The study was dark, illuminated only by the cool blue glow of three monitors. On the center screen, a ticker tape of stock symbols raced by, but Elena only cared about one: NVS. NovaStream. Up 12% in after-hours trading.
Elena leaned back in her ergonomic chair, rubbing her temples. At thirty-two, she was the silent majority shareholder and founder of NovaStream, a cloud computing giant that had quietly revolutionized data storage. Her net worth fluctuated with the market, but it generally hovered around the three-billion-dollar mark.
She heard the distinctive rumble of a BMW pulling into the driveway.
Ideally, she would be popping champagne. NovaStream had just acquired its largest competitor in Asia. Instead, Elena closed her laptop, slid it into a hidden compartment under her desk, and hurried to the kitchen. She pulled a pre-made casserole out of the oven, messing up her hair slightly to look frazzled.
The front door opened. Mark walked in.
Mark was handsome in a conventional, catalogue-model way. He had the jawline of a hero and the ego of a dictator. He threw his keys into the bowl with a loud clatter.
“I’m home,” he announced, not waiting for a response. He walked straight past Elena to the fridge, grabbing a beer.
“Hi, honey,” Elena said, wiping her hands on her apron. “How was work?”
Mark sighed—a long, dramatic exhale designed to solicit sympathy. “Brutal. Absolutely brutal. The board is putting so much pressure on Marketing. They don’t understand vision, Elena. They just want numbers. But I handled it. I always do.”
Elena nodded, suppressing the urge to correct him. She knew exactly what the board wanted because she was the board. She had sent the email directive that morning demanding better ROI on the new ad campaign—the campaign Mark was supposedly leading.
“I’m sure you did great,” Elena said softly.
Mark took a long swig of beer and looked around the kitchen. “Is dinner ready? The place looks a bit… chaotic.”
He gestured vaguely at a stack of mail on the counter.
“I was just finishing up the laundry,” Elena lied. In reality, she had been on a secure video call with the Prime Minister of Singapore. “The casserole needs five more minutes.”
Mark scoffed. “You know, I ran into Dave from Sales today. His wife is a lawyer. Partner at her firm. She brings in six figures.” He looked at Elena with a mixture of pity and disdain. “It must be nice to just… exist. To have no real pressure.”
Elena felt the familiar sting. It wasn’t the insult itself—she had thicker skin than that. It was the irony.
Five years ago, Mark had been unemployed, depressed, and borderline suicidal. Elena, already a secret millionaire from her early patents, had fallen in love with his vulnerability. To build him up, she had crafted a narrative: she was a freelance graphic designer struggling to find work, and he was the rising star. She had used her connections to get him an entry-level job at one of her subsidiaries. She had secretly guided his career, feeding him ideas, fixing his mistakes late at night, and ensuring his promotions.
She had dimmed her light so he could shine. And now, blinded by that artificial glare, he couldn’t see her at all.
“I do my best, Mark,” Elena said, her voice tight.
“I know, babe,” Mark said, patting her head condescendingly. “Just… try to look a bit more presentable tomorrow. The promotion party is a big deal. The CEO might be there. I don’t want you looking like… well, like this.”
He gestured at her apron.
Elena smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile that Mark didn’t notice because he was already looking at his phone.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly who I am tomorrow.”
Later that night, as Mark snored beside her, Elena’s phone lit up on the nightstand. It was Mark’s phone, actually. He had forgotten to silence it.
A message from “Jessica – Work”: I can’t wait to be your queen tomorrow night. Your stupid wife won’t suspect a thing. Wear the blue tie I bought you.
Elena stared at the screen. She didn’t cry. She reached under the bed and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a platinum seal ring with the NovaStream crest.
She whispered to the sleeping man, “You wanted a queen, Mark. Be careful what you wish for.”
The Grand Ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was bathed in gold and violet light. It was an event fit for royalty, paid for by a “generous anonymous donor” from the corporate office.
Mark arrived in a limousine. He stepped out, looking dashing in the blue tie Jessica had bought him. On his arm was Jessica herself—a striking woman in a red dress that was illegal in three states. She worked in HR, a department Elena had specifically instructed to hire more “creative thinkers.” Apparently, Jessica’s creativity lay elsewhere.
Elena arrived ten minutes later. In an Uber.
Mark had told her to meet him there. “It’s better if we arrive separately,” he had said. “I have to network early.”
Elena walked into the ballroom. She was wearing a simple black dress. Elegant, but understated. She stood near a pillar, watching her husband work the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mark’s voice boomed over the crowd as he held up a champagne flute. He was holding court near the ice sculpture. “They say behind every great man is a great woman. And I have to agree.”
He pulled Jessica closer. The crowd, assuming she was his wife, applauded politely.
“Jessica here has been my rock,” Mark lied effortlessly. “Her intelligence, her class… that’s what drives me.”
A junior executive leaned over to Mark. “Is that your wife, Mark?”
Mark laughed, a cruel, braying sound. “No, no. This is Jessica, my… right hand. My wife is around here somewhere.” He scanned the room, his eyes sliding over Elena in the shadows. “Probably near the buffet. She loves free food.”
Jessica giggled, whispering something in Mark’s ear.
Elena watched them. Her heart was a block of ice. But then, she saw it.
Around Jessica’s neck glittered a necklace. It was a blue diamond pendant, set in white gold. The design was unmistakable. It was the Star of the North, a custom piece commissioned by Elena’s grandfather for her grandmother. It had been missing from Elena’s jewelry box for two weeks. Mark had told her he took it to get the clasp repaired.
He hadn’t just cheated on her. He had stolen her legacy to adorn his mistress.
The last shred of pity Elena held for Mark evaporated.
She pulled out her phone. It was 8:00 PM.
She opened an encrypted app and typed a single message to the CEO of the holding company, Arthur Sterling.
Message: Execute Plan Omega. The stage is yours.
The lights in the ballroom flickered. The smooth jazz music cut out, replaced by a low, ominous hum of feedback.
“What’s going on?” Mark muttered, looking around. “Did we lose power?”
A voice boomed from the overhead speakers, god-like in its volume.
“Will the new Marketing Director please come to the stage to receive… a special decision from the Chairman of the Board.”
Mark’s face lit up. He turned to Jessica. “This is it. The Chairman is finally acknowledging me. Maybe a bonus? Maybe equity?”
He grabbed Jessica’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go make history.”
They walked toward the stage, beaming, unaware that the giant LED screen behind them—which had been displaying the company logo—was glitching. The logo was dissolving, pixel by pixel, revealing something else entirely.
As Mark and Jessica ascended the stairs to the stage, the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
A group of six men and women in dark suits entered. They moved with the synchronized precision of a predatory pack. In the center was Arthur Sterling, the public-facing CEO of NovaStream. He was a terrifying man—six foot four, with silver hair and a reputation for eating competitors for lunch.
Mark froze on stage. “Mr. Sterling!” he called out, waving frantically. “Over here!”
Sterling didn’t look at the stage. He and his entourage walked straight through the crowd, parting the sea of guests. They were heading toward the back corner. Toward the shadows.
Mark frowned. “He must not see me. The lights are in his eyes.”
“Mark,” Jessica hissed, tugging his sleeve. “Look at the screen.”
“Not now, Jessica. I need to get Sterling’s attention.”
“Mark! Look!”
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