Perfect secret love The bad wife is a little sweet

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Huo Wuer

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband's Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn't find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn't even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father's legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn's party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara's health and managing every detail of Caden's empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I'd drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause-if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I'd forgotten.

Modern Divorce Ex-wife

Download the Book on the App

The Baccarat crystal tumbler shattered in Culver Lancaster's grip. Shards embedded themselves into his palm, but he ignored the blood. The drug moving through his veins made his hands shake uncontrollably.

"Eclipse." That's what the street chemists called it, a new synthetic. Someone had slipped it into his scotch.

Julian Banks was already moving, the Chief of Staff slammed his hand against the biometric panel on the wall. The heavy, bulletproof doors of the penthouse office hissed shut.

"Sir." Julian's voice was calm.

Culver clawed at his tie, he needed release. The drug was an aphrodisiac weaponized to destroy logic.

"Get me..." Culver gasped, his knees hitting the carpet. "A woman. Now."

Julian didn't flinch, he looked at his watch. "An escort is a blackmail risk. A staff member is a lawsuit."

Culver dragged himself toward the leather sofa. "I don't care. Just get someone."

Julian pulled a burner phone from his jacket pocket and dialed.

"Handler," Julian said. "I have a Code Black, I need an asset deployed, the Ghost Protocol."

There was a pause on the other end.

"I don't care about the extraction fee," Julian snapped. "I'm sending the chopper to the designated coordinates. Have her ready in ten minutes, and make sure she's on a chemical leash. "

Read Now