My Husband Hurt Me for His Lover, But My 4-Year-Old Daughter Saved My Life

“I am Damon’s fiancee and the mother of his son! You are the one who doesn’t belong here!” She lunged, but Damon blocked her.

“Enough Eliza, don’t cause a scene here.” His tone sounded worn.

He looked at me conflicted. “Sophia, we don’t have to go through this. It’s water under the bridge.” He said.

“Yes, it’s water under the bridge,” I answered.

“So control your woman and tell her not to bark around and bother people.” I said.

I took the dress and went to pay. I deliberately presented the black card Grandpa had placed in my wallet, the symbol of no limit.

The saleswoman’s demeanor shifted in an instant, almost a curtsy. Eliza and Damon turned ashen watching it.

Childish, maybe; necessary, absolutely. They needed to see the power dynamic reversed.

I completed the purchase and walked out without another glance. I passed them like two strangers of no consequence.

A few steps later, Damon called out. “Sophia, wait a moment!” He called.

I paused, not turning. Footsteps approached.

“I know I made a mistake,” He said with a pleading note.

“But please don’t ruin my life. The company is on the verge of bankruptcy. If you said a word to your grandpa, couldn’t you help me?” He asked.

I pivoted slowly. I met his eyes, a wry smile forming.

“Ruining your life, you say? Do you remember what you and your family tried to do to me? Steal my savings, take my daughter away? Compared to what you did, your company going bankrupt is nothing.” I said.

“But it was all I had!” He argued.

“And my youth? My sacrifices? Who compensates me for that?” I cut him off.

“Be satisfied that I’m leaving it like this. Don’t tempt my patience, or the next place you’ll go won’t be the stock exchange, but the state prison.” I told him.

The words hit him like ice water. Color drained from his face; he staggered back, speechless.

I refused to spare another breath. I turned and left while he stood like a statue in the flow of shoppers.

The run-in rattled me, but it clarified one thing: he was afraid, deeply. He was going under, and I sensed the moment to bring my daughter home was nearing.

That encounter confirmed that Damon’s situation was dire. Cutting off all Monroe Group contracts had crippled Golden Future.

Investors pulled out; partners canceled. The vessel he and Eliza had built with my money was sinking fast.

But a trapped predator is most dangerous. Instead of conceding defeat, he gambled everything.

He arranged a grand event at a five-star Midtown hotel, officially a client appreciation gala and investor showcase for a breakthrough tech project. In truth, it was one last effort to reel in fresh victims.

That reached me via Mr. Davis’s contacts. A bold thought flashed: why watch from afar when his stage could become his reckoning?

I went straight to Grandpa and Mr. Davis. “It’s a golden opportunity,” Mr. Davis said, eyes bright.

“Investors, partners, and the press, all gathered in one place. If we expose his true face right there, the impact will be a thousand times greater than in a cold courtroom trial. He will be socially annihilated without any possibility of excuse.” He explained.

Grandpa agreed, though he frowned. “Isn’t that plan too risky? What if that cornered man tries to hurt you?” He asked.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” I replied with certainty.

“I won’t go alone.” I said.

We would orchestrate every detail. This would be the finale.

We constructed the plan with care. First, through intermediaries, I posed as a Singapore venture capital fund drawn to his innovative project.

My agents dangled a 35 million commitment for Damon. As he was, that figure felt like salvation descended from the clouds.

He swallowed the bait at once. Overjoyed, he sent the full deck and materials to the supposed fund.

Unbeknownst to him, Monroe Group specialists were dissecting everything, adding to the evidence pile. Second, I told him the fund’s representative would attend and sign during the event.

That message made him reckless with excitement. He poured his dwindling resources into a lavish spectacle to impress.

He even summoned ex-partners to re-earn their favor. Journalists from major outlets got invitations; he wanted a triumphant headline.

He never imagined those witnesses would observe his collapse.

When the evening arrived, the hotel radiated brilliance. The ballroom buzzed.

Damon and Eliza greeted guests, all smiles and poise. They bore themselves like a glamorous power couple.

Eliza wore a fitted gown showcasing her advanced pregnancy. She drifted among the crowd: laughing, chatting, playing hostess.

At the height of the festivities, the main doors opened. I entered, and the room hushed as if someone cut the sound.

Eyes turned. I wore an understated, exquisitely tailored black gown, a sleek silhouette.

My hair was swept into an elegant updo, my neck bare, diamonds catching the light. A bold lip, a steady gaze.

At my side was Grandpa, and behind us was Mr. Davis with two guards. Seeing the president of the Monroe group deepened the buzz.

Damon and Eliza froze mid-smile. Damon blanched; he hurried over, stumbling.

“President, Sophia, what are you doing here?” He asked.

I smiled, the sort that chills. “Can’t we be here? I heard Golden Future has an important event today and a big investor from Singapore is coming. As a businesswoman, I couldn’t miss such a good learning opportunity.” I said.

“But we haven’t sent you an invitation!” He stammered.

“Oh really?” I raised a golden card.

“And what is this? I suppose one of your employees made a mistake.” I said.