Wife Orders 100 Slaps For Homewrecker, Embezzling Husband Loses Everything
Part 1
The sharp click of my stiletto heels echoed against the pristine marble floors of the corporate lobby.
The morning sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the reception area.
Perched at the executive secretary’s desk, a young woman casually filed her nails, completely ignoring the frantic scrambling of the other employees.
Clinging tightly to her frame, her sheer white silk blouse had the top two buttons deliberately left undone to reveal her delicate collarbones.
A bright red hickey stood out vividly against her pale neck.
The mark was undeniably fresh.
It perfectly matched the cheap, sickeningly sweet perfume I had smelled on my husband’s suit jacket just hours earlier.
I stepped closer to the desk, bringing my shadow over her carefully manicured hands.
She slowly set down the nail file and offered a sickly sweet social smile.
Her large innocent eyes held a hidden, brazen challenge.
I reached out with freezing fingertips and gently adjusted the collar of her blouse.
I suggested she dress more modestly for a professional real estate firm instead of a cheap burlesque club.
I also pointed out the massive red mark on her neck, warning her to cover up the infectious disease before it spread to my staff.
Her face flushed a deep, resentful crimson.
The heavy brass elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.
My husband stumbled out into the lobby.
He gasped for air, his custom tailored suit jacket flapping open.
His designer tie hung askew around his collar.
All the blood drained from his face the moment he saw the two of us standing face to face.
He lunged forward, his movements jerky and erratic as sweat beaded on his forehead.
He wedged his body firmly between me and his new secretary.
His voice cracked and he stammered over his words.
He demanded to know why I was standing out in the lobby instead of waiting in his office.
The secretary immediately lowered her head and let out a choked, theatrical sob.
She claimed she only wanted to offer me some water.
She accused me of insulting her and calling her an infectious disease.
My husband turned his reproachful gaze toward me.
He furrowed his brow, attempting to scold me for stooping to the level of a young college graduate.
He urged me to maintain my dignity as the CEO of a massive corporation.
I simply stepped back from the nauseating performance.
I sat down gracefully on the leather guest sofa and crossed my legs.
My demeanor remained as utterly still as a frozen lake in the dead of winter.
I noted that I was merely enforcing the basic corporate dress code.
I questioned why he was overreacting and sweating profusely over a simple reprimand.
His voice stammered as he desperately tried to herd me into his private office to avoid a scene.
He completely failed to realize that the true scene had not even begun.
The secretary suddenly broke away from his protective shadow.
She pointed an accusatory finger directly at my face, shedding massive crocodile tears.
She shrieked about how I was a cold-blooded dictator who treated her beloved like dirt.
She announced to the entire whispering lobby that she was carrying his unborn child.
She demanded that I step aside and let someone else give him the family he deserved.
I stood up slowly, crossing my arms over my chest.
I asked her if she was finished slandering my reputation in my own company.
Her embarrassment instantly morphed into unhinged fury.
She lunged forward with astonishing speed and swung her hand through the air.
A deafening, sharp smack rang out across the vast lobby space.
The brutal impact of her palm connected solidly with my left cheek.
The red imprint of five fingers immediately bloomed across my skin.
Dead silence swallowed the entire room, leaving only the sound of ragged breathing.
Instead of flinching or raising a hand to strike back, I slowly reached up with a single finger and wiped away the bead of blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.
My husband froze in sheer terror.
He stared at my swollen cheek and then at his trembling mistress.
He cowardly tried to excuse her behavior by blaming her unstable pregnancy hormones.
He pleaded with me to return to my office and let him take her home quietly.
That final, pathetic defense severed the last invisible thread of my patience.
I let out a bitter, echoing laugh that sent shivers through the reception staff.
I signaled the massive head of security standing by the staircase.
Two heavily built guards immediately twisted my husband’s arms behind his back.
They forced his knees onto the hard marble floor so he had a front-row seat.
Two muscular female guards firmly clamped down on the screaming secretary’s arms.
I stepped right into her terrified line of sight.
I informed her that since she wanted to see a true dictator, she was about to witness one.
I ordered the female guards to return the favor across her mouth one hundred times.
I warned them that I would dock their pay if they missed a single count.
The first brutal strike snapped her head violently to the side.
Fresh blood instantly spilled from her torn lip.
The rhythmic, agonizing sounds of slapping echoed like gunshots.
My husband screamed from the floor, calling me a heartless monster.
He thrashed against the security guards, begging me to stop torturing the mother of his child.
He had no idea I was currently reaching into my designer handbag.
He didn’t realize I was pulling out a thick folder filled with signed divorce papers.
He didn’t know I possessed a massive stack of offshore banking records proving his premeditated embezzlement.
I was about to strip him of his executive privileges, his luxury lifestyle, and his freedom right there on the lobby floor.
