I found my fiancé in bed with my best friend. He smirked and said, “Gonna cry?” He thought he broke me and he was wrong.

He stiffened. “You don’t understand—I was drunk—”

“Then maybe stop drinking,” I cut in. “Oh, and Ethan? Check your company accounts.”

The color drained from his face. “What did you do?”

“I did what any good business partner would do,” I said, handing him a folder of documents—revoked access, frozen funds, pending audits. “You wanted to play games. I’m just keeping score.”

He flipped through the pages, panic rising. “You can’t do this.”

“I already did.”

He slammed the door behind him on his way out, shaking the walls. I sat down, trembling from the rush of adrenaline and heartbreak. Revenge didn’t erase betrayal, but it gave me back control.

Later, Chloe texted, asking to meet. We met at a small diner near the lake. She looked wrecked—mascara smudged, eyes red.

“Lena, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “It just happened. Ethan said you two were taking a break—”

I laughed bitterly. “A break? We were buying a house, Chloe.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “He told me you didn’t love him anymore.”

“That’s the thing about Ethan,” I said quietly. “He tells people what they need to hear to get what he wants.”

When she reached across the table, I pulled my hand away. “You weren’t just my friend,” I said. “You were family. And you burned ten years of trust.”

I left her there, crying into her coffee. “We’re done, Chloe. Don’t call me again.”

Outside, the night air was cold against my face. I felt empty but strangely free.

In the weeks that followed, I watched Ethan’s world crumble. Clients withdrew. His business came under review. The house deal collapsed when I retracted the payment. When he tried to threaten me, I forwarded his incriminating emails to his investors. Within days, his reputation was ruined.

He once mocked me for being weak. Now, he was the one begging.