CEO Wife's Bold Revenge

The shrill ring of Forest's phone pierced through the morning quiet of our bedroom at exactly seven-fifteen. I was already dressed, adjusting my navy blazer in the mirror while mentally reviewing the day's schedule—our company's tenth anniversary celebration, months of planning finally coming to fruition.

"Hello?" Forest's voice carried that particular tone he reserved for certain calls. The one that made my stomach clench with unease.

I watched his reflection in the mirror as his expression shifted from sleepy confusion to urgent concern. "Lyla? What's wrong?"

My hands stilled on my blazer buttons. Of course it was her.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Forest murmured, his voice dropping to that intimate register that once belonged only to conversations with me. "When did it happen?"

I turned around, studying his face as he paced to the window. The morning light caught the worry lines around his eyes—worry that seemed reserved exclusively for Lyla Webb these days.

"No, no, don't apologize. Family comes first," he said, and something cold settled in my chest. "We'll figure something out. What do you need?"

The conversation continued for another five minutes, Forest's voice growing more animated, more determined to solve whatever crisis Lyla had presented him with. When he finally hung up, he was already reaching for his clothes.

"Lyla's grandmother passed away last night," he announced without looking at me. "She needs our help with the memorial service arrangements."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said carefully, though something felt off about the timing. "But today is our anniversary celebration. Surely there are funeral homes that can—"

"She needs the parade float," Forest interrupted, pulling on his shirt with jerky movements. "For the procession. Her family has significant business connections, Brooke. This is important."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You want to give her our anniversary float? The one we've spent weeks designing?"

"It's just a float," Forest said dismissively, not meeting my eyes. "We can celebrate another time."

Just a float. Ten years of building this company together, and our milestone celebration was 'just a float.'

I left the house thirty minutes after Forest, driving separately to the office as I had been doing more frequently lately. The parking garage felt unusually quiet, the calm before what should have been our biggest celebration yet.

But as I rode the elevator to our floor, dread pooled in my stomach. The doors opened to reveal chaos in the reception area—rolls of black fabric draped across chairs, funeral wreaths stacked against the wall, and the acrid smell of lilies overwhelming the usual coffee and paper scent of our office.

"Mrs. Rivera!" Elena Rodriguez, my assistant, appeared at my elbow, her dark eyes wide with confusion. "They started moving everything at seven-thirty this morning. Mr. Rivera gave orders to transform the float."

I walked toward the conference room windows that overlooked the loading dock, each step feeling heavier than the last. Below, our beautiful anniversary float—painted in the company's signature gold and navy,