Make Him Pay: My Ultimate Revenge

Cristofer set the empty mug down and walked back upstairs to shower off the smell of alcohol. The moment he disappeared into the master suite, Arielle's smile vanished. She moved quickly. She walked into the guest bathroom next to the kitchen and locked the heavy wooden door behind her. She turned the sink faucet on full blast. The loud rushing water would cover any sound. She unzipped her fifty-thousand-dollar Hermes Birkin bag. She reached deep into a hidden zipper compartment at the bottom. She pulled out Cristofer's private phone. It was completely dry. It had never touched the pool water. She pressed the power button. The screen lit up instantly. The lock screen was flooded with notifications. 47 Missed Calls. 12 New Voicemails. Every single one of them was from the contact pinned at the top of the screen: Corrine. A toxic wave of jealousy burned in Arielle's chest. She hated that name. She hated that some orphaned nobody had managed to marry the most powerful man in New York. Arielle unlocked the phone. She tapped the voicemail icon. She pressed play on the first message. The speaker crackled. Then, Corrine's voice filled the bathroom. "Cris... my water broke... there's so much blood... please help me..." Corrine was gasping for air. She sounded like she was dying. Hearing the agonizing pain in her rival's voice didn't make Arielle feel pity. It sent a thrilling shiver down her spine. She tapped the next message. And the next. She listened as Corrine's voice went from panicked, to desperate, to a weak, broken sob. "Poor little rich wife," Arielle whispered to her reflection in the mirror. She let out a dark, cruel laugh. She tapped the 'Edit' button in the top right corner of the screen. She selected every single voicemail. Her finger hovered over the red 'Delete' icon. She didn't hesitate. She pressed it. A prompt popped up: Are you sure you want to permanently delete these messages? Arielle hit Confirm. In less than three seconds, every trace of Corrine fighting for her life was erased from existence. To be safe, Arielle went into the call log. She swiped left on all forty-seven missed calls, deleting them one by one. She cleared the text message inbox. When the phone was completely wiped clean, she held down the power button and shut the device off. She shoved it back into the hidden compartment of her bag. She splashed some cold water on her face. She patted it dry with a towel and adjusted her messy bun. She looked perfectly innocent again. She unlocked the bathroom door and walked out. Cristofer was coming down the stairs. He was wearing a fresh pair of slacks and a black polo shirt. He was holding his work phone to his ear. His face was pale with fury. "What's wrong, Cris?" Arielle asked, rushing over to him. She placed a gentle hand on his chest. Cristofer ended the call. His jaw muscles twitched. "Cole checked her cards," Cristofer said, his voice dangerously low. "She hasn't spent a single cent since yesterday. And the garage cameras showed her getting into a random yellow cab. She didn't even take the family driver." Arielle gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh my god. She took a dirty cab by herself? At nine months pregnant? That is so irresponsible!" The word irresponsible hit Cristofer like a lit match in a room full of gasoline. He was obsessed with the safety of his heir. The idea that Corrine was risking his child's life just to play games made his blood boil. "Irresponsible?" Cristofer shouted, slamming his fist against the back of the leather sofa. "She's insane!" He paced the floor. He was convinced Corrine was doing this on purpose. She was cutting off all financial tracking to hide from him. She wanted to humiliate him. She wanted to force him to issue a public apology for the TMZ photos. The thought of being manipulated by his own wife disgusted him. He grabbed his phone and hit redial. Cole answered immediately. "Freeze all of her supplementary Black Cards," Cristofer ordered, his voice echoing through the massive villa. "Lock her out of the trust accounts. Right now." "Sir, are you sure?" Cole asked hesitantly. "Did I stutter?" Cristofer roared. "Call every luxury hotel and private club in Manhattan. Tell them if they give her a room, they are making an enemy of the Clarke empire." He gripped the phone so hard the plastic case creaked. "Let's see how long a woman with zero dollars in her pocket can survive in this city," Cristofer sneered. He hung up the phone. He dropped heavily onto the sofa, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired of this marriage. Arielle sat down next to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. She gently massaged his tense neck muscles. Behind his back, her eyes gleamed with absolute triumph.