The Wife's Strategic Strike

The Wife's Strategic Strike

L. FITZGERALD

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My life as Olivia Vanderbilt Miller, wife to the powerful Ethan Miller, was a meticulously curated masterpiece of luxury and influence. Our annual Children's Foundation Gala was meant to be another perfect night, a testament to our powerful alliance. I even smoothed down my custom Oscar de la Renta, ready for my husband to pick me up. But pulling up to the curb, Ethan's familiar Maybach held a stranger in *my* passenger seat, a bright-eyed intern named Chloe, shattering the illusion. She chirped at me, utterly unmoving, while Ethan was on his phone, signaling me to calm down. What followed was a ruthless campaign of disrespect: a stolen sapphire necklace meant for me, brazenly flaunted on Chloe's social media. Ethan, instead of defending our marriage, dismissed my growing unease as jealousy, comparing his intern to his bullied sister. He effectively abandoned me, moving to his city apartment, allowing this audacious intern to systematically erode our trust. The betrayal wasn't just Chloe's audacity, but Ethan's shocking revelation: he'd been *testing* me. He was orchestrating this humiliating spectacle to 'correct' my behavior, driven by his own unresolved childhood trauma. His cruel indifference, his inexplicable defense of her, confirmed a devastating truth: this was no accidental slight, but a deliberate dismantling of our trust. Olivia Vanderbilt Miller doesn't crumble when hurt; she strategizes. So, at our family Thanksgiving dinner, I unveiled my retaliatory masterplan: a fake pregnancy, a hint of suspicious paternity, and divorce papers, served with a serene smile. What do you do when your husband engineers your public humiliation? You secure your future and leave him with an impossible paternity question.

The Wife's Strategic Strike Introduction

My life as Olivia Vanderbilt Miller, wife to the powerful Ethan Miller, was a meticulously curated masterpiece of luxury and influence.

Our annual Children's Foundation Gala was meant to be another perfect night, a testament to our powerful alliance.

I even smoothed down my custom Oscar de la Renta, ready for my husband to pick me up.

But pulling up to the curb, Ethan's familiar Maybach held a stranger in *my* passenger seat, a bright-eyed intern named Chloe, shattering the illusion.

She chirped at me, utterly unmoving, while Ethan was on his phone, signaling me to calm down.

What followed was a ruthless campaign of disrespect: a stolen sapphire necklace meant for me, brazenly flaunted on Chloe's social media.

Ethan, instead of defending our marriage, dismissed my growing unease as jealousy, comparing his intern to his bullied sister.

He effectively abandoned me, moving to his city apartment, allowing this audacious intern to systematically erode our trust.

The betrayal wasn't just Chloe's audacity, but Ethan's shocking revelation: he'd been *testing* me.

He was orchestrating this humiliating spectacle to 'correct' my behavior, driven by his own unresolved childhood trauma.

His cruel indifference, his inexplicable defense of her, confirmed a devastating truth: this was no accidental slight, but a deliberate dismantling of our trust.

Olivia Vanderbilt Miller doesn't crumble when hurt; she strategizes.

So, at our family Thanksgiving dinner, I unveiled my retaliatory masterplan: a fake pregnancy, a hint of suspicious paternity, and divorce papers, served with a serene smile.

What do you do when your husband engineers your public humiliation?

You secure your future and leave him with an impossible paternity question.

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My life was a meticulously crafted blueprint, or so I thought. A successful architect, adored by my community, with a childhood sweetheart, Liam Hayes, by my side. Our marriage was the fairy tale I' d dreamt of, until it shattered with the news of his death. Ten years later, I found him alive, living a picturesque life with my best friend, Sophia Chen. His "death" was a lie, a calculated escape from a life, and a wife, he didn' t want. The final twist? He died saving me in a real car crash, his last words confessing his enduring love for Sophia, not me. I woke up, gasping, the scent of birthday cake and lilies filling the air. I was twenty-two again, on the day I first chose Liam. But not this time. Liam' s betrayal carved a raw wound, his dying words now a command ringing in my ears. This time, I wouldn' t make the same mistake. I chose Ethan Stone, my former rival, a man who consistently challenged me, whose aloofness I\'d once mistaken for disdain. My grandfather looked at me, bewildered, as I rejected the expected. Then, at my birthday party, the public humiliation began. Liam, ever the schemer, beat me to the punch, announcing his love for Sophia first, making it seem like he had rejected me. Sophia, a flawless actress, played the role of the innocent, heartbroken friend. As I stepped forward, the black box in my hand, declaring my choice of Ethan, Sophia lunged at me. Liam, defending her, shoved me. My head hit the marble floor, and the world went dark. But not before I saw a flash of black leather, a furious green gaze, and Ethan running towards me.

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I sold my cameras and lenses—everything that defined me—to buy the first servers for my husband’s startup. Fifteen years later, on my birthday, Dustin left me alone to celebrate with his new assistant, Jami. When I confronted him about the affair, he didn't apologize. He threw a fifty-thousand-dollar check at me and told me to buy something pretty. But the betrayal didn't stop there. Jami broke into our safe and stole my late mother's vintage sapphire ring. When I tried to take it back, she snapped the eighty-year-old gold band in half. I slapped her. In response, my husband shoved me hard. My head cracked against the solid oak nightstand. Blood poured down my face, staining the rug I had picked out. Dustin didn't call an ambulance. He didn't even check my pulse. He stepped over my bleeding body to comfort his mistress because she was "stressed." When his parents found out, they didn't care about my injury. They came to where I was hiding, accused me of being clumsy, and threatened to leave me with nothing if I ruined the family image. They forgot one crucial detail: I was the one who designed, coded, and installed the penthouse's smart security system. I had synced every camera to my private cloud before I walked out. I had the video of him assaulting me. I had the audio of him admitting to fraud. And I had my father on speed dial—the man who owned the bank holding all of Dustin's loans. I looked at his terrified parents and pulled up the footage on the TV. "I don't want your money," I said, my finger hovering over the 'Send' button to the District Attorney. "I want to watch him burn."

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I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

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The Wife's Strategic Strike The Wife's Strategic Strike L. FITZGERALD Romance
“My life as Olivia Vanderbilt Miller, wife to the powerful Ethan Miller, was a meticulously curated masterpiece of luxury and influence. Our annual Children's Foundation Gala was meant to be another perfect night, a testament to our powerful alliance. I even smoothed down my custom Oscar de la Renta, ready for my husband to pick me up. But pulling up to the curb, Ethan's familiar Maybach held a stranger in *my* passenger seat, a bright-eyed intern named Chloe, shattering the illusion. She chirped at me, utterly unmoving, while Ethan was on his phone, signaling me to calm down. What followed was a ruthless campaign of disrespect: a stolen sapphire necklace meant for me, brazenly flaunted on Chloe's social media. Ethan, instead of defending our marriage, dismissed my growing unease as jealousy, comparing his intern to his bullied sister. He effectively abandoned me, moving to his city apartment, allowing this audacious intern to systematically erode our trust. The betrayal wasn't just Chloe's audacity, but Ethan's shocking revelation: he'd been *testing* me. He was orchestrating this humiliating spectacle to 'correct' my behavior, driven by his own unresolved childhood trauma. His cruel indifference, his inexplicable defense of her, confirmed a devastating truth: this was no accidental slight, but a deliberate dismantling of our trust. Olivia Vanderbilt Miller doesn't crumble when hurt; she strategizes. So, at our family Thanksgiving dinner, I unveiled my retaliatory masterplan: a fake pregnancy, a hint of suspicious paternity, and divorce papers, served with a serene smile. What do you do when your husband engineers your public humiliation? You secure your future and leave him with an impossible paternity question.”
1

Introduction

06/06/2025

2

Chapter 1

06/06/2025

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Chapter 2

06/06/2025

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Chapter 3

06/06/2025

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Chapter 4

06/06/2025

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Chapter 5

06/06/2025

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Chapter 6

06/06/2025

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Chapter 7

06/06/2025

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Chapter 8

06/06/2025

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Chapter 9

06/06/2025

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Chapter 10

06/06/2025