Too Late, Mr. CEO: You Lost Her

I sold my cameras and lenses—everything that defined me—to buy the first servers for my husband’s startup.

Fifteen years later, on my birthday, Dustin left me alone to celebrate with his new assistant, Jami.

When I confronted him about the affair, he didn't apologize. He threw a fifty-thousand-dollar check at me and told me to buy something pretty.

But the betrayal didn't stop there. Jami broke into our safe and stole my late mother's vintage sapphire ring.

When I tried to take it back, she snapped the eighty-year-old gold band in half.

I slapped her. In response, my husband shoved me hard.

My head cracked against the solid oak nightstand. Blood poured down my face, staining the rug I had picked out.

Dustin didn't call an ambulance. He didn't even check my pulse.

He stepped over my bleeding body to comfort his mistress because she was "stressed."

When his parents found out, they didn't care about my injury. They came to where I was hiding, accused me of being clumsy, and threatened to leave me with nothing if I ruined the family image.

They forgot one crucial detail: I was the one who designed, coded, and installed the penthouse's smart security system.

I had synced every camera to my private cloud before I walked out.

I had the video of him assaulting me. I had the audio of him admitting to fraud.

And I had my father on speed dial—the man who owned the bank holding all of Dustin's loans.

I looked at his terrified parents and pulled up the footage on the TV.

"I don't want your money," I said, my finger hovering over the 'Send' button to the District Attorney. "I want to watch him burn."

Chapter 1

Eliana POV

The bottle of bubblegum-pink nail polish sitting on Dustin's mahogany desk certainly wasn't mine, but the shark-tooth bracelet next to it definitely belonged to his new assistant, Jami.

I stood frozen in the center of the home office I had personally designed, holding a tray of freshly brewed espresso.

The steam curled against my face, sharp and bitter.

My husband didn't even look up from his monitors.

Dustin was typing furiously, his brow furrowed in that intense way that used to make my stomach flip with admiration.

Now, it just made me feel invisible.

"You left this in the kitchen," I said, my voice sounding thin in the expansive room.

"Just set it down, Eliana," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively without shifting his gaze from the screen. "I'm in the middle of a crisis."

I placed the coffee near the pink bottle.

The contrast was screaming at me.

The sleek, dark wood of the desk, the professional clutter, and that cheap, neon vial that looked like a stain on our life.

I walked out, my heart thumping a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs.

I went to the kitchen and checked the oven.

The roast had been done for an hour.

It was drying out, shriveling in