The night a life-changing contract turned into a nightmare: A greedy husband collapsed in panic under the weight of handcuffs after his mistress called to report… his own ex-wife!
There are those who climb to the peak on the shoulders of betrayal, only to realize, when standing atop the tower looking down, that they are merely puppets strung up right over the edge of an abyss.
Neon lights from the giant billboard outside pierced through the thick tempered glass, slicing into streaks of fiery red and deep blue that slowly crept across the premium velvet carpet of the office. At the height of the fiftieth floor, the roar of street traffic below was submerged in a dull, distant rumble like the undercurrents of an ocean. The man stood before the glass window, gently swirling a crystal glass containing expensive amber liquid. His face reflected faintly on the glass—a face that had long shed the haggard, disheveled look of the days struggling in a poor street corner during his humble beginnings, replaced instead by the satisfied, arrogant expression of someone about to hold the whole world in the palm of his hand.
His life was a relentless chain of calculations. The day he left the leaky rented attic, abandoning behind the woman who had once built up every single coin with him, he believed he had executed a spectacular escape from the quagmire of poverty. He considered himself a pragmatist, a master of the art of survival who knew how to bask in the shadow of power.
And the launching pad for that fateful leap was none other than the young female director of this colossal financial conglomerate.
She was the embodiment of sharpness, coldness, and power. At an age when others were still fumbling with petty ambitions, she had already taken the supreme seat of power at the regional branch, holding the financial lifeline of countless multi-million-dollar projects in her hands. He approached her like a cunning hunter, using a glamorous exterior, honeyed words forged through worldly experience, and a fawning, utterly subservient devotion to win her trust. He played to perfection the role of a talented man crushed by the times, someone yearning to prove himself but lacking a breakthrough opportunity.
And she had believed it. Or at least, he thought she did.
Through the passing months, under the covert protection and backing of the young director, he climbed step by step up the corporate ladder. Lucrative contracts were handed over, strategic shares were whispered into place, and the power to sign crucial decisions gradually fell into his hands. In his eyes, the female director was nothing more than a beautiful yet compliant pawn, completely manipulated by physical infatuation and false sweet words. He smugly thought he was about to oust everyone else to become the true master of this financial empire, turning other people’s efforts into a launchpad for his bottomless ambition.
Tonight was that fateful hour. The contract to take over all shares and executive control would officially be signed at midnight, in the ultra-secret meeting room on the top floor.
He smiled, a bland and scheming smile, raising his glass to take a sip of wine. Everything had been prepared to perfection. He had quietly funneled the vast majority of the company’s assets into anonymous overseas personal accounts, while preparing a plan to serve divorce papers and discard his humble, loyal ex-wife the moment the chairmanship officially belonged to him. In his world, affection was a cheap commodity, and loyalty belonged only to the strong.
The office door gently swung open. The young director stepped in, carrying a trail of expensive perfume intertwined with the cold, sweet scent of agarwood. She wore a sharp black pantsuit, her hair neatly bundled up in a high bun that highlighted the angular, haughty features of her face. But strangely tonight, her deep eyes held none of the usual excitement or enthusiasm of someone about to witness their lover’s glorious moment. Instead, there was a chilling stillness, as icy as a frozen lake in the middle of winter.
— “Is everything ready, my love?” – he turned around, speaking in a warm, low voice, flashing his most charming smile to greet her.
The director did not answer immediately. She leisurely walked over to the large walnut desk, placing a black leather-bound portfolio onto the surface. Her movements were deliberate, authoritative, and overwhelmingly dominant. She raised her head, looking at him with a rippleless gaze—a gaze that for the first time made a chill inexplicably run down his spine.
— “Ready,” – her voice rang out, dry and razor-sharp like a blade gliding across glass. – “Everything you’ve hoped for, every trap you’ve laid, and all the filthy ambitions you’ve harbored for so long… tonight will come to an end.”
He froze for a beat, a vague sense of unease flashing through his chest, but it was quickly crushed by his shell of complacency. He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist, bending down to plant a kiss on her cheek as usual:
— “What’s wrong? Are you stressed? Don’t worry, after tonight, we’ll rule this entire city together.”
She did not dodge, but her body was as rigid as a stone statue. She slowly raised her hands, not to embrace him, but to gently push against his chest, establishing a cold, absolute distance between them.
— “That’s right,” – she smirked, a smile full of mockery and chilling dread. – “We will rule everything. But the master of it all, unfortunately, has never been you.”
Before he could utter a word of interrogation, the director turned and picked up the secure phone resting on the desk. She did not dial any partner or lawyer, but directly turned on the speakerphone, then placed the device down onto the glossy glass tabletop.
A long dial tone echoed through the vast, bone-chillingly cold room.
He stared hard at the phone, his heart suddenly pounding out of rhythm. A terrible premonition, sharp as a shard of broken glass, pierced through his mind.
Three rings. The other end picked up.
A woman’s voice came through the speaker. That voice was far too familiar, yet shockingly out of place in this luxurious setting. It was the voice of the woman he had abandoned, the woman who year-round knew only the smell of kitchen smoke, sweat, and the poor, dreary streets of the suburban working-class district.
— “Hello?” – the ex-wife’s voice rang out, calm, steady, and full of authority.
He froze in horror. His ears buzzed, his legs suddenly turning as limp as if they had no bones. He gaped, staring fixedly at the phone and then turning back to look at the young female director standing before him, his mind completely paralyzed, unable to piece together the reality unfolding before his eyes.
And then, the next sentence left the young director’s lips—spoken softly, yet powerful enough to deal a fatal blow, completely shattering the world he had painstakingly schemed to build:
— “Sister, I have finished recovering the assets. All share systems, anonymous bank accounts, and his executive rights have been completely sealed according to plan.”
— “Good job,” – the ex-wife’s voice replied from the other end of the line, cold and sharp like a queen handing down a death sentence. – “Now, tell him to turn around.”
He staggered backward, his back slamming hard against the glass pane. Absolute panic erupted in his chest, blowing away every shred of remaining sanity. He whipped around, staring wide-eyed at the young female director.
She did not look at him with the gaze of an infatuated lover, nor did she hold any resentment or sorrow. She slowly stepped back three paces, bowing deeply at a ninety-degree angle with utter reverence toward the large meeting room door that was slowly opening from behind the disguised wooden wall.
Stepping out from the dim light of the ultra-secret meeting room was a familiar figure.
It was a woman dressed in a simple yet luxurious dark-colored traditional tunic, draped casually in a high-end wool coat. Her face wore no elaborate makeup, but her sharp, penetrating, and authoritative gaze was unmistakable. Her hands leisurely removed a pair of black silk gloves, taking steady, firm steps to settle securely into the most powerful leather-upholstered chairman’s chair right at the center of the conference table—the very chair he had dreamed of, convinced that tonight it would belong to him.
It was none other than the humble wife, the woman he had discarded and treated like roadside trash blocking his path to social elevation.
— “Are you surprised?” – the ex-wife sat down in the chairman’s seat, lifting her sharp eyes to look at him as he trembled like a leaf by the glass window.
He widened his eyes, his throat choking up, unable to utter a single complete word. Everything before his eyes turned upside down and shattered. As it turned out, the so-called backing from the young female director, the so-called lucrative opportunity to change his life, had from beginning to end been a flawlessly orchestrated drama staged by the very woman he despised the most. The young director wasn’t actually his lover at all, but rather the hidden-identity daughter of a major financial conglomerate, or someone his ex-wife had planted from day one to play along with the plot, weaving an inescapable trap.
— “You… who are you? How is this possible…” – he stammered, tears and snot streaming down his face, distorted with fear.
The ex-wife slightly curved her lips, a smile tinged with ultimate contempt. She didn’t bother to answer his question, merely raising her hand in a subtle gesture.
Immediately, from both sides of the door, four people in formal business suits stepped inside. None other than the financial inspection team and the special economic police. A flash of light suddenly went off, cold and ruthless. A pair of ice-cold metal handcuffs abruptly snapped onto his wrists, locking away all the ambition, scheming, and baseness of a traitor.
He collapsed onto the cold floor, his desperate screams swallowed by the vast, towering expanse of the skyscraper. Outside the glass window, the city remained submerged in brilliant lights, indifferently witnessing the complete collapse of a life built on deceit and betrayal.
