My Ex-girlfriend Took Advantage of Me

I once dated a stunner for three years. Just after college, she dumped me for a trust fund baby.

After graduation, we ended up in the same city. She was all sugar and no spice to me, making me think she still carried a torch.

But turns out, I was just a pawn. While she played house with some pretty boy, she used me as her scapegoat.

She swiped her company's bid proposal, telling her rich husband I had masterminded the whole scheme.

She sold their luxury car, spinning it to him as a favor to me because she worried about my commute.

She offloaded their vacation home, claiming she was giving me a leg up because she pitied my living situation.

And then she transferred $20 million out of their account, pinning it on me as a bad investment tip, only to get swindled.

Her machinations turned her hubby against me so fiercely, that he had me locked up.

I wasn't about to play the fall guy. I wanted to clear the air, to get free.

But to silence me for good, my ex made sure I was offed.

When I came to, it was like a reset—I was back before the slammer before it all went south. This time around, I'm gonna make her pay.

***

"Logan Freeman, seriously? Got no shame? Being single and hovering around my wife all day, claiming you're ‘just friends'?"

"That's a new one for a friend, don't you think?"

"Don't kid yourself—I know every skeleton in your closet and everything you pulled with my wife. I've done my homework!"

"Logan, you're on my last nerve!"

"Disappear from this town, stay away from my wife—now!"

"Consider this your final heads-up!"

On the line, her husband, Ryan Young, was blowing his top at me.

His anger was off the charts.

How could anyone tolerate their spouse being thick as thieves with their ex, especially under the guise of friendship?

My rage dwarfed his by miles.

If it hadn't been for all the frames and setups by his wife in my past life, I wouldn't have wound up behind bars, let alone dead.

Given a second shot, I refuse to be the patsy again.

"Is she there right now? With you? Speak up!"

The line was silent again, only to be shattered by Ryan's thundering voice.

As I recalled all the underhanded tricks from my previous life, it dawned on me—today marked the one-year anniversary of Tiffany's fling. They were likely out on a tryst.

I decided to stir the pot. "Ryan, Tiffany's your wife, man. If you can't keep tabs on her, why the heck are you grilling me? Feeling a bit inadequate?"

"You ungrateful twerp!"

Ryan was a keg of dynamite ready to blow.

Seriously, what man could handle another guy, constantly in his wife's orbit, and not lose it when taunted?

Ryan's fury gave me a cold thrill. I yelled towards the bathroom, "Hey Tiffany, you done in there? Taking forever—need a hand with your back?"

"Logan!"

His roar came through the phone call.

It could've cracked the screen.

Just as I was gearing up for another round, the line went dead.

Barely ten minutes later, rapid knocks echoed at the door.

Peering through the peephole, there stood Ryan, unexpectedly fast on the uptake.

The moment I cracked open the door, two bodyguards tucked away sprang into action.

Bam!

I was floored in an instant.

Before I could even flinch, his bodyguards pinned me down, one's knee pressing my head against the cold floor.

Gasping for air was a struggle under that iron grip.

Ryan charged past without a glance, made a beeline for the bathroom, and then ransacked the rest of my place in a frenzy.

His rampage, fueled by not finding her, oddly satisfied me.

Coming back to me, Ryan signaled his goons.

They jerked me to my feet, clamping down hard on my arms.

Ryan, seething, grabbed my hair, his eyes deadly. "Playing games, huh? I'm asking you one last time—where's my wife?"