Over the next two months, I systematically dismantled Alistair's empire, one contract at a time.
The Morgan account was first. I knew Alistair had been inflating delivery timelines to pad his margins—a trick I'd heard him brag about at dinner parties when he thought I wasn't listening. I sent Morgan's CFO a detailed proposal with realistic timelines and transparent pricing. They switched vendors within a week.
Then came the Patterson Group. Alistair's project manager there had been complaining about late payments for months. I knew because his assistant used to vent to me at company events, back when I was just "Mrs. Vanguard," invisible and harmless. One lunch meeting later, Patterson signed with Valerius.
I didn't use flashy tricks. I just took everything I'd learned sitting silently beside Alistair for five years—every client complaint he'd dismissed, every corner he'd cut, every relationship he'd neglected—and I handed it all back to him, piece by piece.
The night I signed Wellington Industries—Alistair's biggest client, worth thirty million in annual revenue—I sat in my office until dawn. The blue light from the monitor cast harsh shadows across my desk. My coffee had gone cold hours ago. Outside, the city was still dark.
I should have felt triumphant. Instead, I just felt tired.
My assistant knocked softly on the door around six AM. "Ms. Lin, the team wants to know if you'd like to grab drinks. Wellington is huge. This is... this is incredible."
"No," I said, not looking up from my screen. "Bring me the specs for the Hartman bid instead. It's due next week."
She hesitated at the door. "You should rest."
"I will. When it's done."
The debt wasn't fully paid yet. I'd taken thirty million from him in two months. He'd taken my father's company, my mother's jewelry, my self-respect, and my child.
Thirty million wasn't nearly enough.
Alistair finally broke.
He cornered me at the elevator in the parking garage one evening. Under the sickly white fluorescent lights, his face looked grey and hollowed out. His expensive suit hung looser on his frame. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Evelyn." His voice was raspy, desperate.
He reached out and grabbed my wrist so hard it made my bones ache.
I didn't pull away immediately. I just looked down at his hand—the same hand that had hurled the divorce papers at my face, that had pushed me aside in that hospital hallway. Now it was clinging to me like a lifeline.
It was almost funny.
"Mr. Vanguard," I looked up, my voice calm and flat. "The cameras are on. If you don't let go, I'm calling security for harassment."
He released me like he'd been burned, but his chest was still heaving. "Evelyn, please. You're destroying me. Do you have any idea how much I've lost? Is this what you want? To watch me lose everything?"
I rubbed my reddened wrist, feeling the ache spread up my arm. I actually laughed—not a cold, calculated sound, but genuine disbelief at how utterly clueless he was.
"Alistair." I raised my voice, and he actually flinched back half a step. "You still think this is about you and Seraphina?"
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"This is about my father," I said, my voice shaking now, not with weakness but with fury. "About him signing away his company because I was stupid enough to marry you. This is about my mother's emerald necklace—the one I sold to buy your mother's affection, only to have her throw tea in my face and call me a thief."
I stepped closer. He backed up against the concrete pillar.
"You used my family's money. Our connections. Our name. You built your empire on the bones of mine, and you didn't even have the decency to pretend you loved me while you did it."
My voice dropped to a whisper, but every word was sharp as glass. "I'm not taking revenge, Alistair. I'm just collecting what you owe."
He just stood there, staring at me like he'd never seen me before. Like he was finally, finally realizing who I actually was.
I didn't give him another second. I turned and walked to my car.
Julian was parked a few spaces away, leaning against his car. When he saw me, he straightened, ready to intervene if needed. But when I shook my head slightly, he stayed where he was.
Just watching. Making sure I was okay.
It wasn't until I was inside my car and shut the door, cutting off the world, that I realized how hard I was gripping my bag. My fingernails had left deep marks in the leather.
Julian slipped into the passenger seat and handed me a bottle of water. He'd already twisted the cap off.
I took a long drink. The cold water slid down my throat, washing away the bitter taste of the confrontation.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," I said, my hands still shaking slightly on the steering wheel. "I just need to get out of here. This place smells like him. Gasoline and stale air."
Julian didn't pry. He just nodded and settled back into the seat.
I started the engine. The low hum filled the silence like a heavy sigh.
As I pulled out of the garage, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Alistair was still standing there under the harsh fluorescent lights, a tiny, shrinking figure growing smaller with every second.
Good.
Let him stand there. Let him watch me drive away, just like I'd watched him walk away from me in that hospital room.
The difference was—I wasn't coming back.