Fuckboy

His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator

Eydie Pfefferle

My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island. He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis. When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate. They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard. They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy. Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise. "Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation."

Modern Revenge

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Prologue

Amsterdam,

Late night,

A tall and a dark young man stepped out of an Audi R8. He straightened his black coat as his mouth pressed in a thin line of irresolution.

His eyes intriguingly stared at the tower in front as he sighed nervously. He'd never thought he'd come here to visit her. But here he was. After pocketing his iPhone he moved inside of the tower slowly.

The night was slow and silent. Yet the moon in the sky shone bright. One could clearly see the spots it has amidst the dancing black clouds. He pressed the button of '9th floor' and stood silently against the mirror behind him looking at the small screen above the elevator doors that screened the number of floors he crossed by.

The doors unlatched with a ding, he bit his lower lip exiting the same. His emotionless peepers gazed at the door of the flat located in the corner, 'Flat no. 903' with a sigh.

After a moment of blank thinking, he finally pressed the bell button. Almost after five minutes, he sensed the lock from within getting unlocked and there, and a gorgeous lady stepped out.

A mere look of her face raised his eyebrows in amusement. His heart skipped a beat.

"Uhh, Raven! You are here at this time, anything serious?" She was Kiara, a delicate lady with big fluttering eyelashes.

She had her hair pulled up in a bun. With a sleepy yawn she drew her loose jacket she wore close to her chest. She couldn't stand his dark eyes checking her petite body when she was only wearing a loose knee length night dress with no brasserie.

"Umm yeah, I... I mean no. It is not serious." He diverted his pupils from her body.

He can't let his mind lose his patience now or else, they'd end up in her bed for a good time. He mused as he looked away in order to concentrate further. It would not lead to good consequences either if he ever dared doing that with her.

Raven ran a hand through his hair. He could not find words to express the reason why he was standing at her doorstep at this hour of night. It was already known by her but still something made their encounter awkward. So, simply removing some papers from his jacket he forwarded them to her.

Her eyes grew wider looking at the paper type, and she shockingly blurted out, "We didn't plan on getting married for real. It was supposed to be a fake marriage, wasn't it? "

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