I never imagined I’d walk in on my husband and my assistant—especially not on our fifth wedding anniversary. But there they were, in his office, wrapped up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world. The worst part? He didn’t even look guilty—just annoyed that I’d interrupted.

In that moment, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I made a decision: I’d take everything from him, just like he tried to take everything from me.

Ethan always acted like Wildflower Boutique was his achievement. But the truth was, I built it from the ground up. He convinced me to make him co-owner “for optics,” then strutted around like the face of the brand while I handled everything behind the scenes—finances, logistics, staff, the real work.

So when he demanded the company in the divorce, I handed it over without a word. Let him think he won. What he didn’t realize was that I’d already lined up contracts with all our best suppliers under a new business name. The accounting team was planning to quit the moment the ink dried. And I’d quietly tipped off the IRS about some “creative” bookkeeping he’d done over the years.

Three months later, Wildflower Boutique was a mess. Orders weren’t going out. The accounts were frozen. And his once-polished reputation? Gone.

I ran into him last week at a coffee shop. No suit, no swagger—just a man who looked completely defeated.“You did this,” he muttered.I smiled. “No, Ethan. You did.”As I walked out, my phone buzzed—another one of his old clients signing with my new company.Revenge didn’t feel sweet. It just felt like good business.