Rise To Power: Death To My Billionaire Husband

Anita’s gaze remained fixed on the car’s window, the buildings moving past like shadows in a dream. It was early afternoon, the city was alive, but her mind was lost.

Tessa had been her plan A.

Meeting her at the hospital that day, Anita had intended to use her — a well-timed pawn in her game of revenge against her husband.

But now... she had offered her a hand in friendship.

And friends weren’t meant to be pawns.

Anita exhaled, slow and quiet, her breath fogging the window slightly. The shift had been subtle at first — a pause in her gut when Tessa cried, a tightness in her throat when she said "How do you survive loving someone who leaves you with a life sentence?"

But now it wasn’t subtle anymore. It was a crack, deep and raw, stretching across the glass wall she’d built around her years ago.

Her jaw clenched as she leaned back into the seat, arms folded, fingers drumming lightly on her elbow. She hadn’t expected to care. Not really. Not beyond schemes. And yet, she saw something in that girl’s eyes. Something she remembered too well — the look of someone who’d been betrayed and branded and left to rot while the world kept spinning like nothing had happened.

"Mtchew," she hissed with irritation.

She didn’t do this. She didn’t get involved with people’s lives, except they were extremely close.

But there she was — already thinking of a future for Tessa, already planning which doctors to call, which legal hands to grease, which press vultures to feed just enough without letting them tear the girl apart. Already sketching out a path of survival for her, not just vengeance.

"Ms. Anita," Camille’s voice drifted over from the driver’s seat, pulling her back from her thoughts. "We’ve arrived."

Anita was lost in thought and didn’t even realize it.

As if on cue, Zaria opened the car door and stepped aside like a silent bodyguard, her posture straight, face unreadable, but eyes sharp as ever.

Anita stepped out slowly, smoothing the front of her black coat. She’d chosen two – Camille and Zaria as her assistant, driver, and secret bodyguards, and the rest, their main goal was to focus on making her husband drop his pants.

That was her plan B.

Staring at the vintage restaurant before her, Anita took a deep breath. Places like this – simple, yet classic – weren’t just for meals. It was where power dined in whispers, where rivals toasted to each other’s downfall with red wine and porcelain smiles.

Anita took a step forward, her red-bottom stilettos heels clicking against the cobblestone like a starting pistol. Behind her, Zaria and Camille, dressed in dark suits, followed behind her, like war commanders.

...

Inside one of the VIP rooms with a wooden folding door, ten men and women sat around an oval table. The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from an antique chandelier that cast flickering shadows across the polished floors and maroon walls. There were no windows. No distractions. Just whispered power and the smell of money, perfume, and subtle tension.

"Why is CEO Reginald not here yet?" the man glanced at his watch, "It’s been fifteen minutes."

"Must be traffic." A man in casuals replied languidly. He looked like this was the last place he wanted to be.

"My source says he’s planning on retirement, is that true?" A woman in a gray pantsuit asked.

Heads snapped towards her, "Where did you hear that?"

She shrugged, unwilling to reply further.

"If he’s retiring, does that mean Donald takes over?" The Rolex-watch man frowned.

"Donald is capable. He’s better than the other Whites vying for the CEO position."

"That’s not the point. If Donald takes over, we might lose our shares," the man with the Rolex said, voice tight. "That boy’s a vulture in a tailored suit."

Silence so deafening followed, it pressed against the walls like a held breath. No one spoke for a while.

"He’s been waiting for this moment," someone said. "He’s got a reputation... You cross him once, you disappear the next day. No noise. No fuss. Just gone."

"I heard what he did to Reginald’s CFO in one of the subsidiaries," the man in casuals muttered. "Guy ended up in court with no support, no lawyer, and a scandal wrapped around him so tight he couldn’t breathe."

"And his wife disappeared a week after," someone whispered.

The room went cold.

"We can’t even use anything against him."

"Exactly," another man muttered. "He’s clean. No debts, no mistresses, no skeletons to drag out when we need compliance. The company becomes... unpredictable."

"Or worse," the woman in the pantsuit added, her voice low. "He’s untouchable."

The room fell into a tense hush, the weight of that possibility sinking in like a storm cloud. In their world, power wasn’t just money or position – It was control. Influence. Insurance against each other. And Donald White, for all his talent, was immune to most of their tools.

"He was never supposed to be in the running," someone whispered. "It was always Reginald, then Anita. Or maybe even Charles if the first and second branches of the White family united."

That name — Anita — floated in the air like perfume laced with acid.

"She was leading the race until she dropped out for a man." The woman sneered. "We had high hopes, supported her with everything and she betrayed us for that tramp."

"David Blackwood." Said an old woman. "His success in the industry is inspiring, thanks to Anita. But she disgraced her father’s legacy the moment she chose him over the company." Disdain curled the woman’s lips as she crossed her arms. "She was groomed for this. For years. And then she threw it all away for love."

"Not love," muttered the man sitting next to her. "Desperation. She was mad at her family." He leaned back, expression unreadable. "She forgot who she was."

"Perhaps, it’s time we reach out to her?" someone else added. "Of all the runners, Donald shows a but of restraint around her. She might be the only one who can take him on."

"No. She can’t waltz back in like she didn’t betray the company eight years ago."