone glowing with headlines, my name whispered everywhere.
This isn’t chaos.
It’s choreography.
It’s not violence.
It’s not rage.
Revenge is sitting very still while the world end slowly with the man who thought he owned you.
And knowing—
He can’t stop it.
---
Still cold.
Still heavy.
Still useful.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
Because this is only the scandal.
The fall is coming.
- Writer
