Being a trophy wife in a world of immense wealth isn’t without its troubles. But a problem you can solve with money isn’t really a problem at all. So I spent three hundred thousand dollars to hire a master of seduction. His one job: to ensnare the mistress who was trying to take my place. 1 The rich in this world come in two flavors. There are the ones you see on the Forbes list, with their assets laid bare for all to see. And then there are the others—the ones who can move capital and resources on a scale that defies public accounting. My husband, Marcus Sterling, is the latter. His name is unknown to the masses, but the assets he manages approach a trillion dollars. In this world, there are very few things he wants that he cannot have. I am under no illusions. If he ever wanted to divorce me, he could, with a single word, have me thrown out with nothing but the clothes on my back. It would be a mercy if he didn't saddle me with a mountain of debt to crush me for the rest of my days. After more than twenty years together, perhaps he wouldn't be quite so cruel. But why should I stand by and let someone else harvest the fruit from the tree I spent my life planting? At my age, I'm long past caring about love. He can sleep with whomever he wants. But touch my money? Not a chance. The problem was, this mistress was a master of her craft. First, she was younger and more beautiful than me. To a man like Marcus, she was a more presentable accessory. Second, her manipulation of men was flawless. She was playing the lead in some grand, pure love story. She never asked my husband for money or connections, never hinted at wanting to replace me. It was all about pure, unadulterated love. She was content to be the other woman, satisfied with the moments he could spare to grace her bed. In her own words, her income was more than enough to support her; all she wanted was love. A pretty lie. Every project she landed was backed by my husband’s resources, his silent endorsement. She was a competent executive, yes, but she knew as well as I did that without a titan propping her up, she wouldn't have secured a single deal. Third, she and my husband were in the same world: finance. They had endless things to talk about. In contrast, after years as a full-time homemaker, my world had shrunk. I couldn’t compete with her on an intellectual or spiritual level, and the common ground between Marcus and me had eroded to almost nothing. She offered him high-quality emotional support without any pressure. What man wouldn't fall for that? And finally, the most important point of all. Marcus was her first. And I know my husband—he has a severe virgin complex. In his heart, I suspect he feels a deep sense of indebtedness to her. The less she asked for, the more he felt he owed her a lifetime of responsibility. The only reason he hadn't divorced me yet was likely because of the three children I had borne him. But I had already heard him, more than once, praising her to the media and to our friends, talking about how brilliant she was, how much she helped his career. She was outmaneuvering me on every front. A war was coming, and the only card I had left to play was the faint, flickering ember of our shared history. The stress was so immense that during my postpartum recovery, I lost twenty pounds. I didn't know if our marriage would even last until our youngest child's first birthday. To be honest, I'm not afraid of being without a man. But I have three children. My eldest son just started college, studying finance. In that industry, without his father's backing, his path would be brutally difficult. My daughter is at an international boarding school that costs a million a year. Her dream is to study art abroad, an endeavor that will require a multi-million-dollar investment to even have a chance at success. And my youngest, another son, was an unexpected blessing. The bills from his first month of life could cover an average person's annual salary. Behind me, I also have my aging parents. Last year, a simple cold sent my father to the ICU. The cost was twenty thousand dollars a day. He was there for six months. If my money-tree of a husband hadn't been willing to pay, I would no longer have a father. All of these threads wove a net that I couldn't escape. I couldn't leave Marcus. If I could, who wouldn't want to be the hero of her own story, a woman of immense talent who could handle everything on her own? But I am just a woman of ordinary talents. I don't have the genius to get into the Ivy League, nor the wealthy family to back me, nor any special powers. The one thing I had—my beauty—has faded. But no one should ever underestimate a mother's will to protect her family. I couldn't touch Marcus. But moving a pawn like Isabelle Jiang… that was another story. 2 As soon as my postpartum recovery was over, I went to meet someone. Jian Fang. I’d met him in a bar I invested in—a scoundrel, but the most masterful PUA I had ever witnessed. I once watched him, with nothing more than a glass of water, pick up a stunningly beautiful woman. Within days, he had moved on, and she was threatening suicide, swearing she would never marry anyone else. At the time, my daughter had started going to clubs with her friends, and I was a nervous wreck. I found out their usual spot and invested some money, asking the management to keep an eye on the kids and make sure they stayed out of trouble. Then Jian appeared. The staff wasn't sure how to handle him, so they called me to come see for myself. Hiding behind the bar, I witnessed his entire seduction process. Afterward, I warned him to stay away from my club. He had looked at me then, his gaze wicked, a slow smile playing on his lips. In that single glance, I understood what the ancients meant by a soul-stealing gaze. Luckily, I was prepared for his type. Otherwise, that look would have sent my heart fluttering. Seeing my lack of reaction, he lazily blew a smoke ring and drawled, "Too much mom energy. Boring." Then he slid a business card to me. "Let's be friends. You never know, you might need me someday." I remember thinking, What could I possibly need a hustler for? I never imagined I'd be eating my words so soon. When I saw him again, he seemed even more captivating than before. He had a rugged, devil-may-care charm, like a vampire from the shadows—mysterious, dangerous, and radiating raw sex appeal. "Well, well, if it isn't the beautiful boss. You finally called." "Mr. Fang, you're as prescient as ever. I do have a matter that requires your assistance." He raised an eyebrow, gesturing for me to continue. I laid out the situation with the mistress, the pressure she was applying. My request was simple: seduce Isabelle Jiang. Even a single night would be enough. Knowing Marcus's complex, he would never touch her again. "A mission of this difficulty, you say?" He stroked his chin, feigning reluctance. "Name your price." "A woman like Isabelle has seen it all. A typical persona will be sniffed out in a second. I'll need to establish myself as a diamond bachelor. Luxury yacht, private jet, fancy cars, expensive watches—all essential. And a generous expense account." "I'm not a blank check. I've seen your social media; you already own the clothes and accessories. As for the rest, I trust a professional like you can find cost-effective solutions." "So stingy. The enemy is at your gates, and you're not willing to bleed a little?" "I'd rather not lose my marriage only to be scammed out of a fortune by you." "You don't trust me? Then why did you call?" he said, pretending to get up and leave. I didn't stop him. The bartender had told me Jian was ordering cheaper drinks lately. He was probably short on cash. "Hey! You're really not going to beg me?" As expected, he couldn't hold out. He turned back. "I'm the client. I'm hiring you for a job. If you don't want the contract, I'll find someone else. I'm sure you're not the only 'top graduate' from those pickup artist bootcamps." He smirked but sat back down. "Fifty thousand. On completion, I'll pay you a fifty-thousand-dollar fee. All other operational expenses will be reimbursed with receipts. And you'll wear a listening device. I want to monitor the project's execution." "Deal." This time, he didn't play hard to get. He agreed instantly. Just as I was preparing to meticulously plan a "chance encounter" for Jian and Isabelle, he gave me a masterclass in the art of the approach. In less than five minutes, he had already made his first intimate contact with Isabelle Jiang. 3 I had compiled a comprehensive dossier on Isabelle and presented it to him. He glanced at it, his eyes lingering on her photo before he muttered a few callous words: "Looks like a black widow. An easy takedown." Then he tossed the file back at me. "Aren't you going to study your target? Even romance scammers prepare multiple scripts. Isabelle is a wealthy woman in her own right. Could you please show some respect for the client?" "The client?" He suddenly leaned in close, our faces inches apart. I could feel his breath on my skin. "The person who pays is the client," he murmured, his voice dangerously low. "If I'm respecting anyone, it should be you." I grabbed the dossier and slapped it across his face, pushing him back. "Ow! This nose was expensive. You break it, you buy it." "Get over yourself! Rule number one: do not harass the employer!" This man was too much. If I didn't lay down the law now, this would happen again. He shot me another sidelong grin. "Boring." He pocketed the listening device I gave him and held up one finger as he turned away. "One month. Keep your husband out of the way. Don't interfere." One month? Isabelle was no fool. He was arrogant. For a moment, I regretted hiring him. But my doubts vanished after their very first encounter. That day, I was sitting in a Starbucks on the second floor of a high-end mall, watching as Jian walked toward Isabelle with a gentle, restrained smile. It was a completely different look from his usual swagger. He was wearing a Loro Piana-esque cashmere sweater in a deep burgundy, making him look warm and effortlessly confident—the kind of sunny disposition only seen in boys who have been coddled in luxury their entire lives. Combined with his strong, chiseled features, he had the air of the affable, slightly clueless heir of an old-money dynasty. I expected him to approach Isabelle directly. Instead, he ignored her completely and addressed the older woman beside her—Isabelle's mother. "Excuse me, I found this card. I was wondering if it might be yours." It was a uniquely designed membership card for a restaurant called "The Study." It was a small, exclusive private kitchen, known for its high-profile clientele. You couldn't get in without connections. I had no idea where Jian had procured such a prop. Isabelle's mother naturally shook her head, but I saw Isabelle's eyes fix on the card. Jian feigned a shy smile, even scratching the back of his head. "Actually… this is a bit forward, but I was hoping to meet your daughter. But I felt I should ask for your permission first." Her mother had probably never been approached by a handsome young man in such a courtly manner. She glanced at Isabelle and said generously, "It's fine for you young people to get to know each other." Isabelle was the golden child of her family, a phoenix risen from humble beginnings. Her mother's status was entirely dependent on her success. This was likely the first time in her life her mother had been granted such a position of authority. It was a simple move, but Jian's execution was flawless. And Isabelle? Every woman in finance is an opportunist, no exceptions. Jian's old-money style, the Patek Philippe that peeked from his cuff, and this incredibly rare membership card were more than enough to make her want to know him. As expected, she extended her hand. "Isabelle Jiang, from Apex Capital. Have we met somewhere before?" Jian acted as if he were completely charmed by her forwardness. He took her hand, giving it a light, respectful squeeze. "I don't think so. If we had, you'd already be in my contacts." He grinned, a flash of bright white teeth, looking utterly captivated and, frankly, easy to fool. They exchanged numbers. I immediately checked the social media profile Jian had curated. It was filled with pictures of him competing in Codeforces Rounds, one of the world's most prestigious programming competitions. Scrolling further back, I found a photo of him at the Royal Ascot in England. In one fell swoop, he had established himself as not only wealthy, but also a high-IQ tech genius with a deep family pedigree. The photos were expertly doctored, the timeline seamless. I wondered how many of these fake personas he maintained. If I didn't know his real story, I would have been completely taken in. With Jian making swift progress, it was time for me to make my move. The baby's hundred-day feast was approaching. It was the perfect opportunity to strike a nerve.
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