MY REVENGE WITH THREE BILLIONAIRES [cheated on by my husband]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There are days that start out perfectly and somewhere in the middle, something happens that ruins the rest of the week.

Today was such a day for Alisha.

She had woken up to a sun-drenched bedroom and the heavy, expensive silence of a woman who no longer had to share her air with a liar.

Sliding out from under the Egyptian cotton sheets, Alisha padded across the cold marble floor to her walk-in closet. It was a cathedral of glass, light, and leather, but today it felt different. It felt like a war room.

She spent an hour getting ready, a ritual of transformation. She stepped into a pair of charcoal pinstripe trousers that sat high on her waist, cinched by a black leather belt with a gold buckle that looked like a piece of sculpture. The matching blazer had shoulders sharp enough to cut glass, and beneath it, she wore a black silk turtleneck that felt like a second skin.

She stood before the full-length mirror, applying a deep, bruised plum lipstick. She looked tall, even if the heels were doing the heavy lifting. She looked like a woman who could command a fleet.

The drive to the office was quiet. Her driver, a man of few words, kept the partition up, allowing her to go over the logistics report for the new distribution hub. By the time she stepped out of the car at the base of the Black Corp skyscraper, she was vibrating with a sense of purpose. People parted for her in the lobby like the Red Sea.

The meeting with the logistics heads had dragged on for two hours. Alisha sat at the head of the conference table, the heavy silence of the room punctuated only by the soft scratching of pens on paper.

"The transition to the new distribution hub must be seamless," Alisha said, her voice dropping into that low, melodic tone that commanded the room. "I don’t want a single crate of product sitting in a warehouse longer than twelve hours. Is that understood?"

The heads of department nodded quickly, gathering their folders. As the room cleared, Alisha finally let her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. She reached for her phone, which had been face down on the polished wood, and tapped the screen.

The world shattered in high definition.

There it was. Charlie’s i********: story. A series of soft, grainy photos that screamed intimacy. The first was a shot of a bedside table with a half-empty glass of scotch and Kyle’s signature platinum watch, the one Alisha had commissioned for his thirty-second birthday. The next was a photo of his designer Oxfords discarded on a white rug that Alisha knew didn't belong in any of their properties.

The captions were sickeningly sweet. Mornings like these. Home is wherever you are.

Alisha felt the heat rise in her chest, a familiar, toxic burn of fury. It wasn't just the infidelity but the audacity too. The sheer, unadulterated disrespect of a woman who was currently wearing the spoils of Alisha’s empire while soft-launching her husband to the world. Kyle couldn't leave yet because his name was still woven into the fabric of her billions, but Charlie was clearly done waiting in the shadows.

The heavy double doors of the conference room swung open.

Manon marched in first, looking like she had just stepped off a Parisian runway. She was wearing a monochromatic cream ensemble: a sheer organza blouse with dramatic billowed sleeves and high-waisted wide-leg trousers that flowed like liquid as she walked. Her neck was draped in layers of heavy gold chains, and her oversized sunglasses were pushed up into her sleek blonde bob.

Following close behind was Mina, the sharp contrast to Manon’s ethereal vibe. Mina was in a power suit that meant death for whoever was on the receiving end of her litigation. It was a deep emerald green velvet, the trousers hitting perfectly at the ankle to show off her black pointed-toe heels. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful, and her eyes were already narrowed at the phone in Alisha’s hand.

"That little bottom-feeder," Manon snapped, slamming her latte down on the table. "I saw it. The watch? Really? It’s so cliché it makes me want to vomit. She has the aesthetic taste of a suburban mall."

Mina pulled out a chair and sat down, her movements precise. "The optics are messy, Lish. The blogs are already picking it up. They’re calling it the 'Black Corp Breakdown.' We need to control the narrative before the board starts asking why the CEO’s husband is leaving his shoes at a B-list influencer’s apartment who also happens to be his secretary."

"I want to break her fingers," Alisha muttered, her grip tightening on her phone. "I want to take that watch back and melt it down."

"Don't waste the energy on the girl," Manon said, leaning over to tuck a stray hair behind Alisha’s ear. "She’s a symptom, not the disease. You look too good today to be crying over a man who lets a girl like that take photos of his shoes. Look at this fit, Alisha. You look like you could buy and sell the entire zip code. Told you I’ll make you look like vengeance on heels, didn’t I? Don't let her make you feel small."

Alisha looked at her two friends. Manon, with her fiery protective streak and eye for the spectacular; and Mina, the cold, calculating mind that kept her empire safe. For a moment, the anger receded, replaced by a surge of genuine warmth. She had been through hell with Kyle for the last year, living a lie while she figured out how to untangle him from her life, but these two had never wavered.

"I don't know what I’d do without you two," Alisha said softly.

Mina reached over and squeezed her hand, her expression softening for just a second before the lawyer came back out. "You’d be fine, but you’d have a lot more legal fees and much worse clothes."

Alisha laughed, a sharp, genuine sound. She stood up and turned to Mina, the fire in her eyes shifting from blind rage to cold, calculated intent.

"Mina, I’m done being patient," Alisha said, her voice hard. "I don’t care about the 'delicate' nature of the transition anymore. Fasten the process. I want the asset restructuring moved up. Every trust, every offshore account, every single piece of property he thinks he has a claim to—I want him locked out by the end of the week."

Mina nodded, already typing on her tablet. "If we move that fast, he’ll get the notifications from the bank by Friday. He’ll know we’re coming for him."

"Good," Alisha said, picking up her Birkin and heading for the door. "Let him watch the circus with Charlie. It’ll be the only thing he has left to do once I’m finished with him."