Focus

Focus
Diane's POV

At GlamHome.

The day ended slowly. The building became quiet which showed that everyone had gone home hours ago. I sat in my office, staring at my laptop screen, the hum of the air conditioner suddenly the only sound left.

It had been a long day, one that ended with too many thoughts in my head. Ever since Victoria returned, there has been a constant shift in the air. She never ceased to make her presence known even though I already noticed it, and everyone around Lance acted like it was some sort of new era. A new administration, and I got the memo loud and clear.

But that didn’t bother me anymore. Whatever Lance felt or didn’t feel wasn’t my concern. The truth was, I had started to lose focus. I almost forgot why I had taken the deal in the first place… to be his fake wife, to have a name that could protect me, and most importantly, to build a perfect cover while I planned my revenge.

Now, it was time to get back to that.

I turned off the office lights, leaving only the glow from the computer screen. My reflection looked back at me through the dark window… tired eyes, a growing belly, and a face that had seen too much pain to still look innocent.

Mike. My ex-husband. My mistake. My unfinished business.

I won’t forget how he had taken everything from me. My dignity, my peace, and even my company… the one I built from scratch with sleepless nights and wild ideas that were supposed to change my life. The company was supposed to be mine. It was my dream. But after the lies, the cheating, and the betrayal, he and Amanda, my own stepsister… painted me as the thief. They accused me of taking money from the company. Me, the one who created the whole thing.

The board turned against me. My name was dragged through the mud. And when it was over, Mike divorced me without a second thought. Amanda took my place beside him. With his unborn child too.

I thought I could be healed from all that. But I was wrong. Some wounds don’t heal. They wait. Probably to be tackled and healed later.

I opened a new file on my personal laptop. I had already finished my official work for the day, so no one would bother me. I typed slowly.

Objective:

Take back what was stolen.

Destroy what he built on my ideas

Make him lose everything, legally.

My plan had to be perfect. Mike could not suspect anything. He had too much pride and too much trust in his own intelligence to think I was capable of striking back. That was my advantage.

I leaned back in my chair and began to outline the steps.

Step one: Create a new company..... one that looks legitimate.

Step two: Build a product or concept attractive enough for his firm to invest in.

Step three: Lead him into it slowly, make him believe it's his idea.

Step four: Pull the strings from behind the scenes.

Step five: Let the fall happen naturally.

He had taught me how to play this game. He had shown me how to build, how to pitch, how to make something look like gold even when it was glass. I would use all of that against him.

I opened a folder filled with old documents from years ago… my drafts, my early concepts, the projects that Mike and I once worked on together when we were still newlyweds. Back then, I used to share everything with him. Every idea. Every hope. Every plan.

Big mistake.

Now, those same ideas would become the foundation of his downfall.

I renamed the new company file… The Ward Project. It sounded professional. Neutral. No one would link it to me. I would register it under a name that couldn’t be traced, something distant and foreign. I knew a few online routes to make that happen. Henderson Corporation had its connections, and I had quietly built a network of contacts while pretending to play the obedient fake wife.

As I typed, I imagined how everything would unfold. Mike’s company was always looking for new investment opportunities, especially in the luxury product sector. I would give him one, something that looked clean, promising, and too good to ignore.

Maybe a new wine brand. That would be fitting. Wine was how everything started.

The irony made me smile a little.

I would create a new wine company, but this time under a different image. Something modern, something foreign-sounding. A company that looked like it was expanding into African and European markets. I would build the website, create fake testimonials, make it look real from every corner.

It wouldn’t be difficult. I had done all of that before, for real.

Mike would see it as an opportunity to expand his investment network. Like a chance to gain bigger returns and international partnerships. He would take the bait. Men like him always did. They believed too much in their charm, in their instincts.

He wouldn’t know the trap was already waiting for him.

I would create a small, believable first deal. Something small enough to test his trust. He’d see profits… fake, but convincing. Then I’d make the second move: a larger proposal with heavy figures, contracts, and partnership documents. By then, he would be hooked.

And when the money starts to flow, he would have no idea where it was really going.

The company name would be clean. The paper trail would be neat. Every document would look perfect. And when things began to fall apart, the blame would never reach me.

He would think he was scammed by an outsider, by an unknown investor. He would look everywhere for answers. But he would never think of me… the woman he once dismissed as weak and useless.

That was the beauty of revenge. You don’t fight loud. You fight quietly.

I paused and rubbed my belly gently. I wasn’t just doing this for myself. I was doing this for my child. My baby didn’t deserve to live in a world where I was remembered as a woman who failed. I wanted my child to see me as someone who fought back, even if the world never knew how.

My fingers went back to the keyboard. I began to write out the detailed plan.

The Ward Project would launch in two weeks. Within that time, I would set up the basic structure… fake shareholders, fake investors, and fake partners. I would use an offshore account for transfers and make sure every name linked back to something untraceable.

By the end of next month, Mike would get an invitation to “partner” on a new international investment project. It would come through the right channels. It would look genuine. It would have everything he liked… fast profits, global reach, exclusivity.

And he would say yes.

When I finished outlining the plan, I saved the file and encrypted it. No one would be able to open it without my password. I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair.

I pressed my hand against my belly one more time and whispered, “This is for us.”