Candy White wore a mask of bewilderment, allowing herself to be dragged away like a lamb to the slaughter.
Christian, on the other hand, was unraveling.
"Mia, what the hell do you think you're doing with them?"
I poured myself a glass of Merlot, watching the crimson liquid swirl against the crystal. "Employing them."
"Do you honestly believe they love you, Christian?" I took a slow sip. "Georgia pulled in an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar commission last month. Her only true love is her bank account."
I set the glass down with a sharp clink.
"Candy's family is buried under a mountain of debt. She doesn't love you—she loves the lifeline you represent." I stepped closer, my voice dropping to ice. "You're the only one delusional enough to think you're some kind of Casanova."
Christian trembled, fists clenching as impotent rage shook his frame. "Mia! You're insulting my feelings!"
"Feelings?"
I stepped into his space, reaching up to smooth his crumpled collar with deliberate, mocking care.
"Christian, your feelings mean absolutely nothing to me." I patted his chest lightly. "As long as you keep scouting this caliber of talent for the company, I don't mind if you keep a few more mistresses on the side."
He shoved me away, eyes bloodshot. "You don't have a heart at all!"
He turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frames rattled. I watched his retreat, the polite smile on my face freezing into frost.
A heart?
Five years ago, I had one.
Back then, I stood by his side while he built this empire from nothing. We lived in a damp basement and survived on instant noodles. To secure his initial funding, I drank with potential backers until I was vomiting blood, landing myself in the hospital for two weeks.
Back then, he'd held my hand and promised, Mia, I swear I'll make you the happiest woman in the world.
And like a fool, I believed him.
The reality?
The moment the company went public, he brought Georgia home.
That very day, I'd been clutching a positive pregnancy test, breathless with the joy of telling him we were starting a family. Instead, I stood outside his office door and heard him laughing with her.
"Mia's a boring old crone. Useful for balancing the books, but useless in bed. If I didn't need her to run the company, I'd have kicked her to the curb years ago."
In that instant, whatever love I held for him died.
The stress took its toll. I hemorrhaged and lost the baby.
Lying in that hospital bed, staring at the sterile white ceiling, I made a vow. I would take back everything Christian Delgado owed me—principal and interest.
Since he treated women like toys, I'd let him play to his heart's content. But this time, I'd be the one setting the rules.
After storming out, Christian ran straight to his second mistress for comfort: Elena Pruitt.
Elena was my masterpiece.
Cool, sophisticated—an MBA from a top-tier university, former mid-level management at a Fortune 500. But she had a fatal flaw: she was a romantic. Christian's smooth talking had seduced her to the point where she was ready to tank her career for him.
A classic case of love-induced stupidity. Until I intervened.
I'd met with Elena privately—not as a jealous wife, but as a headhunter. No screaming, no crying. Just a career trajectory laid bare.
"Ms. Pruitt, what's the point of being a canary in a cage?" I'd slid a contract across the table. "If he can betray me for you today, he'll betray you for someone else tomorrow."
She'd stayed silent. Listening.
"What can Christian actually give you? An apartment he holds the deed to? An allowance he can cut whenever his mood sours?" I leaned in. "Work with me. Make a million a month. Why be a pet when you can be your own queen?"
Elena was smart. Once the fog of infatuation lifted, her sharp intellect returned with a vengeance.
Now she was a top-tier career influencer with millions of followers. More importantly, she was my rook in the game to take down the king.
In her apartment, Christian paced back and forth, venting his spleen.
"Elena, you're the only one who understands me. Mia is a monster! Completely cold-blooded!"
Elena poured him a whiskey, her other hand sliding her phone onto the table—audio recording already running.
"Don't be angry," she cooed, voice soothing. "She's not worth ruining your health over."
She handed him the glass, eyes innocent. "By the way, I heard your company's bidding on that massive development project in the south?"
The alcohol had already loosened his tongue, and his ego did the rest. "Yeah. The profit margins are insane. I'm determined to win it."
"What's the reserve price?" Elena traced a slow circle on his chest, looking up with feigned admiration. "Tell me—I want to see how brilliant you are."
Christian chuckled darkly, drunk on power and whiskey. He held up his hand, splaying five fingers.
