The Puppeteer "Rule number one: Never sign your divorce papers on your birthday. It'll curse you with an unending, agonizing vendetta—especially if you married a ruthless bastard with a mother who makes Lucifer look kind." "And rule number two? Never trust the woman he cheated with, because one day, she’ll put a blade to your throat… right after you strut down the runway of your fashion show." I smirk, tapping my nails against the laptop keys. The words I just typed burn into my brain, a cruel reminder of how far I’ve fallen. A billionaire turned housewife, stripped of power, dignity, and the child I never got to hold. Three years wasted. Never again. I slam the laptop shut and toss it onto the bed, the force making it crash onto the floor. Let it break. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does—except payback. I pull on my silk robe and head down to my office. The empire I rebuilt from scratch after him. Money never betrays you. Love? A death sentence. The office door bursts open. My brother steps in, a sly smirk on his face as he slides a file across the desk. "Happy belated birthday," he drawls. I raise a brow, flipping open the folder. The words make my stomach clench. A deal? With him? The man who tried to kill me? "We captured the assailant," my brother says, his voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. "And guess what, Abby? That little two-month pregnancy? It ain't your husband's. It’s his." I freeze. A slow, predatory grin curls my lips. "And that’s not even the best part," my brother murmurs. He leans closer, voice lowering. "Your husband’s brother? The one who mysteriously disappeared?" I lift my gaze, pulse thrumming. "She killed him," he whispers. Oh, darling. Now that... that’s something I can work with.