Absolute Dominance: The Billionaire's Vengeance

before we were supposed to get engaged, I overheard the truth. To him, I was just a convenient, ambitionless placeholder. A distraction. His real goal was his boss, Haylie White, and the fortu

f to the world; it was about reclaimin

ed for Ben to present as his own. It was supposed to be his big break, the promotion he desperately wanted, a testament to his ambition. My promise ring, a simple silver band he'd given me to mark our "humble beginnings," felt heavy on my finger. I had sacrificed s

harp, unmistakable. Ben's was softer, a deferential murmur. Curiosity, a serpent in my stomach, compelled me closer to the wall. I pressed m

aylie drawled, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

eded to hear Ben's modest acceptance, his acknowledgment

ced with a smug confidence I had never heard directed a

into my bones. What

ed for you. The little analyst, isn't she?" The way she said "little analy

rtment and her junior analyst role. She doesn't understand the real game, the stakes involved." He paused, and I heard a rustle, a soft thud. "She's a good distract

nd the real game. My blood ran cold. My vision blurred. I pressed harder against

ne, indeed. And what about your engagement? She's flashing

secure' this deal, thinking she was contributing. Bless her naive heart." He let out a cold, contemptuous laugh. "A chea

uffled groan. A gasp, then Hayli

acrifices, my very existence in his world. He had seen me, Isolde Park, heiress to a multi-billion dollar tech empire, as a poor, ambitionless fool. He saw me as a pawn. A stepping stone. My carefully constructed facade of nor

y love for him used to be. My hand trembled as I picked up the pen again. The merger agreement lay open. This deal

ithout a signed agreement, the deal would collapse before it ever reached the lawyers. The ink bled, blurring the important details into an incomprehensible mess. Then, I tore the d

across the screen. My father's contact – William Park's name – stared back at

nnounce th

. The old Isolde, the one who sought normalcy and quiet validation, was

flickered from the living room. Ben sat on the sofa, a half-eaten pizza box on

miliar, the same tone he used for countless evenings, the same gentle cadence th

voice was flat, even to my own ears. I walked past him, my gaze sweeping over the apartmen

nt. Always keeping me late." He chuckled, a disarming sound. He moved to

resh. My blood ran cold, but my expression remained impassive. I focused on his shirt, the same cri

st detached. It was a test. A final, desperate attempt to see

nute prep for the big merger proposal. You know Haylie. She's a st

stumble against the wall. "Ugh, I'm

ckly being replaced by feigned concern. "Poor thing. You shoul

lie White's perfume. Expensive. Distinctive. It clung to him, a f

said, my voice barely a whisper. I

morning," he called out, a

t a dull ache in my chest. I stood there, eyes closed, letting the full weight of his betrayal wash over

mbol of his deceit. I wanted to rip it off, to throw it against the wall, to erase every trace of him. But I

y voice soft. "Ben," I began, watching him carefully. "Do you ever wonder if you made the right choices in life? If you're truly

hing but mild confusion. He had no idea the trap I was laying. He was abo