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Midas Protocol: Seducing My Rival's Wife
Breenda I sat in the freezing conference room, my knuckles white as I strangled a cheap plastic pen. Outside, Manhattan was weeping in the gray rain, but inside, the air was sterile and dead. I stared at the polished mahogany table, seeing the distorted reflection of a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours—a man about to sign his own divorce papers.
Across from me, my wife Linda wouldn't even look at me. She was too busy drumming her fingers near a diamond ring that cost more than I had made in the last five years combined. Then the door swung open, and Simon Thorne walked in. The billionaire heir didn't say a word; he just walked behind Linda and placed a heavy, possessive hand on her shoulder, marking her as his.
"Let's wrap this up," Simon said, checking his Patek Philippe with the bored tone of a man ordering a coffee he didn't want. Linda finally looked through me like I was a ghost and told me to stop dragging this out. She whispered that I couldn't even afford myself anymore, a physical punch to the gut given I’d lost my job three weeks ago. After I signed, Simon flicked a business card at me, mockingly offering me a job as a doorman for minimum wage.
I walked out into the downpour, shivering in a suit I couldn't afford to dry clean. My phone vibrated with a text from my landlord: "Pack your things. Keys by tonight or I’m calling the cops." I stood on the corner of 5th Avenue with exactly $42.18 to my name, watching Simon kiss my wife through the glass wall of the penthouse. I was thirty, homeless, and drowning in a city of lions.
I wanted to roar until my throat bled, but I just stood there, a drowned rat in a world of predators. How could I have lost everything so fast? Why was the woman who promised to stay through "for poorer" now leaning into the arms of the man who just humiliated me?
Suddenly, my phone screen exploded with a blinding golden light. An app called the Midas Protocol installed itself, declaring poverty a disease and itself the cure. With one tap, a million dollars bypassed a federal hold and hit my account, and a "Nemesis Card" appeared in my digital inventory. I didn't hesitate. I typed Simon Thorne’s name into the vengeance algorithm and hit execute. The game had officially changed. She Cheated With A Pawn: The King's Wrath
Ying Luo My wife, Elena, walked into the Grand Boardroom and placed a possessive hand on her lover's chest.
Julian, a low-level associate I’d only hired as a favor to her, sat in my chair with his muddy boots on the polished mahogany table.
He blew smoke in my face and laughed.
"You're just a figurehead now, Dante. The Syndicate belongs to Elena. And since I'm the one keeping her happy at night, it belongs to me too."
Elena looked at me with cold eyes, delivering the ultimate betrayal without a shred of remorse.
"I'm pregnant, Dante. It's Julian's. We need the Moretti name for the baby, so sign the transfer papers and leave."
She believed the power of attorney documents I signed while delirious with fever had given her my empire.
She thought the mercenaries standing behind her were loyal to her checkbook.
She truly believed she could fire a Don like a mid-level manager caught stealing office supplies.
But she didn't know that in our world, loyalty isn't bought with stolen money.
And she certainly didn't know what was actually in the leather folder she was holding.
I looked at the traitor and the rat, feeling a strange, lethal sense of calm.
"You want to talk about papers?"
I tossed the real file onto the table, watching their smiles falter.
"You didn't sign a transfer of power, Elena. You signed a Renunciation of Protection."
I signaled my Enforcers, and the room exploded into motion.
"Now," I said, staring at Julian's terrified face. "Let's see how much the streets respect you without my name." The Ex-Fiancé You Can't Afford To Lose
Madel Cerda I stood in the ballroom with a diamond ring in my pocket, waiting to be crowned King of the empire I had built from the ground up.
Instead, the woman I loved walked to the microphone and signed my death warrant with a smile.
Serena didn't announce our engagement.
She announced that Luca Moretti—an incompetent associate I'd almost fired three times—was the new Underboss and her partner in life.
Then, she kissed him. Deep and possessive, right in front of the entire Commission.
My heart didn't break; it simply stopped.
Luca smirked at me, wearing a suit that was too tight, while Serena looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Dante is the old guard," she told the crowd, dismissing me like a waiter. "We are moving in a new direction."
They stripped me of my title. They humiliated me on live television. They thought they had taken my crown.
But they forgot one crucial detail.
I was the Architect.
I had built the encrypted logistics system that kept the FBI in the dark. A system that required my specific biometric code every morning to function.
I didn't make a scene. I didn't scream. I simply placed the ring on a waiter's tray and walked out into the night.
Forty-eight hours later, the Vitiello empire was in a freefall. The accounts were frozen. The shipments were flagged.
My phone buzzed. It was Serena.
"Dante," she panicked, her voice trembling. "Fix it. Now."
I took a sip of my espresso and smiled at the chaos on the news.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Serena. You fired the only pilot who knows how to fly the plane." 
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