Livestreaming My Cheating Billionaire Husband

3

Jasmine

The car was still on the inside, but outside, it was the complete opposite. The rain lashed against the bulletproof windows, blurring my view of the city.

And then I finally broke.

The cold mask I had worn in the penthouse and on the driveway crumbled. I pulled my knees to my chest, buried my face in my hands, and let the tears come. I sobbed until my throat burned, shaking with the humiliation of the last three years.

I had given that family my youth, my peace, and my dignity. I had cooked their meals, endured their insults, and let them treat me like dirt—all for a man who was screwing his stepsister while I was all by myself at an anniversary dinner date he organized for us.

A box of tissues was quietly pushed into my field of vision.

I looked up through blurred eyes. Marcus was sitting across from me, his posture perfectly rigid. He had been my personal bodyguard since I was seven years old. Looking at him now, he hadn’t changed a bit—same sharp, unreadable dark eyes, same silver-flecked hair, same calming, assuring presence.

“Would you like to divert to the estate and rest for the night, Miss Vance?” Marcus asked, his deep voice carrying a rare, gentle softness.

I wiped my cheeks, shaking my head violently. “No. There’s too much to deal with. The board is waiting.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking at him. “How did you even know to come for me tonight? To set the meeting with the board?”

Marcus gave a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. “We saw the livestream, Miss. The moment it hit the news, I knew exactly what you wanted. I knew the test had ended, and the wait was over.”

A fresh wave of tears hit me, and I didn’t even try to stop them. Without a word, Marcus shifted across the leather seat and wrapped a heavy, protective arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. I leaned into his shoulder, crying for the girl who had spent three years trying to force herself into a box that was too small for her.

As the car sped toward the corporate district, I thought about my father.

His final, bizarre wish had been the blueprint for my misery. Before he passed away, right after I returned from my schooling abroad, he had sat me down with his lawyers. The will was ironclad: I was not to touch a single dime of the Vance Global fortune until I either found true love or had children of my own.

“The Vance name is a target, Jasmine,” he had told me, his eyes tired and heavy. “Wealth like ours breeds monsters. I want you to know what real happiness feels like before the boardrooms consume you. Find someone who loves you for you, not the empire.”

So, I had obliged him. I hid my name. I took a vow of poverty, using only a small stipend to get by, working a mundane desk job where I eventually met Jason. The world knew Vance Global had a sole, mysterious heir, but the public had been thrown into a decade-long frenzy trying to uncover who it was. Investigative journalists had spent years chasing ghosts.

By the time the convoy reached Vance Tower, my tears had stopped.

I wiped my eyes, staring out at the towering skyscraper of Vance Global as it loomed into view.

The test was officially over. My father’s romantic dream was dead, buried in a cheap penthouse suite on West Lane. But I was finally ready.

An hour later, the elevator doors of the executive floor slid open.

I stepped out, the wet clothes and tears completely gone. Now, I wore a tailored, crisp white pantsuit that hugged my frame. My dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, high ponytail, exposing the sharp lines of my jaw.

Laura hurried beside me. “Hello, Miss Vance, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said, her tablet buzzing with endless notifications.

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Laura.”

Laura had worked with my father in the last years of his life. She was one of the few people who had known and kept his most important secret: my identity.

“The board of directors is furious, Miss Vance,” Laura whispered quickly, trying to match my aggressive stride. “They’re displeased to be called in at midnight on such short notice. However, the moment we logged the alert that the official Vance heir was finally stepping forward to address them, every single seat was filled within twenty minutes.”

“Let them grumble,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet corridor.

As we neared the massive mahogany double doors of the grand boardroom, the muffled sound of angry, impatient male voices leaked through the opening.

“…utterly ridiculous to drag us out of bed for a ghost!” one older director was scoffing. “If this heir thinks he can just toy with the governance of this company—”

The security guards threw the doors open.

The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence the exact second I came into frame. A dozen elderly, wealthy men froze in their leather chairs, their mouths hanging open. Standing at the perimeter of the room, a small, hand-selected group of media personnel let out a collective gasp.

Suddenly, the cameras went completely berserk.

The flashes were blinding, casting sharp white light against my white suit. I didn’t blink. I walked straight down the center of the room, flanked by Marcus and three elite bodyguards. I didn’t sit at the foot of the table. I walked right to the head of the boardroom, placing both hands flat on the polished wood.

“You’re Jasmine Sterling?” one of the men asked, peering at me through the ridge of his glasses.

“Jasmine Vance,” I corrected.

“That is impossible!” another muttered under his breath.

“Well, from my birth certificate and the will my father signed, which the lawyer would present a copy of to you if you so wish…” I gestured towards the tall, lanky man seated at the end of the table. He nodded in agreement. “It says I am Jasmine Vance, heir of Vance Global.”

“That can’t—”

“In the absence of any more interruptions…” I cut in loudly. “I’d like to say a few things.”

The grumbling ceased entirely. Every eye in the room was locked on the “penniless orphan” they had read about in the tabloids just an hour ago.

I looked slowly around the table, my expression ice-cold.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said. The silence in the room was deafening. “Let’s not waste time. Your first order of business tonight is simple.”

I leaned forward slightly, my eyes locking onto the chief financial officer.

“Short every single stock owned by the Sterling family. Pull our tech licenses from their servers, and dismantle their logistics network by sunrise. I want Jason Sterling to wake up to a kingdom made of ash.”