2025-04-19 19:46:28Elijah stood still, but the cameras didn’t care. Flash. Flash. Flash. Every blink of the lens swallowed a piece of him. Every move in this place had to be documented. Captured. Shared. Judged.
That was the power of money. But that wasn’t why he was here. He adjusted the cuff of his too-tight blazer, the one he borrowed from a friend who thought it looked “just rich enough.” Elijah knew better. You couldn’t fake it here—not for long. His gaze moved across the marble hall, landing on her. Valeria Langston. His wife. Or at least, she still wore the ring. Tonight, she was glowing—laughing softly with three men who looked like they’d been born in private jets and raised on stock portfolios. One of the men—a silver-haired man in a midnight-blue suit—tilted his glass and gave Valeria an approving nod. “I must say, Valeria, your company’s Q1 performance? Impressive. I was surprised, pleasantly so.” She smiled like it was nothing. A practiced tilt of the head, a soft chuckle that never reached her eyes. “Oh, thank you,” she said, voice smooth like silk on polished glass. “It’s all hard work, really.” Elijah nearly choked on the word. Hard work. If hard work meant hiring smarter people to do the actual work and taking all the credit, then sure—she was the hardest worker in the room. He scoffed quietly, a bitter sound caught in his throat. She wasn’t always like this. He still remembered Valeria in torn jeans and oversized sweatshirts back in college—passionate, idealistic, laughing at rich kids and their fake lives. But now? Now she was one of them. And he was just the guy standing in the background of her I*******m stories. “Eli!” Her voice snapped through the air like a whip. He blinked. “Bring me my bag,” she said, louder this time, her tone sharp enough to draw attention from the nearby guests. He froze for half a second, then moved toward her, face expressionless, hands steady. At least now he was good for something—her bag boy. He held it out to her, but she didn’t even look at him as she took it. One of the men squinted at him, tilting his head. “You know,” he said, “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Somewhere…” Valeria didn’t miss a beat. “He’s just my tagalong,” she said with a light laugh, not even sparing Elijah a glance. “Ignore him.” The word hit harder than it should have. Tagalong. Not husband. Not partner. Not even a name. Just a weight she dragged around for show. He looked down at the marble floor, pretending not to feel it, pretending it didn’t sting. “Anyway,” Valeria said, business voice on now as she slipped her phone from the bag, “why don’t we get to it?” They leaned in. She started talking numbers, projections, potential acquisitions. Elijah took a step back. Invisible again. He let out a slow sigh. How long could he keep this up? She never gave him the respect of being her husband—not in private, not in public, not even on their anniversary. That night at the gala, when he waited with flowers, and she walked past him like he was the waiter. The business conference where she introduced him as her “errand boy.” The award ceremony where she thanked her “team” and “supporters” but left out the man who gave up everything to be beside her. Yeah. How long could he keep pretending this was love? The silver-haired man—Donovan, Elijah thought his name was—turned to Valeria with a smile that lingered just a second too long. His eyes glided over her face, then slowly down to her hand, which he took gently but possessively. That smile of his was no longer polite. It was hungry. “Why don’t we talk more privately?” he said, voice dipped in suggestion, subtle to most—but not to Elijah. Elijah’s stomach turned. He stepped forward without thinking. “She can’t go with you,” he said, louder than he meant to. “She’s my wife. You can’t just leave me here like this.” Valeria paused. She glanced back at Elijah like he was some minor inconvenience. Then, with a casual tug, she started walking with Donovan anyway. “Elijah,” she said without even turning fully to face him, “don’t start your needy drama in front of people.” He took another step. “Valeria, I’m serious. You can’t just go off with him.” “Oh, stop it.” Her eyes flashed cold. “This is business. Something you clearly know nothing about. God, do you even understand how exhausting it is dragging you around like a charity case?” The other men chuckled awkwardly, eyes flicking away, pretending they didn’t hear the verbal slap. Valeria kept going. “You think this is about marriage?” she said, voice sharp, echoing now. “This—this is about making name and money . About respect. About building something real. Not sitting at home playing husband-of-the-year while I do all the work.” He tried again, softer this time. “You don’t have to do this.” But she leaned in close, her smile ice-cold. “Elijah, if you dropped off the face of the earth right now, I’d probably be in a better place than this. So do me a favor—go be useless somewhere else.” Then she turned her back to him. Just like that. Gone. Elijah stood alone in the middle of the grand marble floor. Surrounded by laughter, clinking glasses. But none of it felt real. He shifted his gaze to the nearest reflective glass pane—the side of a polished display case. His own face stared back at him. Tired eyes. Slumped shoulders. This isn’t who I am. His hand slid into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He unlocked it with muscle memory, thumb moving without hesitation. The familiar screen loaded. His finger swiped through folders until he reached one he hadn’t opened in months. Langston Group Investment Control. He tapped it. Inside was the file. A single command. A master key he still had access to—because even Valeria, in her arrogance, forgot where it all started. With him. At the center of the screen, the options appeared. Delete? Yes or No His thumb hovered. It was small. One button. One decision. One act of reclaiming who he was. And the first taste of what it would feel like to stop being helpless. The screen stared back, silent and patient. The same way he’d been. He looked up one last time, scanning the room. No one was watching him. Not even her. Valeria was already halfway toward the private lounge with Donovan, smiling like nothing existed beyond her own ambition. She didn’t look back. She never did. Elijah exhaled. A slow, breath that carried every public humiliation, every lonely night in a marriage that only existed on paper. He didn’t blink. Yes. He tapped it.
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Forty minutes later, Valeria emerged from the private lounge with that same glowing smile painted back on her face like fresh makeup. Polished. Powerful. Unbothered.But Elijah saw the faint smudge in her lipstick. The way she adjusted her hair with a quick glance at her phone camera. He didn’t need proof. He already knew.She spotted him standing by the far column like an accessory someone forgot to put away.“There you are,” she said sharply. “Prepare the car. We’re leaving soon.”No “please.” No “thanks.” Just another command.Elijah didn’t move.“I want to talk,” he said, voice low, steady. “Outside.”Valeria didn’t even pause. “You’re not the one feeding me, Elijah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So whatever this is, say it here. I don’t have time for drama.”He looked around. People were nearby. Business suits and cocktail dresses, too consumed in networking to pay attention—but still, too close. She didn’t care. She never did.He sighed.“I can’t stand it anymore, Valeria,” he s
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After I left, they begged for Forgiveness Chapter 4- The storm behind the curtain
O.G. Level"Where's the boss?"The voice sliced through the high-ceilinged chamber like the soft click of a silencer—sharp, precise, and expecting answers.Before the speaker stood a sleek obsidian table, its surface glowing faintly with a rotating hologram of three major skyscrapers, each labeled in bold red characters: AVIONIX TOWERS, ORION TECH, and THE TRIDENT COMPLEX. They shimmered like kings atop a digital chessboard, casting blue light across the sharp suits of the men surrounding the display.Power hummed in the room like electricity—calm, but deadly.They stood in silence, waiting.Then—fwsshhhhhh.A toilet flushed in the distance. Water ran. A few seconds later, soft footsteps echoed down the marble corridor.The door opened.He emerged.Elijah Quinn.Black silk robe. Chest bare. Eyes sharp, unreadable. He dried his face with a white towel, dabbing at his jaw with quiet precision before carelessly tossing it to the floor.A servant—young, in gray uniform—rushed forward, sna
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Chapter 9- What is it going to be ?
Morning hadn’t even burned off the fog yet, and Valeria Langston was already high off power.The sun spilled in golden slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Elijah Quinn’s penthouse, reflecting the queen who had just staged her silent coup.She stood barefoot on his Persian rug, robe swaying as she poured herself another glass of mango juice—only this time, she added a shot of his Louis XIII cognac. His favorite.Mine now.Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk as she sipped.Elijah’s face when she hit him with the prenup clause? Priceless.So quiet. So cold. His mouth set in that tight line, fists clenched like he wanted to shatter something—maybe her. But he didn’t. Couldn’t.He thought he was untouchable. That she would vanish quietly. That she was finished.Poor man forgot who he married.She strolled across the grand living room like it was her kingdom, pausing at the windows.She pulled her phone from the robe pocket and typed quickly.To: Olivia Carter (Legal Consultan
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Elijah Quinn stepped into his penthouse in Kensington Heights, his footsteps echoing against Italian marble. He felt something was off.He halted.Bags.Designer bags. Shoes. A silk scarf thrown lazily across the foyer bench. Familiar brands. Familiar taste.He narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell…”He moved swiftly through the hall, past his curated art. His hand flexed, already itching to call security. Someone had broken in—someone with a damn key.As he approached the west wing, the glow of the massive LED screen lit the room. His living room.The laughter from the sitcom playing echoed—loud. And then he saw her.Valeria.Sprawled elegantly on the velvet couch in his favorite lounge. Wearing nothing but a white robe—his white robe. Hair tied in a silk scarf. Legs crossed. A glass of mango juice in one hand, remote in the other.Laughing.Elijah stopped at the threshold, darkening his expression.She didn’t even flinch.She turned her head, slowly, like she’d been expecting him.“
Chapter 7 - Marriage come back
The headlines exploded like fireworks hours after. “Business Queen Turned Clown? Valeria Langston’s Unforgivable Fashion Faux Pas at Global Summit.” “Trident Summit Scandal: Valeria Langston Shows Up in Jeans, Gets Shown the Door.” “From Power to Punchline: Langston’s Downfall Sealed in Denim.” Every article came with a picture—her wide-eyed, stunned expression captured mid-humiliation. Sock-clad sneakers, loose hanging like shame, and a black t-shirt clinging to her. They didn’t blur her face. No mercy. The press wasn’t kind. But her board? They were worse. She remembered their cold stares from last night, their words still replaying in her ears. “You’re fired, Valeria.” “Your conduct tonight was a disgrace.” “You've brought shame to the company. We can’t afford to be associated with your name anymore.” “The company car, the penthouse apartment—those are under Langston’s name. They’ll be repossessed by morning.” By morning. Tomorrow. Which meant—today was her last nigh
Chapter 6- A glimpse of power
Valeria sat in her car outside The Halcyon.Her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, nails biting into the leather. Her heart was galloping like a racehorse, but her mouth whispered a lie she needed to believe.“It’s going to be okay,” she breathed. “This is the beginning of the comeback.”She tapped her screen and began recording a voice memo—meant only for the board.“To the esteemed members of the board,” she began, voice composed, measured. “I’ve just secured a private meeting with Elijah Quinn. This is not a loss. It’s a strategy. We’re going to get to the top again. I’ll make sure of it.”She ended the recording, attached it to a secure group message, and sent it without hesitation.Confidence. That was the key. Even if her world was slipping like sand between her fingers, she’d bluff her way through until it solidified again.She opened her bag and checked her reflection in the mirror. Simple black t-shirt. Oversized jeans. No makeup. No accessories. Minimalist. C
Chapter 5- Her life falling apart
Why was the gate not opening?Valeria Langston pressed a manicured finger to the intercom button, eyes flicking up at the sleek digital sign that still—still—read “Executive Reserved.” The gate in front of her didn’t budge.A tinny voice buzzed through.“Apologies, ma’am. This space is currently restricted.”Her brows lifted, lips twitching into a polite, puzzled smile. “There must be a mistake. This is my space. Valeria Langston. CEO of—”“Orders from the top,” the guard cut in, firm. “This space is to remain vacant until further notice.”Top? She was the top.Valeria’s jaw tightened. “Is there maintenance?”“I’m not aware of any, ma’am. You’ll need to park elsewhere.”She paused, processing.Fine. It had to be a glitch. Someone overstepping. She’d have her assistant handle it later. With a quick spin of her wheel, she reversed out and parked two floors below. Not ideal, not convenient, but she wasn’t about to argue over a common space. She’s above that. Her heels clicked crisply
Chapter 4- The storm behind the curtain
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Chapter 3- The invisible hand withdraws
“You need to rest, Ms. Langston.”Valeria blinked up at the soft, sterile light above her bed, her chest wrapped tight in a dull ache. The doctor stood by her side, clipboard in hand, calm but firm.“No calls, no meetings, no boardrooms for at least a week,” he continued. “Avoid anything that can trigger your heart rate. You were lucky. Next time, you might not be.”She gave a small, slow nod. Her throat was dry. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days.“I’ll be back to check on you later,” the doctor said, and with a polite smile, he turned and left the quiet room.The space wasn’t a hospital—but one of her guest suites, transformed by emergency staff into a recovery wing. Monitors, oxygen tanks, a private nurse stationed outside the door. All set up in less than an hour. Money could still buy that much, at least.The heavy door clicked softly again.Her PA entered quietly, carrying a tablet pressed to her chest like it held a bomb. She stepped carefully into the room, glancing at t
Chapter 2- The Quiet Exit
Forty minutes later, Valeria emerged from the private lounge with that same glowing smile painted back on her face like fresh makeup. Polished. Powerful. Unbothered.But Elijah saw the faint smudge in her lipstick. The way she adjusted her hair with a quick glance at her phone camera. He didn’t need proof. He already knew.She spotted him standing by the far column like an accessory someone forgot to put away.“There you are,” she said sharply. “Prepare the car. We’re leaving soon.”No “please.” No “thanks.” Just another command.Elijah didn’t move.“I want to talk,” he said, voice low, steady. “Outside.”Valeria didn’t even pause. “You’re not the one feeding me, Elijah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So whatever this is, say it here. I don’t have time for drama.”He looked around. People were nearby. Business suits and cocktail dresses, too consumed in networking to pay attention—but still, too close. She didn’t care. She never did.He sighed.“I can’t stand it anymore, Valeria,” he s
Chapter 1- The husband she never valued
Elijah stood still, but the cameras didn’t care. Flash. Flash. Flash. Every blink of the lens swallowed a piece of him. Every move in this place had to be documented. Captured. Shared. Judged.That was the power of money.But that wasn’t why he was here.He adjusted the cuff of his too-tight blazer, the one he borrowed from a friend who thought it looked “just rich enough.” Elijah knew better. You couldn’t fake it here—not for long.His gaze moved across the marble hall, landing on her.Valeria Langston.His wife.Or at least, she still wore the ring.Tonight, she was glowing—laughing softly with three men who looked like they’d been born in private jets and raised on stock portfolios. One of the men—a silver-haired man in a midnight-blue suit—tilted his glass and gave Valeria an approving nod.“I must say, Valeria, your company’s Q1 performance? Impressive. I was surprised, pleasantly so.”She smiled like it was nothing. A practiced tilt of the head, a soft chuckle that never reache