The Genius Heiress' Ruthless Divorce Revenge

Harlow walked out of the master bedroom. The wheels of her silver suitcase clattered against the hardwood floor as she made her way toward the grand spiral staircase.

She started down the steps, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the front door.

Heavy, chaotic footsteps thundered behind her. Beck was chasing her down the stairs, yelling at the top of his lungs.

"I'm calling the bank right now!" Beck roared, his face red with fury. "I'm cutting off every single supplementary credit card you have!"

Harlow reached the center of the massive marble living room. She stopped. She reached into her designer handbag, pulled out the heavy brass spare keys to the manor, and tossed them onto the expensive marble coffee table. They landed with a sharp clatter.

Beck sprinted around the sofa and threw himself in front of her. He spread his arms wide, blocking her path. He leaned forward, trying to use his larger frame to physically intimidate her.

"If you dare file those divorce papers," Beck snarled, spit flying from his lips, "I will make sure you walk away with absolutely nothing."

He smiled then. A cruel, ugly smile. He wanted to break her spirit completely.

"You think Fallon is just some woman?" Beck taunted. "Fallon is 'Isabella'. She's the Chief Operating Officer of our biggest rival, operating under her highly-guarded industry alias."

Harlow's breath hitched. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"That's right," Beck boasted, puffing out his chest. "We are a power couple. We've been sharing resources. Holman Industries' market share will be ours soon."

The pieces clicked together in Harlow's mind. The recent, inexplicable failed bids. The leaked product designs. This wasn't just a dirty affair. This was corporate espionage. He was actively destroying her parents' legacy.

Beck saw her silence and mistook it for fear. He lifted his chin, looking incredibly smug.

"Admit you're wrong, Harlow. Apologize, and I might let you stay," Beck demanded.

He reached out his hand, aiming to pinch her chin and force her to look up at him, just like he always did when he wanted to assert control.

Harlow's eyes turned to ice.

She shifted her weight, pulled her right arm back, and channeled every ounce of her rage into her hand.

Smack!

The sound of the slap was deafening. It echoed off the high marble walls of the living room.

Harlow's palm struck Beck's cheek with brutal force. The impact snapped his head to the side. His expensive wire-rimmed glasses flew off his face and clattered onto the floor.

Beck staggered. He brought a trembling hand up to his rapidly swelling cheek. He tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

He whipped his head back around to face her. His eyes were bloodshot. He raised his hand high into the air, ready to strike her back.

Harlow didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her spine perfectly straight. She stared directly into his furious eyes.

"Touch me," Harlow said. Her voice was low, but it carried a lethal weight. "Touch me, and I will make sure you are completely ruined on Wall Street."

Beck saw the absolute ruthlessness in her eyes. The hand hovering in the air trembled. Slowly, stiffly, he lowered his arm.

"I will never sign the divorce papers!" Beck screamed, his veins popping. "I will drag this out in court until you bleed dry!"

Harlow let out a cold, dismissive laugh. She expected nothing less from a parasite.

She calmly reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She didn't break eye contact with him.

She pressed the speed-dial button for the estate's private security firm and put it on speaker.

"Send a team inside immediately," Harlow ordered, her voice perfectly steady. "Escort my ex-husband, Mr. Chase, off my private property."

Beck shook with rage. He violently yanked at his tie, loosening it. He spat a curse under his breath and turned toward the front door.

Just before he stepped out, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes were filled with venom.

"You'll be back," Beck sneered. "You'll be on your knees begging me to take you back like a dog."

Harlow didn't even look at him. She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and meticulously wiped down her right hand, scrubbing the skin that had touched his face.

The heavy front doors slammed shut behind him.

Harlow tossed the used wipe into the trash can. Her eyes were hard. The war had just begun.