My Husband Called Me A Useless Cow—He Didn’t Know I Was The Billionaire Buying His Company

Part 1

The crumpled credit card statement hit the marble island with a sharp slap.

Greg stood near the espresso machine while buttoning the cuffs of his expensive silk shirt.

He stared at me with pure disgust.

You are entirely useless, Megan.

You sit here getting fatter every single day while I work myself to death trying to secure the deal of a lifetime.

I kept my eyes fixed on my bowl of plain oatmeal.

The oversized gray hoodie swallowed my frame completely.

My silence seemed to fuel his rage even further.

Are you even listening to me?

I stirred the spoon listlessly through the thick paste.

I hear you, Greg.

You are furious about the car payments.

He crossed the kitchen in three wide strides.

His fingers dug into the fleshy part of my upper arm.

The grip wasn’t hard enough to bruise, but it carried enough contempt to humiliate.

Look at yourself.

You take up space, eat my food, and spend my money.

We are days away from the biggest acquisition in the last decade at Tentative Global.

If I land this merger, I make partner.

If I don’t, we are ruined.

He released my arm with a harsh shove.

I simply rubbed the spot without letting my expression shift.

I could go back to work.

I have management experience.

A bark of cruel laughter echoed off the cabinets.

Help me?

You haven’t held a real job in four years.

You are barely qualified to run a dishwasher, let alone handle a multi-million dollar portfolio.

My clients expect image and excellence.

He waved a dismissive hand at my baggy clothes.

You are an embarrassment.

If I took you to the gala tonight, people would think I had simply given up on life.

A weaker woman might have cried right then.

I merely stared at the granite countertop while counting backward from ten.

I apologize that you feel that way.

Don’t give me that passive-aggressive garbage.

He checked his heavy gold watch.

I have a strategy lunch with Brenda.

You know, someone who actually takes care of herself and has ambition.

The name landed like a sledgehammer.

Brenda Reed was his junior executive and notorious work wife.

She was thin, loud, and ruthlessly climbing the corporate ladder.

Don’t wait up.

He grabbed his leather briefcase from the chair.

Try to do something productive today, for God’s sake.

Maybe walk around the block and burn a calorie.

The front door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the expensive coffee cups.

I sat perfectly still for exactly thirty seconds.

The slump in my shoulders vanished instantly.

My spine straightened into a rigid line.

The dull look in my eyes gave way to a cold, calculating fire.

I stood up and dumped the oatmeal straight down the garbage disposal.

I truly hated oatmeal.

I can definitely do productive.

My hand dug deep into the pocket of my sweatpants.

I pulled out a sleek, unreleased prototype phone that cost more than Greg’s leased BMW.

The line rang only once.

A crisp British voice answered immediately.

Good morning, Mrs. Caldwell.

Not today, Brian.

My voice dropped an octave into a smooth command.

Today I am Ms. Banks.

Tell the board to prepare the main conference room.

We are initiating the hostile takeover of Tentative Global ahead of schedule.

Forty minutes later, the suburban housewife facade dissolved completely.

I sat in the back of a chauffeured Maybach cruising down the interstate.

The gray hoodie was gone.

Underneath, I wore a tailored blouse worth more than Greg’s entire wardrobe.

I carefully applied a coat of blood-red lipstick in the vanity mirror.

There was no need to hide my figure here.

I carried myself with the grace of a panther ready to strike.

The car slowed near a towering glass skyscraper in the financial district.

This was Omni Corp, a holding company with fingers in everything from aerospace to logistics.

I owned fifty-one percent of it.

The world knew me only as the ghost CEO because I never gave public interviews.

My executive assistant stood waiting at the private underground entrance.

Brian gave away nothing on his stoic face.

Welcome back, Ms. Banks.

The legal team has the merger papers ready.

We do have a slight complication regarding the acquisition target.

My heels clicked rhythmically on the concrete floor.

What complication?

Tentative Global is bleeding money and should be begging us to buy them out.

They are indeed.

Brian matched my stride toward the golden private elevator.

But their lower management is fiercely resistant.

They believe a savior investor is coming to block our buyout.

A dry laugh escaped my throat.

I blocked that phantom foreign entity three days ago.

Who exactly is leading this resistance?

The elevator doors slid shut to seal us inside.

A senior VP named Dan Smith and his team leader, one Greg Caldwell.

The floor numbers on the digital display climbed rapidly.

Of course he thinks saving the company will make him a partner.

Brian handed me a sleek encrypted tablet.

He has scheduled a final desperate final presentation today.

He claims he can prove Omni Corp is drastically undervaluing their assets.

I scrolled through the financial reports.

Greg’s name covered almost every document.

He was working desperately hard to destroy the very golden parachute I had planned for him.

My original intention was to move him to a different division and give him a raise.

I thought it might finally make him happy enough to stop taking his insecurities out on me.

The memory of his voice echoed in my head.

You are an embarrassment.

Change of plans, Brian.

I originally intended to handle this remotely and let the lawyers talk.

But if Mr. Caldwell wants to explain why my company is the villain, I should be there to listen.

Brian raised a single silver eyebrow.

You wish to attend the negotiation meeting in person?

He will certainly recognize you.

I stepped out into my sprawling penthouse office overlooking the city.

He will not.

Greg sees only what he wants to see.

He hasn’t actually looked me in the eye for two years.

I pressed a concealed button under my desk to reveal a hidden compartment.

Inside sat a pair of thick-rimmed designer glasses and a severe blazer that completely altered my silhouette.

I pulled my hair back into a tight, unforgiving bun.

I am not going as his wife.

It is time my husband finally met his boss.

The conference room at Tentative Global smelled of stale coffee and pure desperation.

Greg paced the length of the room with his tie loosened.

Brenda Reed sat at the table scrolling lazily on her phone.

Stop pacing, Greg.

You are making me dizzy.

They are just suits, so we will dazzle them with the Q3 projections.

Hide the debt in the long-term liabilities column and we are golden.

You don’t understand, Brenda.

Omni Corp sends absolute sharks.

I heard a rumor that Banks might even send a proxy today.

Greg checked his reflection in the glass partition to ensure he looked powerful.

I am leaving her.

Brenda finally looked up with a cruel smirk.

The cow?

Don’t call her that.

But yes, I am filing the papers once my bonus clears.

I come home to an absolute void.

It is like living with a ghost who eats all your food.

The heavy oak doors swung open before she could respond.

Five lawyers in identical charcoal suits marched in and placed their briefcases down in synchronized precision.

Brian entered next and cleared his throat loudly.

Representing Omni Corp, the chairwoman of the board.

Greg straightened his tie and put on his best winning smile.

I walked into the room wearing a black power suit cut from the night sky.

My thick-rimmed glasses obscured my eyes perfectly.

I walked straight to the head of the table without glancing at either of them.

Good afternoon.

My voice was modulated, low, and terrifyingly cold.

I have read your counter-proposal, Mr. Caldwell.

Greg blinked in surprise that I knew his name.

We believe Omni Corp significantly undervalues our proprietary software.

I leaned back and tapped a gold pen against the mahogany wood.

The offer is for the assets alone.

Your massive hidden debt is entirely your problem.

Unless you can prove your management team is competent enough to turn a profit within six months.

I turned my head so the light caught my glasses and made them opaque.

Tell me, Mr. Caldwell, why should I invest in you?

He puffed out his chest with sheer arrogance.

I am dedicated to efficiency.

I eliminate dead weight whether it is in personnel or resources.

A microscopic smile touched my dark red lips.

You eliminate dead weight.

Interesting choice of words.

And what is your contribution, Ms. Reed?

Brenda tossed her hair confidently.

I handle client relations and people skills.

I opened the pristine folder in front of me.

According to my due diligence, your division lost three major accounts this quarter.

You spend fifteen hours a week on client lunches that yield zero contracts.

Greg’s face reddened instantly.

Building relationships takes time.

Time is money, and I despise wasting mine.

I stood up abruptly and walked toward the window to turn my back on them.

I am willing to give you a personal chance tonight, Mr. Caldwell.

Omni Corp is hosting a masquerade gala for the prospective merger partners.

Bring your spouse.

Greg froze in his chair.

My spouse is unfortunately indisposed and not feeling well.

I turned around to deliver a glare that could freeze boiling water.

Make her disposed.

I believe a man’s domestic life reflects his professional stability.

If you want this deal to happen, you will bring your wife to the Grand Hotel tonight.

No wife means no deal.

Do I make myself absolutely clear?

Forty-five minutes later, the front door of our suburban home burst open.

I was lying on the bed in my sweatpants while reading a dossier on Dan Smith’s embezzlement schemes.

I quickly slipped the encrypted tablet under my pillow as his heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

He threw open the bedroom door and hurled a garment bag near my feet.

Get up and shower immediately.

We are going out to a masquerade gala at the Grand Hotel.

I adjusted my wire-rimmed glasses while sitting up slowly.

I don’t have anything to wear, and you know I have terrible anxiety in crowds.

I don’t care about your anxiety.

I care about my career and the roof over your head.

I bought you a size fourteen dress that should cover everything.

His grip tightened painfully on my shoulders.

If you screw this up for me by acting like a depressed lump, I will divorce you.

I will leave you with absolutely nothing.

I stared into his terrified, angry eyes and simply nodded.

I understand perfectly.

Put on the mask I bought and get in the car.

He slammed the bathroom door and left me alone in the bedroom.

I unzipped the garment bag to find a hideous, shapeless navy chiffon sack.

You want me to play the part of the ultimate disappointment tonight?

I reached under the bed and pulled out my sleek black briefcase, ready to show my husband exactly what dead weight really looked like.