I didn’t know who had sent the letter—but I was certain it wasn’t a friend. This was deliberate. A chess move from someone who thought they could knock me off the board. Someone who didn’t realise I never played to survive. I played to win.
The prenup I had Eris sign was airtight.
Adultery meant zero payout. No settlements. No house. No maintenance. No name.
She’d walk away with nothing but her lies—and the bitter taste of her own stupidity.
They thought this would undo me.
They thought I’d panic, spiral, fall apart like some wounded husband.
But I am not a man who breaks. I’m the kind of man who grinds his enemies into dust, who strips them bare until there’s nothing left to bury. I had driven grown men to ruin. Some took their own lives not because I threatened them, but because they knew—absolutely knew—that I wouldn’t stop until every avenue of escape had been sealed shut.
Revenge has never been about rage.
It was about patience, restraint and precision.
Vengeance is a dish best served cold—and I liked mine frozen solid.
I drew in a slow breath and walked to the wall of windows overlooking my city. Steel and glass, high enough to touch the clouds. My empire. My world. And somewhere in it, my wife had been spreading her legs for strangers.
The thought punched through my composure.
“Fucking hell.”
I returned to my desk, picked up my phone, and booked a private medical appointment. My voice was steady. Professional. I explained exactly what I needed and when—just another logistical task. Inside, humiliation burned hot and corrosive.
She might have given me a disease.
That, more than the betrayal, made my vision go white at the edges.
She would pay for that.
Not with tears or apologies. With ruin. I’d leave her with nothing but the clothes on her back. I had ensured it years ago—my prenup was airtight, and infidelity meant she forfeited every cent. I would enjoy watching her crawl.
My mind flicked to her daughter—my stepdaughter in name only.
No, not my concern. I had never adopted her, never claimed her legally or emotionally. She spent her school years in boarding and then left for university. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her face. She must be twenty, maybe twenty-one now. Her real father left her a trust fund. She would survive.
I owed them nothing.
But they—Eris and whichever coward sent me this warning—had made a mistake.
They believed I’d be wounded.
Instead, they’d awakened the worst version of me.
And I was going to show them exactly what a mistake that was.
Chapter 2
Silas
The message had barely landed when I stormed across the room and flung the door open.
Conrad was already striding down the hall toward me, suit sharp, face unreadable. But the second he saw my expression, his eyes narrowed.
“Who are we destroying today?” he asked calmly, stepping inside.
