His Discarded Wife Was The Real Boss

I spent fifteen years building my husband's mafia empire, coding the complex algorithms that washed his blood money clean.

But on my thirty-fifth birthday, instead of a gift, I received a photo of his hand resting on another woman's thigh.

When I confronted him, Dustin didn't apologize. He brought his pregnant mistress, Jami, into our penthouse and told me to accept the hush money.

"You have nothing except what I give you," he sneered, treating me like a slow servant rather than the mastermind behind his success.