Revenge on my Billionaire Husband

‘It’s time!’ Mr Rhodes and Mr Stone are seated in the VIP Lounge of Le Exquisite, the finest bar in New York City, drinking an 18-year-old brandy served on the rocks. ‘Tyrion has done well handling the business over the years. It’s time to leave the scene and let him take over. We have worked hard and enough as well. Let’s retire and see the world, old friend.’ Mr Rhodes says eagerly. “You have spoken well.’ Mr Stone enjoins. ‘It was just like yesterday, we were young, broke and clueless. But we had a dream, yes, a visionary dream. We kept working and we never stopped, till we got here.’ Mr. Rhodes adds. ‘I can't remember when we made the promise to each other. Was it at our one-year anniversary dinner or when we hit our first one thousand dollars in profit?’ ‘I think it was both’ ‘We never believed we could do it. After hitting the one thousand dollar mark, we knew the only way was up.’ ‘Look at us today, giants. We had losses, but we never dwindled in our resolve to build an empire.’ ‘This is the moment we talked about for most of our lives. Two broken boys from complicated roots but now mended men, making giant strides in the business we bet all we had in.’ ‘We couldn’t have done it without each other.’ ‘Your grit and business acumen combined with my negotiation prowess and street orientation,’ Mr Rhodes says amidst hearty laughs. 'We did it! Mr Stone says, raising his glass in good cheer. ‘It’s time! It’s final. Let’s get our families bound together, in true trinity :friendship, business and marriage.’ ‘The blood of the covenant is truly thicker than the water of the womb. The timing is perfect. Scarlett just finished school. I will have her board the next available flight home, so the talks can begin’, Mr Stone says. ‘I will also invite Tyrion down for a talk, man-to-man. He won't come down without a fight. I might have to threaten him.’ “Don't push him, though.’ ‘He has to learn–the hard way of a man–and the things we do to protect our families. His mother has had him too soft. He needs to understand that life gets tougher than answering the Rhodes name and controlling wealth he did not build from scratch.’ ‘You are a little too hard on him. The lad does well for his age.’ “He has no choice, but to do well. He has no excuse. I fund every crazy idea of his. I mean ‘we’ provide the backdrop he needs.’ ‘And he does an excellent job executing those ideas and managing the funds. He has also helped our business grow exponentially over the years.’ ‘And we pay him handsomely for it. I hear he is the so-called NYC’s most eligible bachelor. All he does is w***e. ‘Cut him some slack old friend, we did far worse in our younger days.’ They look at each other and laugh harder, reminiscing on the good old days. ‘It’s Scarlett I fear for.’ Mr Stone says, with some skepticism in his voice, but she’s a tough young lady. She is stronger than she lets on. She will come to terms with what she has to do for her family.’ ‘Let’s go home old boy. Let’s get our kids married. There’s a wedding to drink to.’ I have been in one position for three days. I am buried under the duvet even though the weather is hot. To my right is a box of tissue paper. I reach out for it to dab my tears about to roll down my cheeks. I haven't showered or brushed my teeth or hair in three days. I stink but I don’t care. My eyes are sore and smaller in size from crying myself to sleep and picking up from where I left in the morning. My face is sore and puffy. I can feel new acne sprouting up on my face since I haven't done my facial routine in days. Empty boxes of pizza, and take-outs litter my room. My heart has been broken to shreds. ‘Did I see it coming? Yes!’ ‘Did I ignore the signs? Yes!’ I lie still on the bed, staring at my blank ceiling, when I hear my phone ring. It’s my Dad– Papa bear. Papa bear never calls, unless he has to. He usually drops messages once in three days. He doesn’t miss. I should not take the call, as he will sense the melancholy in my voice. Why is he calling? Did he get a hint of my sadness, miles away? I pick up reluctantly, and make an attempt at faking a happy voice-over. I hear his deep voice; ‘My delightful baby girl.’ ‘Hey, Papa bear.’ ‘How is my not-so little girl doing?’ I want to break down in tears and tell him about everything. But I don't. ‘I am fine, how are you doing?’ I say holding back my tears. ‘I am always good baby’ ‘What do I owe this call to? ‘Papa bear misses you so much. I want to hold my not-so-little-girl. I want to see those beautiful eyes. I want to brush your hair baby.’ he says in hushed tones. ‘Awwn, Papa. I will check my itinerary and squeeze you in,’ I say dismissively. ‘No baby. It can’t wait. I have to tell you something, in person.’ he says with a sense of urgency. ‘Are you dying? I ask, sitting up, my mind wondering in a thousand directions. ‘Far from that baby. I just have to see you. I have booked the next available flight for you. Check your mail.’ ‘Alright Papa. See you soon’ ‘See you soon baby’, he drops the call blowing kisses. I wonder why Papa bear has to see me. I try to sleep, but I keep tossing. I am worried. And I find it’s a good distraction from my broken heart. Unable to sleep, I get up and put my room in shape. I draw up a bath and reach out for my bath bombs and scented candles. I queue a sad playlist and play it. I pop a bottle of wine;I had reserved it for our third year anniversary night two weeks from now. I get into the bathtub and soak myself. I cry at intervals and I am tempted to submerge myself entirely in water. I could drown myself and die, but I choose to drown myself in alcohol. I know it’s time to leave the bathroom when I start gnashing my teeth hard against each other. I am getting tipsy from the wine and having wild imaginations of tripping and falling to my death on the bathroom tiles, so I come out carefully, one step at a time. I get into my dressing robe and start packing for my trip back home. The question still plays over and over again in the background, no matter how hard I fight to tune it out. ‘What did Papa bear have to say to me–in person–that couldn’t wait? It’s a seven hour flight from Amsterdam to New York City. It appeared faster than usual, as I had fallen fast asleep as soon as the plane got in the air. ‘Hey ma’am, we have arrived .. the NYC airport, a pretty air hostess with long and slender legs tells me after gently nudging me awake. I got up half awake, half asleep and scurried down the stairs, eager to put an end to the tightness I felt in my chest. I picked my luggage and was about to text Papa when I saw a bold banner with the inscription “Welcome home my not-so-little girl’. Behind the banner was Vincent, Papa’s long time personal assistant holding a bouquet of flowers. I smiled and hugged Vincent. ‘Thank you’ ‘You are welcome , Princess. Your Old bear is eager to see you’ ‘As I am! Where is he?’ ‘He is in a meeting. He will join us at home in a bit’ The ride home seemed endless. We were finally home. Home was still home, exactly the way it always was. It smelled the same. I was grateful for that–some stability in my life. Papa had the housekeepers clean my room regularly so it stayed fresh. I jumped hard and high on the bed. I got into a change of clothes and waited for Papa bear’s arrival. I ran around the house like a three year old, I was Papa’s little girl afterall. Later, the chef invited me for dinner, but I insisted on waiting for him. ‘Papa bear, where are you?’ I text him. I fell asleep awaiting his arrival. I hear a knock on the door. I knew it was him.