Aneesha always knew when James was lying. It was never in his words; he had perfected the rhythm of honesty. But lately, he blinked just a little too slowly when he said her name, like he had to remind himself who she was supposed to be.

The final clue came on a Tuesday morning: a lipstick-stained coffee cup in the back seat of the Range Rover. Not her shade. Not even close.

She didn't ask. She didn't scream. She simply watched.

When he left the penthouse for his meetings, Aneesha walked into his study and entered the passcode that had never changed: AKS1stLove. Sentimental idiot.

Emails. Calendar entries. HR records. Slack messages. It took her less than twenty minutes.

New hire. Mid-twenties. Good education. Probation just cleared. Quiet, ambitious, eager to impress. Pretty in the way men like James found disarming. Vulnerable in the way he found useful.

Aneesha sat back in his chair, arms folded. "You never did like earning things, James."

She opened the employee profile, skimming through the photo, LinkedIn page, and department records. There was no anger, no heartbreak. Only clarity.

The office was nearly empty by the time Aneesha arrived that evening. The lights were low, the marble floors reflecting the last of the city's gold glow. She stood by the elevators, still and calm, waiting. Not hiding. Simply existing.

When the young woman turned the corner, Aneesha observed her quietly.

The young woman looked exactly how she had imagined: sharp but soft, a little unsure beneath her confidence.

Aneesha wore a midnight-blue blazer over silk, her hair loose, her makeup minimal. She carried herself with the kind of composure that turned silence into something alive. To someone unprepared, she might have looked like a client. Or royalty. Or a threat wrapped in charm.

When the young woman approached the elevator, Aneesha pressed the button.

"Working late?"

Her voice was smooth and low, shaped by a British-Indian accent softened with time. Not accusing. Conversational.

They stepped inside the elevator together. The doors closed. Aneesha kept her gaze forward.

"It's interesting," she said after a moment. "How quickly men like James forget who built the floor they're standing on."

Silence filled the space between them. Then Aneesha turned to face her fully.

"I'm Aneesha. His wife."

The words were calm. No tremor, no venom. Just truth.

"He didn't tell you, of course. He never does. He makes you feel like you're the only one who sees him. Like you're saving him."

Her eyes flicked over the young woman, not judgmental, simply taking her in.

"You're not the first. But you might be the smartest."

The elevator doors opened onto the rooftop lounge. Aneesha stepped out first. She didn't look back. She already knew the young woman would follow.

The rooftop was quiet and private, washed in cool night air and the faint scent of jasmine from the garden planters. The city stretched wide below them, distant and glittering. Aneesha walked to the railing and spoke without turning.

"I'm not here to take him back. He's yours, if you want him." She looked over her shoulder then, her tone still gentle. "I just thought you should know who you're inheriting."

She faced the young woman, eyes steady, almost kind.

"Or," she said softly, "we could make sure he ends up with no one. Not his company. Not his image. Not even his name."

Aneesha took a few steps closer, her voice lowering until it was almost a whisper.

"I've already started. But it's so much more fun with company." Her lips curved just slightly. "So, what do you say? Do you want to ruin him together?"