THE RUTHLESS billionaires obsession

"My fiancé is cheating on me."

That was the first thing Jeannette said as she got into the car. She even skipped greeting her friend Eleanor.

Behind the wheel, Eleanor let out a gasp. "What?!" She snapped her head toward Jeannette, her face full of disbelief and anger.

Eleanor saw exhaustion in Jeannette’s eyes—from the eighthour flight—along with an icy calm. She was now certain: Jeannette was not joking.

Jeannette held up her phone screen for Eleanor to see. It was a photo, apparently taken secretly—Devyn, Jeannette’s fiancé, was kissing another woman passionately. What shocked Eleanor even more was that this woman was Jeannette’s stepsister, Zara.

Eleanor cursed. She threw the car into drive and floored the gas pedal. The Range Rover merged onto the highway with violent speed. "That hypocritical, lying piece of trash! The Langley family parades him around like he's a saint. I'm going to kill him, Jeannette. I'm going to physically destroy him."

Jeannette's stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot, but she refused to let her hands shake. She pressed her thumbnail hard into the side of her index finger, grounding herself with the sharp sting of pain.

Jeannette said, staring blindly at the blurred taillights of the cars ahead, "I need a knife. The sharpest one I can find."

Eleanor glanced at her, a shiver running down her spine at the absolute ice in Jeannette's eyes.

The SUV plunged into the dark, underground parking garage of Eleanor's Back Bay penthouse. The sudden absence of light felt heavy. Jeannette unbuckled her seatbelt with a sharp click. Her movements were mechanical, precise. Like a soldier loading a weapon.

Minutes later, the private elevator opened directly into Eleanor's apartment. Jeannette kicked off her heels. She stepped barefoot onto the plush rug, completely ignoring the breathtaking night view of the Charles River through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Eleanor walked straight to the liquor cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of vintage Macallan and poured two fingers of neat whiskey into heavy crystal glasses. She shoved one into Jeannette's hand, desperate to break the suffocating tension in the room.

Jeannette tipped her head back and swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery path down her throat, settling like hot coals in her stomach. It fueled the quiet rage pulsing in her veins.

"We send the photo to the press right now," Eleanor said, pacing the floor.

"No." Jeannette shook her head. She set the empty glass down with a thud. "A photo isn't enough. The Langley PR machine will spin it. They'll say it's photoshopped. They'll say it's an AI deepfake. I need more."

She pulled her laptop from her carry-on bag and flipped it open. The harsh blue light illuminated her pale face. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the detailed asset list she had demanded from Devyn's accountant months ago under the guise of pre-nuptial planning.

"What are you looking for?" Eleanor asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"A blind spot," Jeannette murmured. Her eyes scanned lines of data until they locked onto a specific address. A private luxury apartment on the Upper East Side in Manhattan. Unregistered under the main Langley family trust.