Revenge on the Cheaters

My name is Dylan Murphy.
When I opened my eyes again, the early summer breeze carried the sweet scent of the street-side bubble tea shop to my face—but the next second, the sharp screech of tires scraping asphalt stabbed into my ears like needles.
Sunlight slanted ahead, casting a cold gleam on the bright silver luxury car. The car emblem shimmered in the sun, almost dizzying to look at — that was the new car Kanye Bell's father bought it for him last month.
Yesterday, he was still bragging at the company, saying the steering wheel felt even better than holding a beauty.
The driver's side window rolled down, revealing Kanye's mocking face.
His light brown hair was tousled by the wind, with an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. The steering wheel spun fast in his hands, and the wheels crunched softly over the gravel.
"Dylan, want to feel the acceleration of my car?"
His voice held that same mocking smile, matching every word he said before gunning the gas and hitting me in my past life.
My heart clenched tight, like an invisible hand squeezing it. Memories from that life flooded back in an instant.
It was exactly the same clear day, standing in the same spot, thinking he was just joking—I didn't have time to dodge.
When the sports car rushed at me, I even caught the cold flicker in his eyes, followed by the shattering pain of broken bones and hot blood trickling down my pants.
The crowd swarmed closer, some screaming, others snapping photos. When my wife, Stella, rushed over, the first thing she said wasn't to ask if I was hurt, but instead she grabbed Kanye's hand and asked, "Are you okay, Kanye?"
But this time, I didn't freeze.
My body reacted faster than my mind. I snapped my left leg back, shifted my weight to the right, and pushed off the ground with both hands, flinging myself sideways like a cheetah.
My elbow scraped over the gravel, shooting a sharp sting through my arm. Dust clung to my palm, carrying the gritty smell of dirt.
The sports car nearly brushed past my clothes as it sped by, the front crashing heavily against the roadside guardrail with a loud bang. The metal guardrail twisted out of shape, letting out a harsh, screeching sound.
The bumper fell to the ground, shards scattering into the nearby flowerbed, crushing several freshly bloomed roses.
Kanye crawled out of the car looking disheveled; his white silk shirt was stained with grease from the front, and a red bruise had formed on his left temple from hitting the steering wheel.
He ran his hand through his hair, trying to maintain his usual composure, but the smirk on his face had long since turned into a furious scowl, his eyes filled with bitter frustration.
"Dylan, are you crazy? Why not helping me to make the show?" He kicked the bumper lying on the ground, his voice rising a few decibels, laced with a gritted-teeth edge.
I slowly stood up, brushing the dust off my jeans. Pebbles fell from the fabric, hitting the ground with faint rattles.
I stepped in front of him, looking down slightly, clearly seeing the niche brand necklace around his neck — a birthday gift Stella gave him last month, paid for with the company's reserve funds.
"Helping you to break my leg?" My tone was calm but carried a cold certainty that left no room for doubt.
I lifted his shirt collar, tugging it until it stretched out of shape, revealing a faint scar on his collarbone — from a fight he'd been in before, which Stella had helped cover up by pulling strings to erase the police record.
"Kanye Bell, did forget all the things your father has taught to you?" My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for the crowd gathering around to hear.
About a dozen bystanders had gathered. Some took out their phones to take pictures, while others whispered, "Isn't that Mr. Bell's son? How can he drive like that?"
"He almost hit someone just now. That was way too dangerous."
The accusing looks stabbed at Kanye like needles; his face flushed from his ears and slowly deepened to a dark liver-red.
"How dare you talk to me like that?" He reached out to push my shoulder, but the moment his fingers touched my clothes, I stepped aside and grabbed his wrist with my other hand, pressing my thumb on the pressure point inside his wrist and twisting gently.
Kanye winced in pain, sweat beading on his forehead, but didn't dare move—he knew I'd practiced boxing in college, and if things got physical, he was no match for me.
"Mr. Murphy!" Stella and I both work at the StellarWave Group. The company doesn't allow office romances, so we never showed our relationship in front of our coworkers.
Stella's voice came urgently. She wore an off-white business suit and ten-centimeter heels, rushing over from the café by the street.
Her heels clicked on the ground with a "clack clack" sound.
Her lipstick, a trendy dusty rose shade, smudged at the corner of her mouth from running so fast, making her look a bit messy.
She pulled Kanye behind her, protecting him like a little chick, then looked at me with eyes full of dissatisfaction: "Dylan, don't go too far. Kanye was just joking with you."
I watched her fiercely defending him and sneered coldly in my heart.
In my past life, it was because she kept taking Kanye's side like this.
He showed up late and left early, and she said it was because young people have energy.
He embezzled company funds to buy luxury goods, and she said it was to maintain the company's image.
Even when he finally ruined the StellarWave Group's partnership, she said it was I didn't make it clear to him in advance.
It was her favoritism that made Kanye increasingly reckless, finally pushing me into the abyss.
"Are you kidding me?" I raised my hand, pointing at the crumpled hood and the guardrail, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Joking by running someone over? Ms. Underwood, your tolerance truly knows no bounds."
Stella's face darkened. She stepped forward, lowering her voice with a threatening tone, "Dylan, for the sake of being colleagues, don't cling to such a trivial matter."
"Next week, we still have to negotiate the smart system cooperation with the Ford Group. Mr. Ford is already somewhat unhappy with our company. Don't let this little thing ruin the real business."
Mentioning the cooperation with the Ford Group stirred something inside me.
In my previous life, during this cooperation, Kanye was late because he went to a bar the night before. He brought the wrong proposal and even argued with Mr. Ford's assistant at the negotiation table, which ruined the deal outright.
Stella, to protect Kanye, pulled out the non-compete agreement I had signed before to threaten me. At the board meeting, she blamed me for not checking the proposal in advance.
The agreement said I couldn't work in the same industry for three years, so I had no choice but to compromise.
In the end, the StellarWave Group even withheld half a year's salary from me.
This time around, this score needs to be settled properly.
"Don't worry," I said, meeting Stella's eyes, my voice calm but resolute. "I won't let the serious business get delayed, but Kanye's joke? I'm not about to let that slide."
I turned and walked away, hearing Kanye's curses, Stella's calming words, and the murmurs of onlookers behind me.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warm on my skin. I clenched my fist, feeling a sharp sting from the small cuts on my palm where it had scraped the ground moments ago.
This time, I'm not just going to survive—I'm going to take back everything I lost in my past life.
My dignity, my job, and the opportunities that should have been mine, bit by bit.

The atmosphere in the Monday negotiation room was unbearably tense.
Henry Ford from the Ford Group sat at the head of the table, his expression calm but commanding attention.
Kanye sat beside me, clutching a proposal full of mistakes, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Mr. Bell," Henry's eyes locked onto him, "the data in this proposal doesn't align with what we discussed before. Can you explain?"
Kanye opened his mouth but couldn't say a complete sentence for a long time.
"Mr. Ford, I'm sorry, maybe my assistant made a mistake while organizing this..."
"The assistant's fault?" Henry cut him off, "As far as I know, you were in charge of this proposal yourself. The Ford Group chose to work with your company because of your expertise, not to hear excuses."
The negotiation ended in bitter failure.
Before leaving, Henry gave me a look that was heavy with meaning.
I knew this deal was completely screwed.
Back at the company, in Stella's office, she slammed the proposal down in front of me.
"Dylan, look at this! The whole partnership was ruined by Kanye. What exactly did you do as the department head?"
I picked up the proposal and flipped through a few pages.
"Ms. Underwood, this proposal was personally done by Kanye. I reminded him three times that the data was wrong, but he ignored me."
"I don't care!" Stella slammed the table. "The Ford Group made it clear: either you fix the problem, or the deal is off. You've been with the company a long time—help Kanye cover this mess."
"How exactly am I supposed to fix it?" I looked at her. "You want me to apologize to Henry, or to forge the data?"
Stella hesitated for a moment, then said, "Go talk to Henry and tell him we're willing to give a five percent concession if he's willing to reconsider the partnership."
I shook my head. "Ms. Underwood, five percent won't fix the problem. Besides, this isn't my fault, and I'm not apologizing for Kanye."
"Dylan!" Stella's voice sharpened a few degrees. "Don't forget you signed a non-compete agreement! If you don't cooperate, I'll make sure you can't stay in this industry!"
When she mentioned the non-compete agreement, I was already prepared.
In my past life, she'd used that same agreement to threaten me, forcing me to swallow my pride.
But in this life, I've already checked. The agreement doesn't clearly define the scope of business, and the company has never given me any non-compete compensation. Legally, it's completely invalid.
"Ms. Underwood," I said, pulling a document from my bag and setting it in front of her, "I've consulted with a lawyer about this non-compete agreement. No compensation, no clear scope — it's legally invalid."
Stella looked at the document, her expression darkening.
"You had this planned all along?"
"Yes," I nodded. "Ever since Kanye hit me, I knew there wouldn't be any good outcome if I kept dragging this out with you."
I stood up and took my resignation letter out of the drawer.
"This is my resignation letter. Tomorrow, I won't be coming to work."
Stella looked at the resignation letter, then at me, and stayed silent for a long moment.
I walked out of the office and returned to my desk.
I opened my computer and sent a message to the key members of my group.
"I'm quitting to join the Ford Group. Anyone want to come with me?"
Within ten minutes, replies poured in all at once.
"Where Dylan goes, I go!"
"Following Dylan is the way forward. I'm in!"
"I'm leaving too, and I'm taking a few clients with me!"
I looked at the screen, a warm feeling rising inside me.
In my past life, these people were dragged down because they took the blame for me.
This time, I won't let them suffer again.
The next day, I walked through the doors of the Ford Group with five people from my department and eight key clients in tow.
The person who greeted us was Henry, the president of the Ford Group.
"Dylan Murphy," Henry smiled, extending his hand. "Welcome to Ford."
I shook his hand, a quiet certainty settling inside me.
This business war has only just begun.

In my third month at the Ford Group, I got a call from an unknown number.
It was Kanye's voice on the other end, slurred and drunk.
"Dylan, you traitor! If you hadn't taken our clients, Stella's company wouldn't be in this mess!"
I frowned. "Kanye, don't talk nonsense. You messed up StellarWave Group's partnership! And you treated the company's possession like your own!"
"I don't care!" Kanye's voice cracked with hysteria. "Stella's carrying my child. If you are still a responsible guy, give those clients back!"
I was stunned.
Stella is pregnant with Kanye's child?
In my last life, I only found out after the divorce. By then, Stella had already taken my money and was living it up with Kanye.
This time, the reality came so fast.
"Kanye, is what you said true?"
"Of course it's true!" Kanye said smugly. "Stella said once she divorces you, we'll get married, and then the whole company will be mine!"
I hung up the phone, feeling no anger—only a calm sense that everything had finally settled.
I took out my phone and scrolled through some photos I had accidentally taken earlier.
In the photos, Stella and Kanye were kissing at the hotel entrance, dated three months ago—before we divorced.
There was also Stella's prenatal checkup report, which I found last week while sorting through old things. The date matched the day of the photos.
These are the strongest pieces of evidence.
I dialed the lawyer's number. "Mr. Wood, please get ready. I'm going to initiate the divorce proceedings. I've already prepared the evidence—including Stella's affair during our marriage and proof of her pregnancy."
After hanging up the lawyer's call, I walked over to the window and looked down at the busy traffic below.
Stella, Kanye, what you owe me—it's time to pay up.
In the afternoon, inside Stella's company.
She stared at the divorce papers the lawyer had just delivered, her face pale as a sheet.
"Dylan, are you really going to be this ruthless?"
I sat across from her and said calmly, "The ruthless one isn't me—it's you. Stella, we were married for three years. You know exactly how I treated you."
"But what about you? You're involved with Kanye, using the company's resources to support him, even letting him sabotage a deal just to pin the blame on me. Do you really think I didn't know?"
Tears streamed down Stella's face. "Dylan, I know I was wrong. Please, give me one more chance. I will abort the child, and I will cut all ties with Kanye. Can we start over?"
"Start over?" I shook my head. "Stella, some things, once done, can never be undone."
Just then, Stella's phone rang.
It was the company's finance department.
"Ms. Underwood, come back soon! Several major clients suddenly want to end their contracts. The cash flow is about to collapse!"
Stella held the phone, her hands trembling uncontrollably before she finally slumped back into her chair, exhausted.
"How could this happen... How could this happen..."
I stood up, looking at her desperate expression without a shred of sympathy.
"Stella, this is the path you chose yourself."
I turned and walked away without looking back.
The moment the door closed, I heard Stella's sobs break down.
But I knew this was just the beginning.

The news of Stella's company going bankrupt quickly spread throughout the industry.
When Kanye heard the news, the first thing he did wasn't to comfort Stella, but to rush to her house and claim her properties and cars.
"Stella, now that the company's bankrupt, those things are useless anyway. It's better to transfer them to my name first before the court freezes them."
Stella stared at Kanye's greedy face, finally seeing his true colors.
"Kanye, did you know the company was going to go bankrupt from the start? Were you just trying to scam my money all along?"
Kanye's face changed, then he flew into a rage. "Stella, don't slander me! If you weren't useless, how could the company have gone bankrupt? Besides, if you hadn't helped me secured the project through an under-the-table deal, I wouldn't have gotten involved with you in the first place!"
"An under-the-table deal?" Stella looked at him in disbelief. "Kanye, you're really going to say that about me?"
Kanye pulled out his phone and flipped through some chat logs. "See for yourself—these are the proofs you begged me to be with you back then. Now that the company's bankrupt, don't even think about dragging me down with you!"
Stella stared at the chat logs, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.
Those messages were forced out of her by Kanye back then—she never thought they'd turn into evidence he could use against her.
"Kanye, you bastard!"
Stella lunged at him, trying to hit him, but Kanye shoved her to the ground.
"Stella, don't push me to lose my patience with you!"
Kanye grabbed Stella's property deed and car keys, then walked away without looking back.
Stella sat on the ground, tears streaming down her face.
She picked up her phone and dialed my number.
"Dylan, I was wrong. Can you please help me?"
I stared at the phone screen, silent for a few seconds.
"Stella, the only help I can give you is making sure you get the punishment you deserve."
I hung up and sent a message to the lawyer: "Hand over the evidence of Kanye framing Stella to the police."
A few days later, the police took Stella and Kanye away on charges of business fraud and false accusation.
In court, Stella looked utterly hopeless as she watched the evidence Kanye presented.
In the end, Stella was sentenced to three years in prison for commercial fraud.
Kanye was sentenced to one year in prison for false accusation and framing, but because of his bad behavior in prison, his sentence was extended by six more months.
Through legal procedures, I successfully reclaimed the properties and cars Stella transferred to Kanye during our marriage, as well as the luxury items she bought for him with our joint assets.
After Kanye got out of prison, his criminal record made it impossible to find work. Lazy and freeloading, he ended up homeless, begging to survive.
Once, I saw him on the street.
He was wearing ragged clothes, his hair greasy, holding a broken bowl, begging passersby.
When he saw me, he tried to hide, but I called out to him.
"Kanye."
He turned around, eyes darting, not daring to meet my gaze.
"Dylan, I know I was wrong. Could you give me one more chance?"
I looked at him and shook my head. "Kanye, chances aren't given by others; you have to earn them yourself. You chose to take shortcuts and hurt others back then, so you should have expected this outcome today."
I turned around and walked away, never looking back.
Sunlight warmed my skin, and I felt an unprecedented sense of ease.
After the thrill of revenge, there was no emptiness—only a deep sense of relief.

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