The Betrayed Wife's Spectacular Sweet Revenge

"Arthur," Alia said, her voice slipping back into professional smoothness. Even as she had just demanded the perfect proposal from her team, a nagging instinct told her Shane's arrogance wasn't just stupidity-it was a symptom of a larger rot. She needed her team sharp, regardless of what was coming.

Arthur cleared his throat. The sound was wet and nervous.

"Alia," Arthur said. He paused. "The city council had a closed-door session this morning. We are... re-evaluating the municipal project."

Alia's fingers gripped the edge of the glass table.

"We passed the technical audit two weeks ago," Alia said.

"I know," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry, Alia."

He hung up.

Alia shoved her phone into her pocket. She grabbed her coat and practically ran to the elevator.

Twenty minutes later, Alia's car jerked to a stop in the red zone outside City Hall. She threw the parking pass on the dash and slammed the door.

She walked fast across the marble floor of the lobby. Her heels echoed sharply against the stone. She bypassed the security desk and headed straight for the private elevators.

She turned the corner on the second floor and saw Arthur. He was holding a leather briefcase, pressing the down button frantically.

Alia stepped in front of him, blocking the elevator doors.

Arthur jumped. He clutched his briefcase to his chest.

"Alia, you can't be here," he whispered, looking up and down the empty hallway.

Alia stepped closer. She invaded his personal space, forcing him to back up against the wall.

"Explain it to me," Alia demanded.

Arthur wiped sweat from his upper lip. He looked terrified. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into an empty, unlit meeting room. He shut the door.

He unzipped his briefcase. His hands were shaking. He pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it at her.

"A Wall Street capital firm stepped in last night," Arthur said.

Alia looked at the paper. It was a two-page bid summary. She scanned the numbers. Her eyes widened.

"This profit margin is negative," Alia said, her voice rising. "This doesn't even cover the raw materials. This is a suicide bid."

"They are paying entirely in cash," Arthur said, holding his hands up in surrender. "No municipal bonds. No city guarantees. They are eating the cost."

Alia gripped the paper so hard it crumpled in her fist.

"That's illegal," Alia snapped. "It's predatory pricing to create a monopoly. Why did the council accept this?"

Arthur looked at the floor. "The Mayor's office got a phone call at midnight. Whoever this firm is, they have enough power to bypass the entire legal framework. Let it go, Alia. You can't fight them."

A cold weight dropped into Alia's stomach. Six months of late nights, six months of fighting for budget approvals, wiped out by a single phone call.

She threw the crumpled paper onto the table.

"Legatum doesn't roll over," Alia said.

She turned and walked out of the room.

She pushed through the heavy doors of City Hall. The midday sun hit her face, bright and blinding. The steel and glass skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed over her, casting long, sharp shadows.

Her marriage was a lie. Her career-defining project was being stolen.

She stood on the concrete steps. She took a deep breath, letting the smell of exhaust fumes and hot asphalt fill her nose.

She pulled her phone out. She called Clara.

"I need your financial contacts," Alia said, her voice hard. "Someone just hijacked my city project. I need the name of the actual buyer behind the shell company. You have twenty-four hours."

She hung up. She walked down the steps toward her car. Her blood pumped fast, hot and aggressive. She was going to find out who did this.