Not Just An Incubator: The Ex-Wife's Cold Revenge

e Mye

loor-to-ceiling windows of the Penthouse with a

green. He hadn't changed it yet. Arrogance, pure and

llness. It smelled of the climate-controlled chill and the ling

nto the li

ng us in a happiness that was now a lie. The cashmere throw we had bought in Aspen, draped over the so

't have ti

I pulled the hard drives from the rack, stuffing them into my waterproof bag. These drives contained the

ack a bag. Just the essenti

en the clo

. In their place, Krystal's cheap, flashy dresses h

ed throwing things in-jeans, s

I s

nd a stack of winter woolens.

he cardboard cool a

in tissue paper,

had secrets. But a burner phone in a box labeled

passcode immediately. It wa

aded, a stream

om a number save

Three months. S

ou going to d

I just need the c

getting s

picious. She's too in

about

s signed, I'll cut her loose. The kid can go to bo

incu

air, heavy and suffocating.

dy to grow his heir and my brain to build his empire, planning

he bathroom, collapsing over the toilet, and vom

floor, clutching the phone l

ic tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that tore at

I had built a life on

didn't leave, but it crystallized in

ed my

too

encrypted cloud server. Then, for good measu

ack into t

deep, blood red. I uncapped it and walked to the

I drew a target ri

silence wa

c chirp of th

art s

rom the hallway, casual, confi

g lady," Krystal's vo

fr

s tr