Divorce: A Sweet Revenge

The morning light filtered through the windows of the private authentication room, casting a warm glow over the ancient artifacts spread across the velvet-lined table. I adjusted my gloves, carefully lifting a jade figurine that had been in my family for generations.

"Extraordinary piece, Ms. Wagner," remarked Antoine Dubois, the renowned art authenticator whose services commanded fees that would make most collectors flinch. "The craftsmanship is exceptional."

I nodded, setting down the figurine with deliberate care. "It dates back to the Ming dynasty. My great-grandfather acquired it during his travels in China."

What I didn't mention was that my great-grandfather had been one of the most prominent collectors of his time, and that this particular piece was considered a national treasure in several countries.

"And these?" Antoine gestured toward the other items I'd brought.

"Various pieces from my family's collection," I replied casually, though each item could fund an entire museum wing. "I'm considering featuring them in your upcoming Beverly Hills auction."

Antoine's eyes widened slightly. As one of the few people who knew my true identity in the art world, he understood the significance of what I was proposing.

"The Beverly Hills event is our most exclusive of the season," he said carefully. "We've already confirmed several high-profile collectors."

"Perfect." I smiled, removing my gloves. "I want these pieces featured prominently. And Antoine? I want the auction scheduled for next Saturday evening."

His eyebrows rose fractionally. "Next Saturday? That's quite... specific."

"I have my reasons," I said, my voice carrying just enough authority to end the discussion. "The pieces will arrive tomorrow for formal appraisal."

As I left the authentication room, I checked my watch. Emma would be handling the rest of the arrangements, ensuring that everything was in place for what would become the social event of the season—and Tyson's worst nightmare.

---

"Mr. Ellis, I'm afraid I have some concerning news."

The voice on the other end of the line was measured, professional—the kind of tone that preceded financial disasters.

Tyson sat behind his mahogany desk, phone pressed to his ear, his expression shifting from annoyance to confusion.

"What do you mean, 'withdrawn'? We had an agreement."

I wasn't in his office, of course, but I could picture him perfectly—the way his jaw would tighten, how he'd loosen his tie with his free hand.

"The Singapore investors cited concerns about market stability," his business partner continued. "They've pulled out of the entire project."

"That's ridiculous," Tyson snapped. "The market is stronger than ever."

There was a pause, and I could imagine the uncomfortable silence stretching between them.

"Perhaps," his partner said finally, "but they seemed quite convinced by the reports they received."

Reports. Plural. I smiled to myself, knowing exactly which reports those were.

"This is temporary," Tyson said, his voice hardening with determination. "I'll fly to Singapore if necessary. They'll come around."

I could hear the familiar confidence in his voice—the same arrogance that had led him to believe I was nothing more than a convenient substitute.

"Of course," his partner replied, though the skepticism in his voice was clear even to me. "Let me know if you need assistance arranging the meetings."

As the call ended, I could picture Tyson shaking his head, dismissing this setback as minor—something his charm and business acumen could easily overcome.

If only he knew.

---

"Beverly Hills Auction House is having their annual gala next weekend," Mercy said, her voice dripping with excitement as she lounged on Tyson's office sofa. "Everyone who matters will be there."

I watched through the security feed Emma had arranged—a small indulgence that allowed me to monitor key locations without being present physically.

"We should go," she continued, flipping through a magazine without looking up. "It's the perfect opportunity to make our first public appearance together."

Tyson glanced up from his laptop, his expression thoughtful. "The auction?"

"Yes!" Mercy sat up, suddenly animated. "We could outbid everyone on the most expensive pieces. Show everyone what real wealth looks like."

Something shifted in his expression—a calculating gleam that I recognized all too well.

"Legacy will be there," he said slowly.

Mercy's smile turned predatory. "Even better. We can show her exactly how far beneath us she really is."

I watched as Tyson's lips curved into a smile that matched Mercy's cruelty.

"Let's make it unforgettable," he agreed.

As they sealed their plan with a kiss, I closed the feed and turned to Emma, who stood beside me with a tablet displaying the final auction catalog.

"Everything is proceeding exactly as planned," she said.

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the screen where my family's artifacts gleamed under studio lights—priceless treasures that would soon become instruments of my revenge.

"The stage is set," I murmured. "Now we wait for the players to arrive."