The Pregnant Ex-Wife's Vengeance

"Fifty million dollars in debt, and he still expects a bailout."

I tossed the glossy financial report onto the glass table. The binder landed with a loud thud, echoing through the penthouse suite of the Grand Plaza.

Five years after my blood washed down a storm drain, I sat on the opposite side of a silk privacy screen. The embroidered fabric separated my private office from the guest entrance.

I traced the jagged white scar running up my left wrist. The ghost of the pain lingered, a permanent reminder of the rain, the tires, and the terror of nearly losing my baby. Noah Thorne had stepped out of his SUV that night. He didn't just rush me to the hospital. He paid my medical bills, mentored me, and handed me the keys to his venture capital firm.

Now, I held the executioner's axe over the man who threw me away.

"The guests are at the door," my assistant whispered through the earpiece.

"Send them in," I said.

The double doors swung open.

Through the translucent silk of the screen, two figures stepped into the suite. Liam Preston walked in first. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, but the fabric hung loosely on his frame. His shoulders sagged. The arrogant posture he carried five years ago had evaporated.

Chloe clung to his right arm. She wore a tight red dress, her face painted with flawless makeup, yet her eyes darted nervously around the opulent room.

"Step forward," I commanded, pressing the silver button on the desk console.

The voice changer distorted my tone into a deep, mechanical rasp.

Liam flinched at the sound. He stopped a few feet from the screen and lowered his head. He bowed. The proud, ruthless Liam Preston actually bent at the waist.

"Thank you for granting us this meeting," Liam said, his voice hoarse. "Preston Enterprises is on the brink. Your capital injection is our only lifeline."

My fingernails dug into my palms. The sting grounded me.

"We are incredibly grateful," Chloe chimed in, forcing a sweet, melodic tone. "My fiancé has worked tirelessly. We just need a little help to get over this hurdle. We know your firm only backs winners."

"I did not ask you to speak," I said through the modulator.

Chloe snapped her mouth shut. Her silhouette stiffened behind the silk.

"Your financial reports are garbage, Mr. Preston," I said, leaning closer to the microphone. "You mismanaged three major acquisitions. Your board is ready to oust you. Your stock plummeted forty percent this quarter. Why should I throw fifty million dollars into a sinking ship?"

Liam gripped his briefcase with both hands. "Because the core technology is sound. We just need runway to launch the new software."

"Runway?" I scoffed, the voice changer making it sound like grinding metal. "You need a miracle. You fired your lead developer last month. Your competitors are eating your market share. You are bleeding cash."

"Give me six months," Liam pleaded, stepping closer to the barrier. "I will double your return. I swear it."

"Promises from a desperate man mean nothing."

"I will do whatever it takes," Liam insisted. "Any terms you want. Extra equity, board seats, a complete restructuring of the executive team. Just name your price."

I smiled without warmth.

"Whatever it takes?" I repeated.

"Yes."

I tapped my manicured fingers against the mahogany desk.

"I will sign the fifty million dollar check today," I said. "On one condition."

"Name it," Liam answered instantly.

"If you want me to keep investing, Liam dates me for one night."

Silence slammed into the room.

Chloe's shadow jerked violently. She grabbed Liam's bicep, her voice shrill. "What kind of sick joke is this? Liam, tell her no!"

I watched them through the embroidered cranes on the silk.

"It is not a joke," I said. "One night. Alone. You belong to me until sunrise. Do that, and the fifty million hits your account by morning."

"You are disgusting!" Chloe shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at the screen. "We are getting married next month! He is not some escort you can just buy!"

"Everything has a price," I said smoothly. "And right now, Liam's price is exactly fifty million dollars."

"Let's go," Chloe demanded, tugging at his arm. "We will find the money somewhere else. We don't need this freak."

Liam did not move.

His feet remained planted on the carpet. His head stayed lowered.

"Liam?" Chloe asked, her voice cracking. "Move. We are leaving."

"Chloe..." Liam muttered, the sound barely escaping his throat.

"Are you crazy?" She yanked his sleeve harder. "She wants to sleep with you! Tell her to go to hell!"

"If I walk out that door, the bank seizes everything tomorrow at eight in the morning," Liam whispered, staring at the floor. "My family loses the estate. Hundreds of employees lose their jobs."

"I don't care about the company!" Chloe screamed. "I care about us! Tell her no!"

"I have to save the company," Liam said, his voice flat. "My father built this empire. I will not be the one who lets it crumble."

"So you will sell yourself instead?" Chloe shrieked.

"It is just one night," Liam rationalized, turning to face her. "One night to secure our entire future."

"Our future?" Chloe scoffed. "If you stay in this room, there is no us. The wedding is off."

"Don't do this, Chloe. Be reasonable."

"Reasonable? You are agreeing to sleep with a stranger!"

I leaned back in my leather chair, watching the exchange. Five years ago, Liam tossed his pregnant wife to the curb for this woman. Now, he was ready to toss her aside for a check.

"Time is running out, Mr. Preston," I interrupted. "Do we have a deal, or should I call security to escort you out?"

Liam swallowed hard. The muscles in his jaw flexed. He looked at Chloe, then turned his gaze back to the silk screen.

"Will you put the agreement in writing?" Liam asked me.

Chloe gasped. She stumbled backward, dropping his arm as if his skin burned her.

"You piece of trash," Chloe spat.

She slapped him across the face. The smack echoed through the suite.

Liam didn't flinch. He just stood there, wearing the red mark on his cheek.

"Fine! Sell yourself!" Chloe yelled.

She spun around on her heels, sprinting for the exit. The doors slammed shut behind her, rattling the walls.

Liam stood alone in the center of the room. The silence stretched, and suffocating.

I picked up the black plastic rectangle resting beside the microphone. I flicked my wrist, sliding the room keycard under the bottom gap of the screen.

It glided across the polished marble floor and stopped dead against the toe of his leather shoe.