When my husband yelled, “You’re a whore, and your son will be too!”, he kicked me out of the house along with our one-year-old son. A year later, he showed up with his mistress at a party full of important people. And the look on his face when he saw me standing next to them…

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Chapter 1: A Winter Night in Chicago

The wind from Lake Michigan blew in, biting and merciless like blades cutting into flesh. But the cold outside was nothing compared to the icy chill inside our house.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Richard’s yell shook the kitchen. He threw my bag out the door, scattering things everywhere.

I, Elena, clutched Leo, my one-year-old son, who was screaming in fear, huddled in the corner.

“Richard, you’re drunk… Leo has a fever, please…” I sobbed, pleading.

“I don’t care!” Richard lunged at me, the strong smell of alcohol hitting my face. He was a rising architect, a new star of Chicago, but behind closed doors, he was a narcissistic tyrant. He had just lost a big contract, and as always, I was his punching bag.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me out the back door.

“You’re just a parasite! You bring me bad luck!”

He pushed me down the snow-covered steps. Leo screamed. I tried to shield him, my knees hitting the cold concrete floor.

Richard stood tall in the doorway, the yellowish light illuminating his face contorted with rage.

“Look at yourself,” he sneered, his eyes filled with contempt. “You’re a whore, and so will your son! He’s just a worthless piece of trash like his mother!”

BANG!

The door slammed shut. The sound of the lock clicking echoed like a hammer hammering into a coffin.

I sat there, in the blizzard, clutching my feverish child. All I had in my pocket was 20 dollars and a phone with a nearly dead battery.

That night, I swore to Leo, and to myself: I wouldn’t die. I would live. And I would make him swallow every single one of those filthy words.

Chapter 2: A Year Later – Manhattan Lights

One year. 365 days of frantic effort.

I left Chicago that very night, taking a bus to New York. I did all sorts of jobs: washing dishes, cleaning, and at night, I returned to my true passion – the one I had abandoned to support Richard: Interior Design and Green Architecture.

Tonight, The Plaza Hotel was ablaze with lights. This was the American Visionary Architecture Awards Gala – the most prestigious event of the year.

Richard was here. I knew it. He had won a nomination for “Architect of the Year” for a green tower project whose ideas he had stolen from my old sketches – drawings he thought I had thrown away.

He entered the ballroom, hand in hand with Tiffany – his beautiful young mistress, the daughter of a real estate investor. Richard, dressed in an Armani tuxedo, laughed heartily, radiating an aura of royalty. He had no idea that his “throne” was built on sand.

I stood on the mezzanine balcony, watching him. I wore a burgundy Oscar de la Renta evening gown, daringly cut yet elegant. My hair was styled in an updo, revealing my pale neck adorned with a delicate diamond necklace.

“Are you ready, Elena?”

A deep, warm voice spoke beside me. It was Arthur Sterling.

Arthur Sterling was a living legend. The New York real estate tycoon who owned half of Manhattan’s skyline. He was the one who discovered my talent when I was working as a janitor in his office. He had seen the blueprints I’d left on my desk in the middle of the night. He gave me a chance, not out of pity, but because of my talent.

“I’m ready, sir,” I smiled, linking my arm with his.

Chapter 3: A Fateful Encounter

Richard was standing in the middle of the crowd, raising a glass of Champagne. He was rambling on about the “nature inspiration” in his designs – words I myself had written in the notebook he’d stolen.

“Richard! Congratulations!” A colleague patted him on the shoulder. “I heard Mr. Sterling will personally present the award tonight. If you can win him over, your career will skyrocket.”

“Of course,” Richard smirked, adjusting his tie. “I heard Sterling is looking for a new Creative Director for his $2 billion Hudson Yards project. That position is definitely mine.”

Tiffany pouted: “Darling, you’re the best. Your ex-wife is probably rotting away in some corner by now.”

“Don’t mention that whore,” Richard snorted. “It’s a dirty past.”

Just then, the music died down. Spotlight shone on the grand staircase.

The host announced in a clear voice: “Introducing, Mr. Arthur Sterling and… the new strategic partner of the Sterling Group!”

The entire auditorium fell silent, their eyes fixed on the staircase.

Arthur Sterling descended, his bearing majestic. And beside him, resplendent and proud, was me.

Richard was raising his glass to his lips. When he saw me, the glass stopped mid-air.

He blinked. He thought he was hallucinating.

That woman… she had Elena’s face. But Elena was a disheveled, messy-haired stay-at-home mom, wearing cheap clothes. This woman… she radiated an aura of power and deadly charm.

I caught her eye.

Richard’s words. I didn’t flinch. I looked straight at him, a cold smile playing on my lips.

Richard dropped his glass.

CRASH!

The sound of shattering glass was deafening, drawing everyone’s attention. Champagne splattered all over Tiffany’s designer dress.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tiffany shrieked.

But Richard didn’t hear. He stood frozen, his face drained of color. He watched me descend the stairs, through the crowd, toward him.

Chapter 4: The Twist in the Crowd

Arthur and I stopped right in front of Richard.

Richard tried to compose himself. He told himself: Maybe she’s just Sterling’s mistress. That’s right, she’s a prostitute. She used her body to climb up here.

That thought gave Richard a semblance of despicable confidence. He smirked contemptuously, about to insult me ​​to salvage his pride in front of Tiffany.

“Oh, Elena,” Richard said loudly, his tone sarcastic. “What a surprise. I didn’t think you’d have access to such a prestigious place. Are you accompanying Mr. Sterling as… ‘escort’?”

He emphasized the word “escort” with a dirty undertone. Tiffany giggled in agreement.

I didn’t reply. I turned to Arthur.

“Arthur, this is my ex-husband, Richard Vance. The nominee for tonight’s award.”

Arthur looked at Richard. His gaze held no friendliness.

“I know him,” Arthur said, his voice icy. “The one who submitted the Green Horizon tower design.”

“Yes, sir,” Richard quickly bowed, extending his hand. “It’s an honor for me…”

Arthur didn’t shake his hand. He turned to me, speaking loudly enough for everyone around to hear:

“Elena, I think it’s time to announce the Board’s decision.”

Richard looked bewildered. “What decision?”

I took a step forward, facing Richard. My Le Labo cologne overpowered the smell of cheap alcohol on him.

“Richard,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “You just said you were aiming for the Creative Director position on the Hudson Yards project, right?”

“Yes… so what?” Richard started to sweat.

“Too bad,” I smiled. “That position is already taken.”

“Who?”

“It’s me.”

The crowd murmured. Richard’s jaw dropped. “You? What do you know about architecture? You’re just…”

“I’m E.V.,” I interrupted him.

Richard’s face turned from white to green. E.V. That mysterious name was the winner of the “Breakthrough Design” award in Paris six months ago. E.V. was the person Richard had tried to contact for a collaboration but had been flatly rejected.

“E.V… Elena Vance?” Richard stammered.

“And one more thing,” I pulled a thin file from my handbag. “About the Green Horizon tower design you’re so proud of.”

I tossed the file at his chest.

“The Sterling Group’s lawyers filed a lawsuit against you this morning. The charges: Copyright infringement and theft of intellectual property.”

“What… what?” Tiffany shrieked.

“That design,” I pointed at Richard. “I drew this two years ago, when I stayed up all night so you could sleep soundly. You scanned it and erased my name. But you forgot one thing, Richard. I always leave a watermark in the digital layers of my drawings. And you… you’re too technologically illiterate to realize that.”

“No… it can’t be…” Richard recoiled, bumping into the waiter.

“Arthur has authenticated the original on my personal computer,” I continued, ruthlessly and precisely. “You won’t just lose your prize tonight. You’ll lose your license. You’ll face jail time and $5 million in damages.”

Chapter End: The Collapse

All eyes in the banquet hall turned to Richard. The admiring glances from before had turned to contempt and disgust. Thief. Fraudster.

Hotel security approached. “Mr. Vance, the organizers are requesting you leave immediately.”

Richard looked around for help. He looked at Tiffany. His young, beautiful mistress quickly let go of his hand, backing away as if he had leprosy. She didn’t want to be involved with a failure on the verge of bankruptcy and going to prison.

Richard looked at me. In that moment, I saw complete collapse in his eyes. He remembered that snowy night a year ago. He remembered his words: “You’re a whore, and so is your son.”

I stepped closer to him one last time, leaning in to whisper in his ear:

“You’re right, Richard. My son will be just like me.”

I stepped back, smiling brightly.

“He will become a strong, capable man, and most importantly… he will never become the kind of man who beats his wife and steals other people’s intellectual property like his father.”

“Security, take him away,” Arthur ordered.

Richard was dragged out of the banquet hall like a stray dog. His screams were drowned out by the jazz music that had started playing again.

I turned back to Arthur. He raised his glass of wine toward me.

“Well done, partner.”

I raised my glass, gazing at the swirling red liquid.

I hadn’t died that snowy night. I had been forged in the ice to become steel. I had reclaimed my honor, my career, and my son’s future.

And as I watched Richard’s pathetic figure disappear behind the door, I realized the sweetest revenge wasn’t…

It wasn’t to hurt him.

It was to let him see me shine brightly in a place he could never reach again.