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Midas Protocol: Seducing My Rival's Wife Novel Cover

Midas Protocol: Seducing My Rival's Wife

I sat in the freezing conference room, my knuckles white as I strangled a cheap plastic pen. Outside, Manhattan was weeping in the gray rain, but inside, the air was sterile and dead. I stared at the polished mahogany table, seeing the distorted reflection of a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours—a man about to sign his own divorce papers. Across from me, my wife Linda wouldn't even look at me. She was too busy drumming her fingers near a diamond ring that cost more than I had made in the last five years combined. Then the door swung open, and Simon Thorne walked in. The billionaire heir didn't say a word; he just walked behind Linda and placed a heavy, possessive hand on her shoulder, marking her as his. "Let's wrap this up," Simon said, checking his Patek Philippe with the bored tone of a man ordering a coffee he didn't want. Linda finally looked through me like I was a ghost and told me to stop dragging this out. She whispered that I couldn't even afford myself anymore, a physical punch to the gut given I’d lost my job three weeks ago. After I signed, Simon flicked a business card at me, mockingly offering me a job as a doorman for minimum wage. I walked out into the downpour, shivering in a suit I couldn't afford to dry clean. My phone vibrated with a text from my landlord: "Pack your things. Keys by tonight or I’m calling the cops." I stood on the corner of 5th Avenue with exactly $42.18 to my name, watching Simon kiss my wife through the glass wall of the penthouse. I was thirty, homeless, and drowning in a city of lions. I wanted to roar until my throat bled, but I just stood there, a drowned rat in a world of predators. How could I have lost everything so fast? Why was the woman who promised to stay through "for poorer" now leaning into the arms of the man who just humiliated me? Suddenly, my phone screen exploded with a blinding golden light. An app called the Midas Protocol installed itself, declaring poverty a disease and itself the cure. With one tap, a million dollars bypassed a federal hold and hit my account, and a "Nemesis Card" appeared in my digital inventory. I didn't hesitate. I typed Simon Thorne’s name into the vengeance algorithm and hit execute. The game had officially changed.
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Chapter 9

The salon smelled of eucalyptus and money.

The receptionist was a woman who looked like a model.

She was typing on a Mac.

She looked up as Duke approached.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second when she saw his clothes, but then she saw the way he walked.

Shoulders back. Head up.

"I need Andy," Duke said.

He didn't ask. He stated.

"Andy is our lead stylist," she said politely. "He's usually booked weeks in adv-"

Duke placed the titanium card on the marble counter.

Clink.

The sound was heavy. Definitive.

The receptionist looked at the card. It was alien to her, but clearly exclusive.

She swallowed.

"Let me check his schedule," she said quickly.

Two minutes later, a man walked out from the back.

He was Asian, dressed in clothes that were so fashionable they looked uncomfortable.

He had platinum blonde hair and glasses with no rims.

He looked at Duke.

He tilted his head.

"You're a disaster," Andy said.

Duke smiled. "That's why I'm here."

Andy walked around him.

"Good bone structure," he muttered. "Jawline is there, hiding under that roadkill beard. Eyes are intense. We can work with this."

He pointed to a chair.

"Sit. Don't talk. Let me work."

Duke sat.

Andy spun the chair around.

He draped a black cape over Duke.

"We're going to burn the old you," Andy said, picking up a pair of scissors. "And build something dangerous."

The scissors snipped.

Huge chunks of hair fell to the floor.

Duke watched in the mirror.

His face began to emerge.

The messy fringe was gone.

The sides were faded tight.

Andy applied hot foam to his face.

He used a straight razor.

The blade felt cold against Duke's skin.

He scraped away the scruff, leaving a sharp, deliberate stubble.

Duke's phone vibrated in his lap under the cape.

Transaction: Uber Black - $125.00

Status: Pending Reimbursement.

Duke stared at the notification.

He had spent money.

And he would get it back.

It felt like cheating. Like using a cheat code in a video game that broke the economy.

He felt a rush of dopamine so strong it made his toes curl.

"Manicure," Duke said. "And a facial."

Andy snapped his fingers.

Two assistants appeared.

For the next two hours, Duke was scrubbed, massaged, and polished.

When Andy finally spun the chair back to the mirror, Duke didn't recognize the man staring back.

The man in the mirror was sharp.

His hair was slicked back, textured, modern.

His skin glowed.

His eyes looked brighter, framed by groomed brows.

He looked like a CEO. Or a movie star.

"Damn," Andy said, wiping his hands on a towel. "If I wasn't married, I'd ask for your number."

Duke touched his face.

It was smooth.

He stood up.

He looked taller.

He felt lighter.

He walked to the counter.

"Total?"

"$1,200," the receptionist said.

Duke handed her the card.

Transaction: L'Artiste - $1,200.00

Status: Pending Reimbursement.

He walked out of the salon.

The cool night air hit his fresh skin.

He took a deep breath.

He felt electric.

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