“T-Therese?” His voice cracked the air like a bone.

He stood there in the doorway, keys in hand, an expensive coat still draped over his arm. For a split second, Dominic looked like a man who’d seen a ghost.

I didn’t move. I wanted him to feel it. The weight of seeing me breathing. The last time he saw me, I was unconscious in a burning car. I was helpless but he left me there. Ruthless.

“You’re not…” he stepped forward slowly. “You’re—how are you—?”

“Alive,” I said. “Surprised to see the woman you killed on our supposed anniversary?”

He stared at me like the word tasted wrong in his mouth. “They told me there were no survivors.”

“You mean—you told them to stop looking for me.”

He didn’t deny it. Silence wrapped the room in something cold and sharp. He dropped his coat on a nearby chair. His hands trembled slightly. I placed my palm flat on the documents laid on the table.

“These are yours. Divorce. Resignation. Both signed on my end.”

“You came back just for this?” he asked, smirking.

I tilted my head. “No, Dominic. I came back to give you the ending you wanted. Just not the one you planned.”

He walked toward me, slow, calculated. The charm still coated every move, like cologne over rot.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Things got complicated.”

“Complicated?” I let out a small laugh. “You paid off my medical records. Staged my death. And got engaged to Isabelle Tan while the ink on my death certificate was still drying.”

“You were never supposed to be in that car—”

“Stop lying.”

He flinched.

“I was the easy solution, wasn’t I?” I continued. “The quiet wife. The invisible one. The one who wouldn’t scream.” I stepped closer. “But here I am…Breathing and alive.”

His expression tightened. He looked down at the divorce papers, then back at me. “Do you know what will happen if this gets out?”

“Of course,” I said, chuckling. “Your empire burns. Your engagement collapses. And everyone finally sees who you really are.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

I smiled, sharp as glass. “I didn’t survive a car crash just to whisper.”

He grabbed the documents, flipping through the pages. “You really think you can walk away clean?”

“No,” I said. “But I can walk away free.” I turned toward the door. “You owe me, Dominic. But I’m not here to collect.”

His voice chased after me. “Wait. Therese…Please don’t do this…”

I paused in the doorway.

“I’ll sign them,” he said, quieter. “But you need to understand—none of this was personal.”

That was the moment I knew he still didn’t get it.

“You set me on fire,” I whispered. “That’s as personal as it gets.”

Then I walked out.

Let him sit in the ashes.

Because it's payback time!

Tan Foundation’s annual charity night wasn’t just an event—it was a statement. Silk gowns. Champagne flutes. A gala vision in gold.

And tonight, I came dressed to be seen.

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, a few heads turned. Not because they recognized me—most never even knew the CEO’s “assistant” had a name. Just another shadow trailing behind Dominic Sullivan.

Until now.

“Ms. Rinelli?” A hostess blinked, surprised. “I… didn’t see your name on the guest list.”

I smiled. “Someone made sure I’d get in anyway.”

Because someone wanted this confrontation.

And I already knew who—Isabelle Tan.

Gold-plated, sharp-tongued, born from old money and newer scandals. Near the center of the room, framed by soft lights and social climbers, she’s a scene-stealer in her champagne silk, red lips. Eyes like a blade you wouldn’t see coming until it was already under your ribs.

She spotted me across the ballroom, and for a second, I saw it—the flicker of annoyance. Then she smiled. And motioned me over like I was a lost girl she’d already decided to pity.

“Therese,” she said sweetly, eyes cold. “What a surprise. Back from the dead?”

I didn’t answer her bait. The first time I knew their filthy affair was over a phone call. Late. I brought him coffee. He didn’t hear me outside the door.

“She suspects nothing,” Dominic said.

Then her laugh—low, slow, poisonous.

“Let her wear the ring,” Isabelle purred. “I’ll wear you.”

I left the tray on the floor.

They were careful—at first.

Then careless.

Then bold.

After that, I watched everything with fresh eyes.

How her hand lingered on his arm at board meetings. How she called me “sweet” like I was a dumb puppy.

And then Maldives. A photo. No caption.

Just Isabelle almost naked in the poolside, golden skin, holding his tumbler—my gift to him on our second anniversary. He told me he was in Morocco for a business forum, but his reflection was in her sunnies.

That’s when I stopped crying.

And started recording.

“I thought you might want to speak in private,” I said after a while.

She chuckled, sipping her drink. “Why? We’ve already shared so much, right? But, yeah, let's hear your thing.”

She led the way into a quiet side hallway, the velvet curtains muffling the sound of wealth behind us.

“I assume Dominic knows you’re here?” Isabelle folded her arms over her supersized chest and went on, “Or is this another secret you’re keeping from your husband?”

“You already knew, didn’t you?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head. “Of course. I’ve known for a while.”

“Then why continue the engagement?”

She stepped closer. “Because I don’t care that he married you. You were a rug he loved to step on. A body he used to get through the silence. You're good as dead, Therese.”

I stiffened. But she wasn’t done.

“Would you like to know what we did the night your car flipped and burned?”

I stayed still.

She leaned in, her voice a silk blade. “We were in his penthouse. My lipstick was still on his collar when they called to tell him you were ‘missing.’ He didn’t even pause. Just poured me another drink and said, ‘It’s handled.’”

Heat surged under my skin, but I didn’t move.

“You think showing up here makes you strong?” She sneered. “It makes you pathetic. Everyone knows Dominic plays dirty. But you? You thought he’d love you for being loyal.”

I met her eyes. “And you think he’ll love you for being cruel? You don’t scare me, Isabelle. You never did.”

Her smile faltered—just enough for me to see the crack. I stepped past her; she followed.

“And where exactly are you going?” she called behind me.

I didn’t turn around as I answered, “To make sure your fairytale ends before the wedding does.”

She laughed. But behind the sound, I heard what she didn’t want me to notice—fear in shrilling bold letters. I slipped away from the crowd, because I had one last stop to make.

__

INSIDE THE PROJECTOR ROOM

The tech team was gone, busy helping with soundcheck. I reached into my clutch and pulled out a slim USB. Labeled only with a single word—DEATH.

I slotted it into the control board. The video was short. Forty-three seconds. Just long enough. Dominic’s voice. Isabelle’s laughter. A cold conversation recorded months ago—one neither of them knew I had.

I hit upload.

The timer was set. The video would play at the end of the presentation, right when the camera panned to the future Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. Dominic built an empire on image.

Now he’d watch it crumble in front of every lens. And when that video plays, Isabelle won’t just lose her crown—she’ll choke on it!

I stood at the edge of the ballroom, one hand resting on a crystal flute I didn’t drink from.

From here, I could see my sloppy, good-for-nothing soon to be ex-husband.

Dominic was immaculate in a black tuxedo, hand resting far too comfortably on Isabelle Tan’s waist. He looked like a man born to dominate the room—effortless, controlled, adored.

The projector screen flickered to life at the front of the ballroom. A polished montage began to play—children in classrooms, charity galas, press clippings. The music soared. Applause followed like sheep.

A waiter glided by with champagne. I didn’t take one.

Ten seconds...

The host stepped forward. “And now, a special message from the bride and groom-to-be…”

The lights dimmed dramatically. The screen faded to black. Then Dominic’s calculated and cold voice wafted into the air.

“She’s not going to make it.”

Then came over Isabelle’s voice—

“Are you sure? If she survives, she’ll be a liability.

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then Dominic again—

“We let her die.”

The hall turned fiery. Ripples. Shifts. Murmurs behind crystal and silk, gasps scattered like broken glass. Phones began to rise like a wave of judgment.

Chaos cracked beneath chandeliers and curated luxury. People moved—toward exits, toward screens, toward answers.

Dominic spun—eyes wild, hunting.

Then he saw me.

And across the havoc, Isabelle turned her head slowly toward me. Her eyes locked onto mine, then the screen, then back. Her expression cracked. Fury poured out. She stormed through the crowd. And then—slap!

Her hand whipped across my face, a brutal slap that echoed above the chaos. My head snapped sideways, but I stood my ground.

“You vindictive little witch,” she spat, trembling, breathless. “I should’ve finished you with my bare hands!”

Blood painted the inside of my cheek. I smiled through it.

“You ruined everything,” she seethed.

I didn’t flinch. “Did I? Because from where I’m standing… it looks like you did that all by yourself.”

Phones filmed. Whispers surged like wildfire. Isabelle Tan, the flawless fiancée, was unraveling for the world to see.

Dominic reached us, tone sharp. “Isabelle, stop—”

“No, Dominic! Let me handle this bitch!” Isabelle shrieked, aiming to slap me again.

But I struck her right away. My palm met her face with such force that her head snapped the other way. Gasps ripped through the crowd like thunder. “That’s for trying to bury me,” I whispered in her ear. “Next time, aim for the heart.”

Dominic grabbed my wrist. “Enough of this bullshit, Therese!” His touch burned against my skin—not from guilt. From thick and cold fury.

“She was supposed to be gone,” he muttered, gaze never leaving me.

“I trusted you, Dom!" Isabelle snapped at him.You said she was handled.

"She was nothing!” Dominic hissed in ragged breaths.

I laughed—a bitter, unholy sound. “Only the dead don't say a thing, Dominic.”

He stared at me, eyes darker than I remembered. Not with regret, but it was something nasty. Rotten. Dominic’s voice cut through the noise. Seething.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Therese.”

I turned slowly, lips curling. “Oh, Dominic…” I said. “I never really left.”

Behind him, Isabelle yanked something from her purse. And then everything went black. Then came a scream… and a terrifying GUNSHOT.