Revenge of the Hidden Tycoon
Whispers floated among the guests: Rhonda is truly fortunate to marry into a family like the Murphy family.
I stood in the side hall, my fingertips clutching the faded hem of the gown — the very dress I was meant to wear in my past life, its neckline still adorned with the tiny daisies I had secretly embroidered. Now, I could only watch others wear it.
The master of ceremonies held the gilded Bible, his voice resonating through the crowd: "Mr. Hudson Murphy, do you vow to marry Miss Rhonda Goodman, to be forever faithful and to protect her, in poverty and in wealth, in sickness and in health?"
Hudson lifted his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the crowded room. When it passed me, he paused for half a second before quickly shifting back to Rhonda's face. His Adam's apple bobbed as he quietly clenched the cuff of his suit sleeve and said, "I do."
My heart suddenly clenched—not from love, but because reckless images from a past life crashed into my mind.
That year, I stormed onto the stage and overturned the champagne tower. Crystal glasses shattered on the carpet, splattering wine stains. I grabbed Hudson's tie and shouted, "The one you should marry is me! I was the one who saved you by the river back then!"
Rhonda covered her face and cried on the spot, her shoulders trembling with sobs, yet through the gaps between her fingers, she secretly observed Hudson's reaction, a victorious gleam hidden in her eyes.
That very night, she jumped from the second-floor balcony of the Murphy's mansion, leaving behind a suicide note filled with words like "I was forced to live this way because of my sister Chloe Goodman," casting herself as the pitiable victim.
Later, Hudson locked me in a suburban villa. He pushed me onto the cold marble floor, pressing his leather shoe down on my wrist: "Chloe, you exist only to atone for Rhonda's sins, until I am satisfied."
Until that fire—the flames licking the stair railings, the thick smoke stinging my eyes so I couldn't open them—he carried Rhonda's black wooden memorial tablet and charged into the inferno, glancing back at me with no warmth in his eyes: "Just go to the hell together. Let's accompany her."
The searing pain still seemed to crawl across my skin; I clenched my palm hard, my nails digging into the flesh, to suppress those surging memories.
Rhonda, tears in her eyes, looked toward Hudson and quietly tugged at the hem of her wedding dress, revealing a diamond bracelet on her wrist.
That was sent by Hudson. In my past life, I begged him for three years, but he never agreed to buy it for me.
I'm certain Rhonda knew all along that the "lifesaver" was a lie.
In my past life, I saw that forged rescue letter in her drawer. At the time, she was on the phone with her best friend, saying, "Hudson falls for this every time; it doesn't matter who actually saved him, as long as he believes me."
The ceremony ended, and the guests surged forward to surround Rhonda. Someone raised their phone to take photos: "The bride is truly beautiful, so perfect with Mr. Murphy!"
Our mother squeezed to the front, held Rhonda's hand, and said to the grandma of Hudson, "Rest assured, Rhonda is the most sensible. She will surely be dutiful and care for you well in the future."
No one glanced my way, as if I were nothing more than a pillar in the church.
Hudson was surrounded by his cousins, who toasted him. One patted his shoulder with a laugh, "Well done, Hudson—you've married the most beautiful woman in the City Y."
He smiled as he raised his glass, but his eyes flickered toward me, as if to check I was still there, then quickly looked away, as though I were invisible air.
Rhonda pushed through the crowd toward me; the scent of her perfume mingled with the lace of her wedding dress, brushing against my arm in a sticky, unsettling way.
"Sis, thank you for letting it happen." Her voice was saccharine to the point of being sickly sweet, and she leaned close to my ear, lowering it even more.
"The scarves you knitted for Hudson before, the love letters you wrote—he must have thrown them all into the trash, right? Then again, who would keep a loser's worthless rubbish?"
I fixed my gaze on the fallen leaf stuck to her wedding dress, then reached up to pluck it off and let it fall to the ground. "What you wanted, I once desired too."
After a brief pause, I looked into her stunned eyes and added, "But now, I don't care for it anymore."
Turning away and stepping out of the church, my high heels clicked crisply against the stone pavement, a sharp sound that contrasted starkly with my calm heartbeat.
At the entrance, Hannah from the flower shop held up a bouquet of white roses: "Chloe, this is what you ordered last week. You said it was meant to be given at the wedding. Do you want to take them?"
I recalled that in my past life, I was clutching this same bouquet, trying to explain everything clearly to Hudson, only for him to shove it from my hands, scattering petals all over the ground.
"No need," I shook my head. "Give them to the children passing by—they need them more than I do."
Taking out my phone, my assistant Logan had just sent a message: "Ms. Goodman, the conference room at City A headquarters is ready. You can begin coordinating the project as soon as you arrive."
I replied with "Okay," changed the recipient's address to a hotel near the airport, and tapped "Confirm booking."
The earliest flight to City A departs in two hours.
The taxi stopped in front of me, and the driver opened the door: "Miss, heading to the airport? Early flights can be quite tight, right?"
I slid into the back seat and fastened my seat belt. "Yes, to seize a new beginning."
As the car pulled away from the church, I watched the pointed steeple in the rearview mirror shrink smaller and smaller, until it finally blurred into a dark dot.
Hudson Murphy, Rhonda Goodman.
I silently whispered those two names in my heart, my fingertips lightly tapping the phone screen.
What you owed me in the past life, in this life I will reclaim, piece by piece.
The business banquet in City Y was held at a lakeside hotel, where the crystal chandeliers dazzled and made one dizzy.
I wore an off-white knitted dress and sat in a corner booth, a glass of lemon water before me.
"Oh, isn't this the eldest Miss Goodman? Why is she dressed like a servant?"
A sharp voice sounded nearby; Rhonda was linked arm-in-arm with Hudson, followed by several wealthy young men.
Hudson frowned but said nothing to stop it.
In my past life, he was just the same—watching me endure humiliation with cold indifference.
"Sis, why aren't you wearing a wedding dress? Has our family lost the money to buy one for you?"
Rhonda reached out deliberately and spilled red wine on my dress.
The deep red stain quickly spread, like an ugly scar.
"Apologize." I looked up, meeting Rhonda's gaze directly.
"Apologize?" Rhonda smiled, "Chloe, have you forgotten who you are? Now, I am Mrs. Murphy."
The heir of the Gray Company, Mr. Gray, stepped forward from beside me and reached out to grab my collar: "I heard you clung to Hudson back then, refusing to let go. Today, let us see exactly what you truly have."
Before his hand could touch me, a figure suddenly rushed over and shielded me behind him.
"Is this how the Grays bully others?"
The man's voice was deep and steady. John Hough, acting president of the CG Group, wore a black suit, the jade ring on his hand gleaming softly under the light.
Rhonda's expression instantly changed, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the ring.
She recognized it—it was Chloe's ancestral heirloom.
Mr. Gray was momentarily stunned, then erupted in anger: "Who are you? How dare you interfere in my business!"
John paid him no mind, bent down to help me up, and gently asked, "Are you alright?"
I shook my head, my eyes catching the hidden camera in the corner—that was something I had secretly set up beforehand, precisely to capture everything.
"Hudson, look at him!" Rhonda tugged playfully at Hudson's arm.
Hudson finally spoke, but directed his words at John: "Sir, this is a private matter we will resolve ourselves; there's no need for you to concern yourself."
John sneered coldly, raising his hand to loosen his tie: "Mr. Murphy, bullying a woman—what's so great about that?"
No sooner had he spoken than Mr. Gray suddenly reached out and pushed me.
I lost my balance and fell backward into the champagne tower behind me.
The shattering glass sounded harsh, and the cold liquid soaked through my clothes.
John immediately jumped in and carried me out.
Leaning against him, I could hear his rapid heartbeat.
Looking up, Rhonda stood motionless, the hatred in her eyes nearly overflowing.
Very well, this entire scene was captured on camera.
The atmosphere in the CG Group boardroom was tense.
The directors sat on either side of the long table, whispering among themselves.
"I heard the new president is making an appearance today. I wonder who she is."
"Yes, so far, Logan's secretary and John, as the acting president, have been running the show. This new president is quite the mysterious figure."
I pushed open the conference room door, walked in wearing my high heels, and took my seat at the head of the table.
Dressed in a black suit that framed a stately figure, Logan stood behind me, handing me a cooperation contract.
"Directors, I am Chloe Goodman, the new president of the CG Group."
The moment the words were spoken, the conference room erupted into stunned murmurs.
"Chloe Goodman? Isn't she the eldest daughter of the Goodman family? How could she be the president of the CG Group?"
"Hasn't she been down and out all this time? How could this happen so suddenly...?"
I ignored their whispers, my gaze fixed firmly on the doorway.
Hudson stood there, his face pale with shock, clutching the cooperation contract with the CG Group.
He hurried to the table, pointing at the signature on the contract: "This signature... is it yours?"
I nodded, and Logan promptly handed over the equity documents: "Everyone, please take a look—Ms. Goodman has secretly acquired 51% of the Goodman Group shares over five years and is now its largest shareholder."
"Impossible!" Rhonda screamed as she rushed in. "This must be fake! Chloe, how could you possibly have so much money?"
I took out my tablet and opened the live stock price page.
The Goodman Group's stock price was plummeting sharply, the stunning numbers on the screen said it all.
"The Goodman Group is suspected of financial fraud. I have already submitted evidence to the regulatory authorities, and the company is now under forced acquisition."
Rhonda collapsed into the chair, her eyes vacant. "No... no, this can't be. Mom and dad would never let the Goodman fall."
"Your mom and dad?" I sneered, "They are currently under investigation; I doubt they have no time to concern with you."
Hudson looked at me with a complex gaze, "So you had planned all this from the wedding day onward?"
"Yes, and no." Leaning back against the chair, I said, "My plan extends far beyond this."
The directors regarded me, their expressions shifting from skepticism to reverence.
Logan cleared his throat: "Now, let us continue our discussion on the cooperation proposal with the Murphy..."
Hudson stood frozen in place as the documents slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.
He finally understood that he had never truly seen me, nor had he ever won against me.
In the study of the Murphy's old mansion, Old Man Murphy slammed a stack of financial reports down in front of Hudson.
The papers scattered across the floor, the loss figure circled in red on the top sheet glaringly conspicuous.
"Look at this! The Murphy family's cooperation with the CG Group has fallen through, and the stock price has plummeted 30% in just three days!"
Old Man Murphy jabbed his cane against the floor with a muffled thud. "How have you been running this company as CEO? You've completely disgraced the Murphy family!"
Hudson lowered his head, clutching the corner of the scattered documents, his knuckles white with tension.
He wanted to explain that the CG Group's sudden reversal came without any warning, but the words caught in his throat.
He knew his grandpa's temper better than anyone; any explanation now would only be an excuse.
"From today onwards, you are dismissed from your position as CEO. Stay home and reflect!"
Old Man Murphy sat back in the chair, took a sip of tea, his voice cold as ice: "When you realize where you went wrong, then come speak to me again."
Hudson bent down to pick up the documents, his steps heavy as he left the study.
Passing by the surveillance room, he paused and called inside, "Henry, pull up the surveillance footage from the study for the past week."
Security guard Henry quickly stood up, fingers tapping on the keyboard: "Mr. Murphy, which segment would you like to watch?"
"Last Wednesday afternoon, when I was in the study reviewing documents."
The screen lit up, showing him holding a file and flipping through pages, his brow deeply furrowed.
It was the management proposal Chloe had left behind, its cover labeled "Murphy Restructuring Plan," detailing weaknesses in the supply chain and risks in the overseas market.
At the time, he skimmed a few pages, thought it was a deliberate prank, and casually tossed it to the bottom of the desk.
Now, watching his own impatient expression on the screen, Hudson slammed his fist hard against the glass of the surveillance room.
"What a fool!" he muttered under his breath. That was clearly an opportunity Chloe had given him, yet he had thrown it away with his own hands.
The ancestral hall was filled with the scent of sandalwood. Rhonda knelt on the meditation cushion, a crumpled tissue placed under her knees, yet they still ached painfully.
She heard footsteps, looked up to see Hudson, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. "Hudson, please speak to grandfather for me. I didn't mean to disgrace myself at the Business Banquet—it was all because of Chloe..."
Hudson ignored her complaints and crouched before her, his voice low and serious: "Was the person who saved me back then really you?"
Rhonda's body suddenly stiffened, and her eyes darted to the side evasively: "Hudson, why are you asking this? Of course it was me, have you forgotten? I even shielded you once..."
"Is that so?" Hudson pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from his pocket and placed it before her.
It was a rescue report from years ago, featuring a blurry photograph, with the text reading, "The rescued man stated that the girl who saved him was wearing a White Jade Ring."
"Do you still have that ring?" Hudson pressed on, his gaze locked tightly on her.
Rhonda's face instantly paled, her lips trembling: "Back then, everything was so chaotic, it might have been lost by accident..."
"Lost?" Hudson stood up. "I remember you said it was a family heirloom given to you by your grandmother. How could it just be lost?"
Rhonda was at a loss for words, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt, her palms slick with sweat.
Hudson turned toward the study, the knot of suspicion in his heart tightening.
He opened the safe to find a mahogany box inside, which he had deliberately used back then to hold the "life-saving evidence."
Inside the box were the hospital payment slips from that year, photos of Rhonda in a patient's gown, and a note in elegant handwriting that read, "Hudson, take good care of your wound."
Suddenly, he recalled the note Rhonda had written to him a few days ago. The characters were bold and heavy in stroke, completely different from those on the other slips of paper.
A sudden thought surged through him. Hudson grabbed his phone and flipped through the photos from the business banquet.
In the photo, John was shielding Chloe, and the White Jade Ring on his hand gleamed under the light, exactly as described in the report.
Chloe... John... White Jade Ring...
Piecing together the fragmented clues, Hudson's heart pounded wildly.
He remembered visiting the Goodman family as a child; Chloe once wore a jade ring pendant around her neck, saying it was a token from her mother's family.
Could the person who saved him back then be Chloe?
He dashed out of the old residence, flung open the car door, slid in, and floored the accelerator; the car shot toward the CG Group like a released arrow.
"Chloe, you must explain everything to me clearly!" His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"What on earth is going on?"
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