In the dim, amber-lit haze of the VIP lounge, my fiancé, Justin, was playing a game of “Never Have I Ever” with his inner circle. Someone leaned over the velvet booth, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. “Let’s turn up the heat. How many women in this room right now have slept with Justin Pierce?” Without missing a beat, three hands went up simultaneously: Bridget, his tomboy best friend; Ivy, the fragile little girl who grew up next door to him; and Keira, his newly hired executive assistant. The room erupted into rowdy laughter. “Damn, Justin! Look at all these gorgeous women in your orbit, and in the end, you let some stray weed pin you down.” “Give her some credit. She’s guarded his front door for five whole years just to secure a ring.” “Credit? Elena only clings to him for the family fortune. Look at her—she wouldn’t dare make a peep.” Dozens of mocking eyes flicked toward me, hungry for a crack in my composure. Justin chuckled lazily, rose from his seat, and leaned down to press a soft, possessive kiss against my cheek. “All right, that’s enough,” he murmured, his voice smooth as aged bourbon. “Keep our private life out of this, or Elena might actually get upset.” He tapped my jaw playfully. “Don’t wear that long face, darling. As the future lady of the house, show a little grace, hmm?” I blinked, offering him a serene smile that never quite reached my eyes. None of them knew that six years ago, I had bound myself to a karmic infidelity rebate system. Every single time Justin cheated on me, ten million dollars was wired directly into my secret, offshore account. Who cared about being the dutiful, submissive wife? In this lifetime, my only ambition was to take his entire empire. … “Ping.” A discrete notification flashed across my smartwatch: “Incoming wire transfer: $30,000,000.00.” I glanced down, and the smile on my face grew undeniably genuine. Bridget slid onto the leather cushion beside Justin, intentionally pressing her shoulder against his chest. “Drink up!” she declared, raising her tequila bottle, her almond eyes glistening with reckless warmth. “Who cares about inside or outside the house? Even after you tie the knot, you and I are still brothers for life!” Across the table, Ivy, wrapped in an ethereal white dress, dabbed at her brimming eyes like a delicate porcelain doll. “Justin… once you’re married, are you just going to throw me away?” The entire table locked their eyes onto me again, waiting for the inevitable tears, the jealous outburst, the humiliating scene. Instead, Justin merely smirked, drowning in his own vanity. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Ivy.” Before the tension could settle, Keira leaned over from behind his chair, her phone outstretched. “Mr. Pierce, we have an issue with the BlueCore Project. It affects the raw material logistics for next week.” She swept a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice dropping into a sultry, suggestive cadence. “How… how would you like me to handle it?” The BlueCore Initiative. A municipal public-private partnership that the Pierce Group had spent five grueling years securing—a project valued at over five billion dollars. It was specifically for the political optics of this deal that Justin had dragged me to the courthouse five years ago to register our marriage license, though he had deliberately stalled on throwing a formal wedding ceremony. Predictably, he pulled his arm from Bridget’s grasp and stood up with Keira without a second thought. With a grand, dismissive wave of his hand, Justin announced to the room, “Keep drinking, everyone. I need to run to the office for an emergency briefing. Tonight is entirely on my tab.” A chorus of cheers and whistles filled the air, mingled with venomous whispers tossed in my direction. “Told you the assistant would win. She’s an MIT graduate, after all.” “Justin’s probably going to ‘sleep’ at the office again tonight, haha.” “He’d pick anyone over Elena. Play the desperate lapdog long enough, and you end up with nothing.” I lowered my gaze, stood up calmly, and retrieved a cashmere scarf from my tote bag. I wound it around Justin’s neck, smoothing the fabric over his collar with measured, tender strokes. “Tell the driver to take it slow,” I said softly. “I’ll wait up for you at home.” He offered a satisfied grin, but then caught my fingers in a sudden, tight grip, leaning in to whisper, “That game earlier… you’re not angry?” Angry? I glanced toward the exit, where Ivy and Bridget were already shadowing him like eager satellites. “Didn’t you teach me yourself?” I asked with an untroubled smile. “No matter how wild a man plays outside, he always comes home to roost.” Reassured by my docility, he patted my cheek with patronizing affection and strode out into the rain. As the sleek black Maybach swept past the curb, I caught Keira’s triumphant smirk through the tinted glass. “What are you staring at?” Ivy hissed, shoving me violently from behind. Caught off balance on the wet pavement, my knees slammed hard onto the concrete. Filthy gutter water splashed across the hem of my silk skirt. “You pathetic little parasite,” Ivy sneered, glaring down at me. “You can’t keep him for even an hour. If you hadn’t clung to him like a leech, do you really think you’d ever wear the title of Mrs. Pierce?” Bridget strolled over, dangling her half-empty liquor bottle between two fingers. “Elena, stop trying to force your way into a circle where you don’t belong,” she said coldly. “A guard dog is fine for watching the estate, but nobody marries the dog. You were never on his level.” Surrounding us were a dozen of Justin’s aristocratic childhood friends. Not a single person offered a hand. They simply stood in the drizzle, sipping their drinks and snickering. I knew the truth. To Justin and his sycophants, I had never been a human being. I was an ornament, a domestic fixture, a punching bag to validate their boundless arrogance. But it didn’t matter. I only needed one last payout. One more betrayal, and the system would transfer the final controlling stake of the Pierce Group directly into my hands. When that moment came, they would finally understand: I never gave a damn about saving a rotting marriage. I was playing to take the throne. … At four in the morning, the heavy scent of scotch and expensive perfume heralded Justin’s return. Dark red lipstick stains peeked out from above his unbuttoned collar. The moment his engine purred in the driveway, I had slipped out of bed. By the time he kicked off his Italian leather loafers in the foyer, I was descending the stairs, carrying a steaming mug of rich, slow-simmered bone broth. “Headache?” I asked gently. “Drink some of this.” No accusations. No tears. No questions about where he had been. I was the flawless, obedient socialite wife he had spent five years conditioning. He sank into the plush sofa, slurring his words with a drowsy, smug smile. “Did you make this yourself? Good girl… so obedient…” Obedient? Of course I played the part. Six years ago, I had been the youngest doctoral graduate in computational finance from MIT, presenting my paper at an international summit. Justin had sat in the front row, utterly entranced, pursuing me afterward with reckless displays of wealth. When I flatly rejected him, telling him we came from fundamentally different worlds, he cornered me against his sports car, his hand clamping around my jaw like a vise. “You ungrateful little academic,” he had whispered with a cruel laugh. “You have no idea what real power can do.” The very next morning, I received a call from the hospital. My mother had been struck in a hit-and-run, left in a critical coma. Before I could even process the grief, Justin’s private jet arrived. I was coerced into an indefinite leave of absence and dragged across the country, trapped under his surveillance. Standing on the edge of the Pierce penthouse roof that night, ready to end it all, a mechanical chime had chimed in my mind: “Ding—Karmic Infidelity Rebate System initialized.” “For every confirmed act of betrayal by your legal partner, $10,000,000 will be deposited into an untraceable account. Current balance: $0.00.” That night, I had sat on the cold gravel of the rooftop and laughed until tears blurred my vision. From that hour on, I became the most accommodating doormat in high society. When he flirted, I smiled. When he brought lovers into his orbit, I covered his tracks. Nobody realized that I was only ten million dollars away from stripping the Pierce family down to their bare bones. … The next morning, Justin found me in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. “You cleaned up my mess last night, didn’t you? Thank you, babe.” I offered a serene, modest smile, happily claiming the credit. He pecked my lips, as if tossing a treat to a well-behaved pet, and led me to his sports car. “Come on. We’re going to your final bridal fitting. I’m going to make you the most breathtaking bride in the city.” Halfway to the bridal salon, his phone chimed. Justin glanced at the screen, and the color instantly drained from his face. Without a word of explanation, he swerved to the curb and hit the unlock button. “Something urgent came up,” he said tersely. “Take an Uber. Go on ahead without me.” A cold thrill raced down my spine. In all the years of watching him juggle mistresses and flings, I had never seen Justin Pierce lose his composure like this. Sure enough, just as the boutique staff presented a custom, hand-embroidered mermaid gown, the roar of Justin’s engine echoed outside. He didn’t walk in alone. He was holding the hand of a woman in an ivory silk slip dress. Almond-shaped eyes, delicate features, an effortless air of old-money elegance. She was softer than Bridget, yet possessed a pedigree that Ivy could only dream of. “Elena,” Justin said, resting a protective palm on the curve of her waist, “this is Bianca. We went to high school together. She runs an haute couture atelier in Paris and just flew back this morning. I asked her to take a look at your dress.” Bianca. His first love. The untouchable muse on the pedestal. The original blueprint behind every casual fling he had pursued over the years. I understood immediately. Yet, because Justin introduced her merely as a ‘classmate,’ I kept my face an immaculate mask of polite ignorance. When it was time to step into the fitting room, Bianca volunteered to help me with the gown. The velvet curtain swept shut, cutting us off from the showroom. Bianca’s manicured fingers grazed the delicate silk magnolia petals stitched along my waistline. “Years ago, Justin told me magnolias suited me best,” she whispered, her voice laced with venom. “Seeing them on you now… what a tragic waste of good fabric.” I merely smiled, offering no resistance. Without warning, her hand wrenched the heavy metal zipper upward with vicious force. The jagged metal teeth tore brutally into the soft flesh of my flank. A sharp, searing pain flashed behind my eyes, and on pure instinct, I shoved her away. “What happened?” Justin tore the curtain aside, immediately dropping to his knees to gather Bianca into his arms. “Justin… she pushed me…” Bianca sobbed, two pristine tears rolling down her cheeks. Justin’s face darkened with fury, his mouth opening to roar at me— Before he could speak, I pressed my hand against my waist, crushing the small capsule of theatrical red pigment I had kept tucked inside my palm. A vibrant, shocking crimson soaked through the white silk of the bridal gown, dripping past my fingers. “I’m so sorry, Bianca…” I stammered, my voice trembling as my face went deathly pale. “I lost my footing… I tripped…” I didn’t finish the sentence. Silent tears cascaded down my cheeks. In high society, quiet, dignified agony will always earn more sympathy than theatrical weeping. Bianca came from a ruined estate, crawling back to Justin only after her family went bankrupt. When it came to weaponized fragility, she was an amateur compared to someone who had survived five years in the Pierce household. The boutique staff and high-end clients began whispering among themselves. “Wait, isn’t Miss Ross the actual bride?” “Look at her bleeding… and neither of them has even called an ambulance for her.” “God, she must love him so much. Didn’t she get shoved into the gutter by his friends just last night?” Justin froze. His eyes darted between Bianca’s tearful face and the terrifying pool of red staining my waist. Finally, he exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’m taking Bianca to the clinic. I’ll have the driver pick you up in an hour.” He paused, adding in a stern, placating tone, “Don’t make a scene, Elena. No matter what happens, you are still going to be Mrs. Pierce.” … By nightfall, the tabloids were having a field day. Headlines blasted photos of Justin abandoning his bleeding fiancée at the bridal salon to personally carry his high school sweetheart into an elite private hospital, remaining by her side until dawn. The comment sections exploded: “Why hasn’t the Saint of Patience released a statement yet? Is the doormat finally cracking?” “This Bianca is different. She was his first love. If she hadn’t moved to France, Elena Ross wouldn’t have stood a chance.” “Ouch. The wedding is literally tomorrow. Talk about a public slap in the face.” The scandal blew up so massively that Justin’s parents summoned me to the family estate to ‘set things right.’ “Reckless boy!” Mrs. Pierce fumed, clasping my hands tightly between hers. “To leave you stranded in public with dozens of witnesses… what on earth was he thinking?” She patted my knuckles soothingly. “Don’t be frightened, Elena. Everyone knows how devoted you’ve been to our family. I’ll make sure his father disciplines him the moment he walks through that door.” Devoted was an understatement. Whenever Justin’s illicit affairs threatened the company’s stock price, I stepped in front of the press to play the forgiving partner. Whenever his mother fell ill, I spent sleepless nights by her bedside. I had even quietly authored several multi-million-dollar financial restructuring proposals for their firm. To them, I was the perfect, pedigree-free, complaint-free domestic steward. Why wouldn’t they want to keep me around? Footsteps echoed in the marble foyer. Justin strode in, followed closely by a pale, apprehensive Bianca. Mrs. Pierce immediately took the offensive. “Bianca, I don’t mean to be unkind, but Justin is getting married tomorrow. Lurking around him like this is entirely improper.” Mr. Pierce leveled an icy glare at her. “You rejected our son years ago when he chased you across Europe. The moment you hear he’s settling down, you fly back to cause a scene. What exactly is your game?” Bianca burst into tears, delivering her ultimate trump card. “Because… because I’m pregnant,” she wept, cradling her stomach with a tragic, trembling grace. “The doctor confirmed it’s a boy. I didn’t want to ruin Justin’s life… but I couldn’t bear to let my child grow up without his father…” A suffocating silence fell over the drawing room. I arched a brow, silently asking in my mind: “System, did you forget to credit me ten million for her?” The system’s mechanical voice responded instantly: “Impossible. The subject is not pregnant.” Justin was turning thirty, and the Pierce family was desperate for an heir. Bianca had just delivered the holy grail. “Quick! Someone bring Bianca a comfortable chair!” Mrs. Pierce’s demeanor transformed in a heartbeat, practically throwing my hands aside as she rushed to Bianca’s side. Mr. Pierce’s stern expression melted into uncontainable joy. “A grandson! God has answered our prayers!” Justin stared at Bianca in disbelief, a breathless smile breaking across his face. “You mean… that night three months ago when I visited Paris? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bianca glanced at me with mournful hesitation. “Everyone knows you have a fiancée who has waited five years for you. How could I dare come between you…” Justin was visibly moved. He cast a brief, hardened glance in my direction, squaring his shoulders. “Mom, Dad, what’s done is done. A Pierce heir cannot be born out of wedlock. I swear, I will marry Bianca and give her everything she deserves.” I didn’t care who he married. But the system required one final betrayal to complete the full transfer of his assets. I couldn’t let their domestic drama derail my timeline. Under the cover of my sleeve, I rapidly typed a few instructions into my phone. “Elena, I know I’ve wronged you,” Justin said, walking toward me with a veneer of guilt. “We’ll draft the divorce papers quietly. You can still maintain a residence on the estate—” Before he could finish, the heavy mahogany double doors burst open. A dozen glamorous women stormed into the drawing room, with Ivy trailing right behind them. “Justin! I’m pregnant too! You can’t just abandon me!” “What about last month at the Hamptons? I just took a test this morning!” “Justin!” Ivy cried out, shoving past the others. “Just because Bianca is carrying your baby? I can give you a child too!” Justin, completely blindsided, was instantly swarmed by clutching hands and shrieking voices. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce stood frozen in horror, their aristocratic composure shattered into pieces. “What is the meaning of this madness?!” Mr. Pierce roared, his face turning purple. “Security! Get these women out of my house!” Bianca’s masterstroke was instantly rendered a vulgar farce. Her face oscillated between rage and humiliation as she desperately tried to maintain her regal facade amidst the chaos. Taking advantage of the pandemonium, I slipped out to the terrace and sent a final message to my assistant: “Prepare the executive transfer paperwork. The moment the final wire clears, execute the takeover.” However, before I could reach my car, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Miss Ross? Your mother’s vitals just took a critical dive. You need to come immediately…” A sharp ringing pierced my ears. My heart slammed against my ribs as I sped toward the medical center. When I threw open the ICU doors, my blood ran cold. Bianca was standing directly beside my mother’s hospital bed, her fingers resting on the plug of the life-support ventilator. “Get your hands off her!” I lunged forward with everything I had, but two of Justin’s towering bodyguards caught me by the arms, slamming me violently against the doorframe. “Look at her, Justin! I told you she was two-faced!” Bianca shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at me. “She sent all those hysterical women to the house! You ran the background checks—I’m the only one carrying your real child! She’s a manipulative liar, and I want her on her knees apologizing to me!” Justin stepped forward from the shadows of the room, exhaling a tired, disappointed breath. “You arranged that circus at the house, didn’t you?” Behind him, Bianca smirked and pulled the plug. The heart monitor let out a long, terrifying, flatline whine: “BEEEEEEEP—” My voice shook violently. “Justin, tell her to plug it back in! My mother has a severe brain hemorrhage—she will die without oxygen!” “And that stunt at the bridal shop,” Justin continued coldly, ignoring the monitor completely. “You staged that too, didn’t you?” My teeth chattered from raw, blinding terror. “Make her stop! Tell her to plug it the fuck back in!” He let out another patronizing sigh. “You’re acting out again, Elena.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless abyss. Justin looked down at me like an unruly child who needed to be broken. “You provoked Bianca. Let her vent her frustration. Once she’s calm, I’ll still take care of you.” Without looking back, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. “Justin, come back! Justin! Bianca’s baby isn’t even—” “SLAP!” A stinging palm across my face cut the words from my throat. A flash of raw panic flickered in Bianca’s eyes, quickly swallowed by manic cruelty. She gestured to the guards. “Muffle her. I don’t want another sound coming out of her mouth.” The guards forced me down onto the cold tile floor, pinning my shoulders flat. Bianca knelt over me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my forehead against the hard ground. “CRACK.” A blinding white light exploded across my vision. “Did you really think you could outplay me?” she hissed, her face contorted with venom. “All these years, Justin was nothing more than my lapdog. A snap of my fingers, and he came running back. He collected a dozen cheap knockoffs just to cope with losing me, and you were just the most pathetic of the bunch.” “CRACK.” My head hit the floor again. Darkness crept into the edges of my consciousness, warm blood trickling down between my eyebrows. When I was limp, beaten, and unable to move, Bianca stood up, dusting off her skirt. She took my limp, bloodied thumb, pressed it into an ink pad, and stamped it onto an expedited divorce settlement, leaving me stripped of every marital right. The moment their footsteps faded down the corridor, I clawed my way across the floor on hands and knees, dragging myself to the edge of the bed. “Mom…!” I reached up with shaking, blood-soaked fingers and shoved the ventilator plug back into the wall. The machine sputtered back to life, the erratic rhythm of her pulse returning to the monitor. At that exact second, the chime echoed inside my skull: “Ding—Final $10,000,000 rebate confirmed. The entire financial holdings and controlling shares of the Pierce Group have been successfully transferred to the host.” … The following afternoon. The grand wedding of Justin Pierce and Bianca was being hosted at the five-star Grand Garden Hotel—the crown jewel of the Pierce luxury hospitality division. Over a thousand elite guests filled the ballroom, with dozens of live broadcast cameras capturing every opulent detail. Just as Justin drew Bianca into his arms for the televised first kiss, the towering oak doors of the ballroom were violently kicked open. The hotel’s general manager stepped onto the threshold, his voice ringing out over the sound system with chilling authority: “Mr. Pierce, as of six o’clock this morning, this property has undergone a complete transfer of ownership. The new owner has revoked your reservation. This venue will not host your wedding. All guests are requested to vacate the premises immediately.”
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