Revenge isn't just about striking when they least expect it.
It's about making them feel it.
Every. Single. Step.
The first cracks had already formed. The missing money. The anonymous tip to the press. The mistress, now second-guessing her place in his life. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
I wanted him to lose more than just control.
I wanted him to lose *everything.*
---
It started with his work.
My husband prided himself on his career, on the respect he commanded in his industry. He walked into his office each day with the confidence of a man who believed his world was unshakable.
I was about to change that.
I had spent weeks combing through his emails, his financial records, his encrypted messages. I knew exactly where the bodies were buried—fraud, backdoor deals, shady clients with too much power and too little regard for the law.
I didn't need to expose everything at once.
Just enough to make people *talk.*
The first email went out at 9 a.m. sharp.
A polite inquiry, sent from a masked IP, to the compliance department of his firm. Nothing aggressive—just a *concerned citizen* wondering why certain transactions weren't matching the official reports.
The second email landed in a journalist's inbox half an hour later. A breadcrumb. A whisper of a scandal just waiting to be uncovered.
By lunchtime, I knew the whispers had started.
He called me around noon, his voice tight.
"Something weird is going on," he said, tension leaking into his usually confident tone.
I swallowed my smile. "What do you mean?"
"There's some bullshit audit request coming in. Out of nowhere." He exhaled sharply. "I don't have time for this."
I hummed in sympathy, swirling my coffee. "That sounds stressful."
"You have no idea."
Oh, *but I did.*
That night, I played the role of the devoted wife flawlessly.
Dinner was already made when he walked through the door, his tie loosened, his shoulders tight with frustration.
He kissed my cheek absently before sinking into his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. "Long day."
I set his plate in front of him, running my fingers through his hair soothingly. "Tell me about it."
He sighed, shaking his head. "It's nothing, just… work politics. People digging into things that don't concern them."
I almost laughed. *Oh, but it does concern them now, doesn't it?*
Instead, I placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."
He nodded distractedly, already reaching for his phone to check his messages.
I sat across from him, watching as he ate, his mind elsewhere.
The cracks were growing.
It wouldn't be long before they shattered completely.
But work was only one part of his downfall.
The next attack? His *reputation.*
A man like him thrived on his public image—polished, respected, untouchable. That image was about to burn.
I started small. Anonymous whispers to the right people. A carefully placed rumor here, a suggestion of misconduct there. A few calls to industry rivals who would love to see him fall.
Then, I made my move on social media.
An anonymous account. A well-worded post.
**"Not everything is as clean as it looks at [Husband's Firm]. There are stories to be told, if people start asking the right questions."**
I knew how the internet worked.
One small spark was enough to start a wildfire.
And my husband?
He was about to burn.
But even as I watched his world begin to tilt, something unexpected happened.
He turned to *me.*
That night, after he had showered and changed into his usual silk pajamas, he found me in the bedroom, scrolling through my phone.
Instead of collapsing onto his side of the bed like he usually did, he sat beside me, his fingers grazing my wrist.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured.
I stiffened for just a moment before forcing myself to relax. "You don't have to think about that."
He exhaled, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. "I mean it. Everything feels like it's falling apart at work. I don't know who's behind it, but… you're the only thing that still feels stable."
I swallowed, my pulse betraying me.
*Don't fall for it. Don't let him pull you in.*
But when he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching mine, something inside me wavered.
"I love you," he said, voice raw. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do."
A lump formed in my throat.
He was lying. He had to be.
But the way he touched me—gentle, lingering, desperate—made it feel *real.*
I should have pulled away.
Instead, I let him kiss me.
Slow. Deep.
A kiss that felt like an apology, even if I didn't believe it.
I hated him.
I wanted him to suffer.
But as his hands roamed my body, as his lips traced the curve of my neck, I realized something terrifying.
I still wanted him.
Even as I planned to ruin him, I still craved the way he made me feel.
And maybe, just maybe…
That was going to be my biggest mistake of all.