1 On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband abandoned me on a rain-drenched street corner in the middle of a torrential downpour. He had more important things to do, like watching the anniversary fireworks with his first love. When I called to confront him, his voice carried nothing but cold irritation. Instead of an apology, he sent me a link to a ninety-nine-cent trial service. “Glinda, get a grip on reality,” his text read. “If my parents hadn’t insisted on marrying a quiet, easily managed doormat, do you honestly think a girl with a fishmonger father would ever set foot in the Goldblum estate?” “If you’re so lonely, here is a ninety-nine-cent virtual boyfriend. You can talk to him all month.” “I bought this to keep you entertained. Next time you want to cry, do it to him. Stop ruining my night with Gemma!” Behind the screen, I could picture his sneer, discarding me like a stray dog begging for scraps. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just quietly tapped the link. After adding the contact on the app, I typed with numb fingers: “What does a ninety-nine-cent monthly subscription actually get me?” I expected automated sympathy or cheap platitudes. Instead, the reply came instantly, presenting a stark, ice-cold menu: [99¢ Premium Service Package (Promo Code: First Month Free)] [1. Assist client in liquidating and transferring illicit pre-marital assets, ensuring the cheating husband is left penniless.] [2. Systematically dismantle the mistress’s reputation, leaving her completely blacklisted in high society.] [3. Provide a secure offshore tax haven to guarantee your legal claim to the entire Goldblum fortune.] “Who… who are you?” The freezing wind bit into my cheeks, but my eyes remained glued to the screen. My fingers trembled over the keypad. A random virtual chatbot found on a discount app? How could he make such absurd promises of destroying the city’s newest tech tycoon and transferring Goldblum assets? The other side didn’t answer. Three seconds later, an image popped up. It was a high-resolution wire transfer slip. A transaction from two weeks ago, routed through an offshore account. The sender was my husband, Garrick Goldblum. The recipient was an offshore real estate agency. The memo line read: [Gift for my beloved wife, Gemma Lin. Final payment for the Malibu Cove Villa.] “Beloved wife.” A dry laugh escaped my throat. I had given up my graduate studies for this man. I had lived on instant ramen for a year, pulling all-nighters to sketch designs that secured his company’s first investments. Now that Goldblum Holdings was a multi-million-dollar empire, he was using our hard-earned money to buy a beachside estate for his childhood sweetheart, calling her his “beloved wife.” The cold numbers on the screen woke me up from a five-year dream. [Take your time to think. Do not act rashly until you have established your leverage.] That was the last message. The chat fell silent. I didn’t reply. I simply turned around and walked back to the mansion that supposedly belonged to Garrick and me. The next morning. The click of the electronic lock echoed from downstairs. Garrick walked in, his designer jacket draped over Gemma’s shoulders. She was clinging to his arm, looking fragile and small. When she spotted me sitting on the living room sofa, she shrank back with practiced vulnerability. “Garrick… is Glinda mad at me? I’m so sorry. The fireworks last night were just so beautiful, and I got a bit tipsy. I didn’t mean to drag you away from her…” “Why would she be mad? She doesn’t have the right to be,” Garrick cut her off, walking over to the sofa. He looked down at me, his voice sharp with command. “Glinda, Gemma is pregnant. The doctor said she’s extremely delicate and needs absolute peace. The master bedroom gets the best sunlight, so pack up your things today. You’ll be moving to the maid’s quarters on the first floor.” I gripped the armrest of the sofa. Pregnant? He truly didn’t care about appearances anymore. If this had been yesterday, I would have thrown a tantrum, smashing the glass on the coffee table. But now, all I could see was the eighty-million-dollar wire transfer. I stood up. “Fine. I’ll move.” Garrick blinked, visibly caught off guard. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. “What kind of mind game is this?” he sneered. “Don’t think playing the quiet victim will make me feel guilty. Glinda, remember who you are. Without me, a fishmonger’s daughter is nothing in this city. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make sure Gemma is comfortable!” I ignored him and walked into the master bedroom. I pulled out my suitcases and packed my clothes, books, and our wedding memorabilia. No tears. No drama. While they were downstairs eating breakfast, I pulled out a micro-camera I had bought at a convenience store the night before. Stepping onto a chair, I carefully hid it inside the smoke detector on the ceiling. I linked it to my phone, securing the live feed in an encrypted cloud drive. [Camera is live,] I texted the mysterious number. The response was prompt: [Patience. Let them expose themselves. Gather every piece of evidence showing him stripping marital assets. Remember, a hunter must play dead before drawing the net.] I locked my phone and dragged my bags down to the tiny service room. On the nightstand lay my hand-drawn drafts for Goldblum Holdings’ upcoming product line. I stared at them for a second, then tossed them straight into the trash. From this moment on, the Glinda who loved Garrick was dead. 2 On my third day in the service room, Garrick’s mother, Eleanor, arrived. She immediately pinched her nose as she entered the house. “Eleanor, what a lovely surprise! Please, sit down,” Gemma chimed, scurrying over with a freshly sliced fruit platter. “Oh, my sweet girl, don’t strain yourself!” Eleanor fussed, guiding Gemma to the sofa before turning a glaring eye toward me as I poured water in the corner. “Some useless hens can’t even lay an egg, yet they expect my pregnant daughter-in-law to wait on them?” “Glinda, is this how your dirty fishmonger father raised you? Dirt remains dirt, no matter how much gold you wrap it in!” I squeezed the glass in my hand, staring back calmly. “I’m finalizing the blueprints for next week’s corporate bid. I don’t have time for this.” “Oh, Eleanor, don’t be angry with Glinda,” Gemma sighed, rubbing her eyes with mock sadness. “She stays up all night drawing. It’s so hard on her. I just wanted to help look at her sketches, but I must have clumsy hands…” The front door swung open, and Garrick stepped inside. Seeing Gemma’s teary eyes, he rushed over and pulled her into his arms. “What happened? Who upset you?” “No one… I was just being careless…” Gemma sniffled against his chest. Eleanor scoffed. “Who else could it be but that ungrateful stray you took in? Gemma was only trying to help, and she gets treated like garbage!” “Garrick, I’m telling you right now, Goldblum’s reputation cannot be dragged down by a low-class street rat. Take her cards and car keys. Every single one.” Garrick frowned, walking over to me with an outstretched palm. “Hand them over.” That included the joint account card he had given me on our wedding day, which actually held my salary from working at his company. I pulled the card and the car keys from my pocket and tossed them onto the table. Garrick’s gaze drifted to the glowing computer monitor behind me. It showed the core design sketches I had spent three months perfecting for the upcoming international luxury bid. “Not bad,” Garrick muttered, turning to Gemma. “Gemma, aren’t you attending the anniversary gala as our chief designer next week? This is perfect. We’ll put your name on these blueprints. It’ll give you the perfect spotlight in front of the board.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. I had tolerated the financial abuse and the humiliation of moving into the service room, but now he wanted to steal three months of my sweat and blood to prop up his mistress? “That is my design!” I lunged for the computer to pull the external hard drive. “Garrick, don’t you dare!” “Get off!” Garrick shoved me back hard. I lost my balance, my forehead striking the sharp corner of the desk. A sharp sting followed, and warm blood began to trickle down my face, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I held my bleeding forehead, staring at him. Garrick flinched slightly at the sight of the blood, taking a half-step back, but he quickly recovered his cold composure. “Glinda, let’s get one thing straight. Everything you eat, drink, and wear comes from my pocket. Even your miserable life is funded by me!” “You work in my company, using my resources. Anything you draw belongs to Goldblum Holdings. Consider it paid for. Don’t push your luck.” With a swift yank, he pulled the USB drive from the port, wrapped his arm around Gemma’s waist, and headed for the door. “Come on, Gemma. Let’s go pick out your gown for the gala. We shouldn’t let this mess ruin our day.” Over Garrick’s shoulder, Gemma looked back at me, her lips curling into a triumphant smirk. The house fell dead silent. I leaned against the wall, letting the blood drip slow and heavy onto the floor. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the mystery contact: [Does it hurt?] [Let them steal it. It’s a gold-plated death warrant.] I wiped the blood from my brow with the back of my hand. What Garrick didn’t know was that I had embedded custom timestamps and hidden digital watermarks deep within the source code. I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a backup drive. Let them take it. I wasn’t just going to make them spit it back out. I was going to destroy them. 3 A week later, the Goldblum Group hosted its fifth-anniversary gala and new product launch. The grand ballroom of the Regent Hotel was packed with the city’s elite. Tonight, Garrick was set to unveil the design under Gemma’s name and secure billions in venture capital. I had no gown. Eleanor had ordered the maids to throw all my clothes into the incinerator. Instead, she had tossed a catering uniform at me that afternoon. “If you still want a roof over your head, you’ll work the floor tonight. Keep your head down, do your job, and keep your mouth shut.” I stood near the edge of the ballroom, dressed in a cheap vest and slacks, holding a tray of champagne. In the center of the room, Garrick stood with Gemma, who wore the Goldblum family heirloom, a rare pink diamond necklace known as the Heart of the Ocean. They were bathed in the adoring gaze of the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” Garrick announced, raising his glass to Gemma. “Tonight is not only a celebration of our company’s journey, but also the debut of our brilliant chief designer, Gemma Lin. She is not only incredibly talented, but she is also carrying the future of the Goldblum legacy…” The crowd erupted into applause. I watched them silently. “Oh look, isn’t that the current Mrs. Goldblum?” a group of socialites whispered, walking over to my corner with their wine glasses. “Please, she’s the catering maid now. A street rat can wear designer shoes, but she’ll always smell like the fish market.” “Exactly. Can’t even keep her husband, lost her career, and now she’s serving drinks to the woman who replaced her. How pathetic.” “If I were her, I’d have jumped off a bridge by now. Some people have no dignity.” I ignored the venom, standing perfectly still. The phone in my pocket vibrated twice. [Showtime. I’m in position.] My palms grew sweaty. I was ready. Just then, Gemma detached herself from the crowd and glided toward me, holding a glass of red wine. “Glinda,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet poison, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You shouldn’t be working like this. Garrick was just angry. Please, go rest. Seeing you like this breaks my heart…” She reached out to grab my arm. Before her hand even made contact, she twisted her wrist, splashed the dark wine all over her white designer gown, and threw herself backward onto the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Ah! My baby! Glinda, why would you push me? If you hate me, take it out on me, but please don’t hurt my child!” She clutched her stomach, whimpering on the carpet. Instantly, a crowd gathered. “Gemma!” Garrick pushed through the onlookers, his face pale as he scooped her into his arms. He stood up, spun around, and delivered a brutal slap across my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “Glinda! You psycho!” Garrick roared. “If anything happens to Gemma or the baby, I will personally destroy you!” The guests began to murmur in disgust. “How malicious! Pushing a pregnant woman?” “That classless woman is just consumed by jealousy.” “Garrick should have divorced her years ago!” I wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb. My hand slipped into my pocket, gripping the backup USB. “I didn’t push her,” I said, looking Garrick dead in the eye. “You dare lie!” Eleanor pushed through the crowd, pointing a manicured finger at me. “If you didn’t push her, did she trip herself? Security! Hold this crazy bitch down!” 4 Two heavy-set security guards grabbed my shoulders, pinning my arms behind my back. “Let go of me!” I kept my spine straight, looking directly at Garrick. “There are security cameras everywhere. Pull up the feed, and let’s see who the real actress is.” “The cameras are undergoing maintenance tonight!” Eleanor spat. Of course they were. It was a setup designed to ruin me publicly. “Garrick…” Gemma whimpered, clutching her chest. “My ring! Garrick, the diamond! The pink diamond is gone!” Gasps rippled through the ballroom. “What?!” Eleanor shrieked. “It was right on your neck a second ago! You were the only one near her, Glinda! You thieving little rat, you stole our family heirloom!” Eleanor lunged forward, clawing at my catering vest. Pinned by the guards, I couldn’t move. With a dramatic flourish, Eleanor pulled a glittering diamond ring from my pocket, letting it clatter onto the floor. The room fell silent before erupting into a chorus of insults. “Oh my god, she actually stole it!” “Assaulting a pregnant woman and stealing jewelry. She’s not just pathetic, she’s a criminal!” “Trash is trash. You can’t wash away that kind of filth.” I stared at the ring on the carpet. A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. To get rid of me, they had resorted to the most cliché, desperate setup imaginable. “What are you laughing at? We caught you red-handed!” Garrick’s voice trembled slightly as he took a half-step back. He snatched a thick folder from his assistant and threw it right at my face. “Glinda, between the assault on a pregnant woman and the theft of a fifty-million-dollar heirloom, you’re looking at a lifetime behind bars!” Garrick picked up a microphone, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “But out of respect for our past, if you sign this divorce agreement and post a public confession admitting to your crimes, I won’t call the police.” He looked down at me, smug and entirely certain of his victory. He was convinced I would beg. He thought I couldn’t survive without him. I looked down at the document. The terms stripped me of every dime and saddled me with millions in shared marital debt. As the guards loosened their grip, thinking I was defeated, I wrenched my arms free and picked up the papers. “That’s more like it,” Garrick sneered. “Sign it, and get out of my sight…” I ripped the contract in half, then tore it into shreds, throwing the confetti right into his face. “I don’t need your mercy. Call the cops,” I said. “But before they get here, maybe the guests would like to see a different kind of show.” I pulled out the USB drive and walked toward the grand projection console. “Stop her! Grab that drive!” Garrick yelled, his face suddenly pale. Several security guards rushed toward me. I slotted the drive into the console, my finger hovering over the enter key. With one press, Gemma’s fake pregnancy, the plagiarized blueprints, and Garrick’s money-laundering schemes would be broadcast to the world. Just as my finger descended, the heavy double doors of the ballroom were slammed open. The chatter ceased instantly. Every head turned toward the entrance. A line of black-suited bodyguards marched in, forming a human corridor. Then, a man walked through. The entire room went dead quiet. The man scanned the room with cold, piercing eyes. I stood at the console, my hand frozen, staring at the intruder. Garrick’s face drained of color. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. “You…” Garrick gasped, his voice shaking violently. “How are you alive… You’re supposed to be dead…”
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