Designing My Husband's Demise

For our wedding anniversary, my husband used my black card to buy me a limited-edition watch.

I'd come home to grab some files, only to be met with the sickeningly sweet sound of my apprentice, Giselle Monroe, whispering with my husband.

"Andre, your wife is nothing but a walking wallet. What does she know about being wild? She could never ignite you like I can."

Andre sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, "Brooke is too perfect—perfect to the point of being suffocating. Not like you. You’re like a wild vine wrapped around me, making me feel the searing heat of life."

Just then, his mother, Sylvia Cavanaugh, called. He put her on speaker. "Andre, you need to act fast. While Brooke still loves you, take control of all the secrets and assets she holds over the higher-ups and make them your own. That girl, Giselle, looks promising—she's much better than that icy queen you have for a wife."

I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the shameless pair in the study and the venomous woman on the phone. The family crest he’d tattooed on his back—for me—felt like it was burning a hole right through my skin.

I immediately sent an encrypted message to our banker in Switzerland, my mind already fixed on my next move.

See you at the family meeting, you ungrateful traitors.

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1

At the party celebrating the one-year anniversary of my husband, Andre Cavanaugh, helming the nightclub, he bestowed a “surprise” upon me.

He had won a limited-edition watch at a private auction and publicly announced it was a gift for me.

I watched him, wine glass in hand, as he elegantly detailed the watch's rare craftsmanship to the family’s Capos. He was basking in the admiring gazes of the very connections I had introduced him to.

Those connections were all paths I had paved for him.

The unlimited black card he used to pay the seven-figure sum was mine.

I just smiled, playing the part of his perfect wife, letting him enjoy his moment.

Returning home that night, I was heading to the study to get some design blueprints for the next day. As I approached, I found the door ajar.

The voice drifting out belonged to my apprentice, Giselle Monroe.

"Andre, the party tonight was a huge success. The wives of the Capos were practically falling over themselves to sing your praises."

I stopped in my tracks.

Andre chuckled, a hint of smugness in his voice. "Of course. Someone had to orchestrate it all. Brooke's contribution was nothing more than a checkbook and a network of contacts. She knows nothing about the actual work."

"Exactly." Giselle's voice held a note of feigned grievance. "Brooke is great at everything, but she's just so overbearing. She's like an emotionless machine. It must be suffocating to be with her, right?"

I froze.

Giselle was an apprentice I’d personally discovered at design school. I took her under my wing, mentored her for three years, and gave her power and a salary far beyond her peers.

Andre was the man I had loved for ten years. I had leveraged my resources and wealth to elevate him from a minor player in the family to the head of its flagship nightclub.

I once thought our marriage was a union of power, meant to solidify the family's influence.

Only in that moment did I finally understand that in their eyes, I was nothing more than a soulless ATM.

"Let's not talk about her." Andre's tone grew impatient. "By the way, how's that 'black book' matter I asked you to handle? What's the progress?"

Giselle's voice immediately turned eager, hungry for credit. It dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's all done! I copied the files on all the top clients in Brooke's 'black book,' including their secret hideouts, money-laundering channels, and fatal weaknesses. Now you can use this to leverage them into 'collaborations'. Soon, you'll have them all under your thumb."