Wife's Battle Against Affair

I stared at the screen of my tablet, watching numbers climb across various metrics. Seventy-eight thousand new followers this week. Two million views on Ryan's latest video with his 'little protégé.' A fifteen percent increase in ad revenue despite my absence from camera. The data mocked me from the cool blue light of the screen, each statistic a reminder that our empire continued to thrive without my visible presence. The living room of our Beverly Hills mansion felt cavernous around me. Twelve-foot ceilings. Italian marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the infinity pool that sparkled in the California sunshine. All the trappings of success that Ryan and I had built together from nothing. I shifted on the plush white sofa, wincing as pain radiated through my abdomen—a physical reminder of what I'd lost three weeks ago.

Chapters

Chapter 2

I checked my watch—11:30 AM. Ryan and Chloe would be filming at Venice Beach for at least another three hours. Their 'Day in the Life' vlogs typically ran long, especially when Chloe insisted on multiple takes to get her 'spontaneous' reactions just right.

The house was silent as I made my way to Ryan's office, my footsteps barely audible on the plush carpet. My heart hammered against my ribs, a persistent reminder that I was crossing a line I'd never imagined necessary in our marriage.

I settled into his ergonomic chair, the leather still holding the impression of his body. His MacBook Pro sat closed on the polished desk surface. I ran my fingertips over the cool aluminum before opening it, the screen illuminating with a request for his password.

2409—our anniversary. At least he hadn't changed that yet.

The desktop appeared, cluttered with editing software, spreadsheets, and folders labeled with our various content series. Nothing unusual. Nothing that screamed infidelity. But the lingerie delivery wasn't a hallucination, and Ryan's increasingly distant behavior wasn't my imagination.

I navigated to his cloud storage, scrolling through the familiar organization system I'd created for our business years ago. Then I checked his downloads folder, his documents—nothing. Whatever he was hiding, he was being careful.

Careful, but not careful enough. Ryan had always been terrible with technology beyond what he needed for content creation. I opened Terminal and executed a search for recently modified hidden folders, a trick I'd learned during our early days of building the business.

There it was: a folder labeled "Memories—Chloe," tucked away where he thought I'd never look.

My finger hovered over the trackpad. Did I really want to see this? The answer burned in my throat like bile. I needed to know.

I clicked.

Hundreds of photos filled the screen, organized in subfolders by date and location. My stomach clenched as I opened the first one. Chloe, draped across a hotel bed I didn't recognize, wearing nothing but a smile. The timestamp: three days after my miscarriage.

I scrolled through image after image, each one a fresh wound. Chloe in the shower. Chloe wearing my husband's shirt. Chloe and Ryan reflected in a hotel mirror, his hands on her body in ways that left no doubt about their relationship.

"It's just business, Mads," he'd said when I questioned why they needed overnight trips to create content. "We're capturing the lifestyle our followers want."

I opened a subfolder labeled "Napa—Weekend Getaway." The same Napa trip Ryan had promised to take me on for years. The trip we'd planned to celebrate our pregnancy before I lost the baby.

Attached to the photos were receipts—hotel confirmations, dinner reservations for two, spa appointments. All business expenses, no doubt, written off against our company while I sat home recovering, building the backend systems that kept our empire running.

Beside the images folder was a text file simply titled "Notes." I opened it to find Ryan's voice-to-text ramblings, apparently dictated after their encounters:

"Chloe incredible tonight. Can't get enough. Madison still suspicious but easy to handle. Just mention business metrics and her eyes glaze over. Getting harder to pretend at home. Chloe wants me to leave. Maybe soon."

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. I blinked them back, refusing to cry. Not now. I needed to see everything, understand the full scope of their betrayal.

I closed the laptop and pulled out my phone, opening Instagram. I navigated to Chloe's profile—the one I'd helped her optimize when Ryan first brought her on as our "apprentice."

Her feed told the story I'd been too blind to see. Photos in Malibu at sunset, captioned: "Some views are worth keeping all to yourself 😉 #blessed #secretspot." I recognized the location—it was where Ryan had proposed to me.

A post from Napa showed her holding a glass of wine against a backdrop of vineyards. "When he takes you to the most romantic spot in California #luckygirl #heknowswhatilike."

The comments were filled with our followers asking if she was with Ryan, where I was, if there was something going on. She'd replied to one: "Some things are better left unspoken... for now 💋"

The most recent post, from just yesterday, showed her in a hotel room I recognized as the Four Seasons. Our regular suite. Our bed. The caption read: "Taking her place feels so right #levelup #newchapter."

I set my phone down, my hands perfectly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. The analytical part of my brain—the part that had built our business strategy and made us millions—was already cataloging, organizing, planning.

Ryan thought he was being clever. Chloe thought she was winning. Neither of them remembered who really built this empire.

Neither of them knew what I was capable of when betrayed.

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I wore champagne silk because Xavier said it was his favorite color on me. That was three years ago, but I held onto it. That's the thing about a marriage going quiet—you start collecting the small kindnesses like artifacts, proof that it was real. The bracelet was on my left wrist. Pale green jade, worn smooth at the edges, the clasp slightly loose in the way I'd never fixed because my mother had worn it loose too. I pressed my right hand flat against my stomach once, just for a second, standing in the elevator on the way up to the rooftop. A private thing. A secret I'd carried for eleven days, waiting for the right moment. Tonight was supposed to be it. The party was beautiful.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

After the Assistant Revealed His Secret Identity

8.0

I stood at the edge of the Manhattan charity auction ballroom, a glass of untouched champagne in my hand. The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the sea of designer gowns and custom tuxedos, but their light couldn't penetrate the chill that had settled in my chest hours ago. My gray sheath dress—tailored, elegant, but deliberately understated—felt suddenly like armor against the glittering crowd. Across the room, Gabriel's laugh cut through the ambient chatter. My husband of six years hadn't bothered to arrive with me, choosing instead to meet Isabella at the entrance. Even now, he leaned close to her, whispering something that made her tilt her head back in delight, her diamond earrings catching the light. The intimacy of the gesture was unmistakable—and intentional. "Mrs. Sterling." A silver-haired woman from the hospital board nodded as she passed. "Lovely event." "Indeed," I replied, my practiced smile sliding into place.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

Bend Over His Desk:His secret Obsession

8.6

⸻ "Sweetheart, do you like it when I touch you?" "Yes... yes, I do, Mr. Steele." "Who do you belong to, fiery one?" "You... I'm all yours." By morning, I'm his secretary. By night... I'm bent over his desk, moaning his name. He says it's just pleasure. Just business. But his touch tells a different story. I'm Sienna Ward-just a girl trying to survive in a cold world. He's Dominic Steele-ruthless billionaire CEO, dangerously handsome, and secretly mine. He's addicted to me-my lips, my body, my fire. In his office, I wear a pencil skirt. Behind locked doors, I wear nothing but his hunger. But there's a catch... He's engaged-to Clara. My ex-best friend. The senator's daughter. The woman who once had my back... until she buried a knife in it. Dominic's mother says I'll never belong in their world. But what if I'm already carrying a piece of it? I was supposed to be his plaything. Now, I might be the mother of his child.

Billionaire Modern Mystery

9.8

Breaking Free from CEO

9.8

The Mandarin Oriental ballroom glittered like a dream. Crystal chandeliers cast diamond-like reflections across the sea of Manhattan's business elite, all here to celebrate Sterling Enterprises' biggest triumph—my triumph. My hand instinctively went to my clutch, feeling the weight of both the five-billion-dollar deal documents and the platinum engagement ring I'd purchased last month. Tonight was the night everything would change. Seven years of shadows were about to end. I smoothed down my midnight blue gown, chosen specifically because Logan once said it made my eyes look like 'oceans he could drown in.' The thought brought a smile to my lips. How many nights had I spent working until dawn, sacrificing sleep, friendships, and even my health for this moment? The migraine medication in my purse was a silent reminder of the toll, but it would all be worth it now. "Nicole! You look stunning," Jessica Chen, a junior executive I'd mentored, approached with a champagne flute.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.2

He Killed Love, She Killed His Empire

7.2

I was securing the diamond clasp of my necklace when the security monitor blinked to life, revealing my husband burying his face between his assistant's thighs. Just an hour later, Dante Moretti stood by my side at the Gala, playing the part of the devoted Capo, while his mistress smirked at me from across the room in a dress that screamed for attention. I wanted to leave. I had packed my bags, ready to disappear. But then the doctor told me the news: I was six weeks pregnant with the Vitiello-Moretti heir. I thought the baby might save us. I thought it would stop the madness. I was wrong. When his mistress accused me of betrayal to cover her own tracks, Dante didn't listen to his wife. He listened to the woman warming his bed. In a blind rage, the man who swore to protect me struck me down. I felt the sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen before I even hit the stone floor. As blood stained my pristine white dress, I realized he hadn't just broken his vows. He had killed our unborn son. So, when the opportunity came to detonate the gas line and fake my own death, I didn't hesitate. I let the world believe Seraphina Moretti died in that explosion. Ten years later, I returned to a city that thought I was a ghost. I dismantled his supply lines, froze his assets, and watched his empire crumble piece by piece. And when he was finally on his knees in the rain, broken and destitute, I stepped out of the shadows. I didn't come back for his money. I came back to hand him the ultrasound photo of the child he murdered. "Hello, Dante."

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.7

Loving Mr CEO

7.7

Aida's life is already complicated. A controlling boyfriend. A job that drains her. A heart tired of giving more than it gets. So the last thing she expects is Mike-the quiet, handsome "new trainee" who walks into the office with a mysterious calm and an unexpected kindness. He's humble. Soft-spoken. Nothing like the men she's used to. But something about him feels... different. Dangerous. Safe. All at once. As their friendship blooms, jealous eyes begin to watch. Whispers spread. Fake friends interfere. And even Mike's family stands against them. Two hearts drawn to each other. One relationship already falling apart. Secrets that can destroy everything. In a company filled with gossip, power, and hidden agendas, Aida and Mike must decide- is this friendship worth the risk? Or will the growing tension ruin them before they even begin?

Billionaire Modern Mystery

Wife's Battle Against Affair

Chapter 2

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