LEILA
While watching the news about Mr. Villareal's infidelities, I felt a surge of satisfaction, yet I was eager to witness the reactions of my brother and that man's children, along with his wife, and particularly Mr. Villareal’s expression. So, I accessed the Villareal company's security cameras, and there was Mr. Arthur Villareal, annihilating his office in a rage. I had to laugh; I never knew revenge could feel this exhilarating, and this is just the beginning. I haven't left them penniless yet, but soon, that will happen. It's a shame the Villareal company’s cameras don't capture audio because my brother and his other sons stormed in to confront him. They all looked frantic, shouting - though soundless, it was clear they were on the brink of collapse. They haven’t even heard the news that will break tomorrow morning. Mr. Villareal will remember my face for the rest of his life. Early tomorrow, a pair of photos will be released, one of him and another of me, insinuating Mr. Villareal has an unrecognized daughter with one of his mistresses. Of course, my picture won't be current; it will be of me at ten, the sole photo in existence. I must admit, no one took photos of me as a child; it’s the definitive evidence of his indiscretion he would never have a current photo of me.
After a while of watching him argue and seeing lawyers come and go, I decided to eat something. I need to figure out a way to plant microphones in that company, but I can't approach it myself—they'd know I've returned to New York and am orchestrating their misfortune. No, it can't be me who plants those microphones.
When I finished eating, I returned to watching the Villareal company's cameras, but this time, I sent something to my dear brother who works part-time in an office there with our beloved father. I received confirmation that the package was about to be delivered, and a devilish grin spread across my face when I saw my brother handed the small box. I could only wait for his reaction.
You might wonder what I put in that box. Inside were photos of my mother and me splattered with blood, and a note that read, “Your greed made you forget us and break the promise you made. Now you’ll pay for your betrayal.” Yes, it’s melodramatic, but effective, as my brother, startled, dropped the box and called for someone—I couldn't tell whom, with no audio. I saw his secretary enter, receiving a severe scolding; she was trembling with terror. He then stormed into his father's office like a brute. Foolish traitor, your foolish father can't protect you from me, I can assure you of that. They spoke heatedly about something; I need to plant those microphones as soon as possible. Without knowing what they're saying, I can't discern their weaknesses.
Throughout the day, besides monitoring their movements, I kept an eye on their financials. They're gearing up for a significant investment, but I'll turn that investment to dust. Tired of observing their predictable patterns, I left my office, locked it, had dinner, and indulged in a long shower. When I finally got into bed, I felt uneasy, so I opted for the couch. It was late, and Alek hadn't arrived yet.
As I was about to drift off, I heard the door open. I didn't need to open my eyes—it could only be him with the security in this apartment; nobody else could get in. I heard the shower, and then felt his arms around me, carrying me to bed where he nestled me against his chest. I'd grown accustomed to sleeping this close over the past two weeks.
He might be considered a lecher, but that night he let me rest. So, I woke up early, eager to see Mr. Villareal’s reaction to our photos in the press. I had breakfast, thinking Alek would join me, but he just took his juice and left me with a goodbye. After eating, I returned to my office and switched on the cameras. I’d decided how to get those microphones into the company—as luck would have it, they're starting renovations in a couple of days. Checking the contracting company's staffing, I found someone desperate, needing money for his sick family’s medical costs. I'll offer to cover all expenses in exchange for him hiding microphones in their offices and boardrooms. He’ll have no choice but to accept or watch his family suffer without treatment.
Mr. Villareal arrived at his office, oblivious to the morning's news; he hadn't seen the published photos. So, it was a waiting game. After thirty minutes, his wife burst in, visibly enraged, and threw the newspaper in his face, unleashing a tirade. Evidently, Mrs. Villareal couldn’t hold back her feelings any longer. They argued until she shouted something that pushed Mr. Villareal over the edge, resulting in a slap that sent her to the floor. If only the press were to see this—extramarital scandals aside, they’d lose their reputation. Yet, I can't expose the video now; it would reveal my spying too soon.
I took out my phone to call the man I’d pay to install the microphones. As expected, he couldn't refuse. I had made some money on the internet while in a boarding school, but I had to tap into Alek’s funds. I hope he's not upset.
Afterward, I exercised—odd that Alek keeps a gym here he never uses. Post-workout, I relaxed in a bath, ate something, and, feeling weary, climbed into bed. Seconds from sleep, I sensed a weight on me and hands on my chest. Opening my eyes, I saw him with a mischievous grin.
“You're a pervert,” I said sternly.
“Did you take money from my account?” he asked, as if it weren't already obvious.
“Yes.” He persisted, removing my blouse and leaving me bare up top, not hesitating to indulge himself.
“I should charge you for that,” he commented brazenly.
“I believe I've paid you back with interest,” I retorted, my body shivering under his touch.
“You can take all my money,” he continued, “we'll call it even with daily charges.”
“You're an idiot, shameless and predatory,” I said, holding back moans as he removed the rest of my clothes and continued his exploration.
“Just surrender to the moment, let it wash over you,” he whispered, and I couldn't control my moans any longer. I succumbed, relishing the first climax of the night, which he savored hungrily.
“You're perfect, but now you'll enjoy it even more,” he murmured into my ear as he disrobed, discarding any tenderness for wild, passionate fervor. He knew things I didn't even realize were possible.
Intimacy with him is enthralling, yet the plan was to rest in New York, which now seems unlikely. But having vowed to fulfill my wifely duties, I can’t, and don’t want to refuse him. This man knows exactly what he's doing, and it’s utterly enjoyable. My only hope is that he doesn't turn out to be another Villareal, leading me into betrayal.
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