From Prison to Power: The Fishmonger's Revenge

The night before our engagement, Declan's secretary, Paige, photoshopped explicit pictures of me. She blasted them out to everyone as our wedding invites. I confronted her.

She tripped and sliced her face open. My lawyers cleared my name. But Declan went feral. He pulled every string he had to throw me behind bars.

He didn't even blink. "I plan to marry Paige to fix this mess." "Sit in there and think. Learn how to behave.

Play nice, and I'll give you your spot back when you get out." I rotted in that cell for three years. The second the gates opened, I vanished.

Six months later, a familiar face blocked the sun at my market stall. "Fresh catch today. Take your pick." The man froze. His voice shook. "Daphne… I don't eat fish.

Did you forget?" Chapter 1 I slammed the dull cleaver onto the scarred cutting board. The blade scraped against scales.

Flecks of silver and crimson splattered across the ice just as Declan materialized through the crowd, standing there like a ghost from another life.

His tailored suit looked completely out of place in the middle of the damp seafood market. His gaze dropped to my hands. They used to glide over piano keys.

Now, angry red chilblains and deep, unhealed splits covered my skin like rough bark. "Daphne," he said my name again.

Disbelief laced his voice, barely masking his tightly coiled rage. "Move if you aren't buying.

You're holding up the line." I wiped my hands on a filthy rag and reached for the plastic bag an older woman held out. The casual dismissal shattered his composure.

Declan lunged forward and slapped the cleaver right out of my grip. It hit the wet concrete.

The metal clanged and skittered across the floor. "Are you serious right now?!" he roared. Heads snapped toward us.

Nearby vendors and housewives stopped in their tracks. "You're dragging yourself through the gutter just to spite me? Winston's golden child. A toptier finance grad. Gutting fish?

You think this makes me feel guilty? You think I regret locking you up?" Pure disgust rolled off him in waves. In his twisted mind, this was all a desperate play for his attention.

A pathetic cry for help.

I bent down, grabbed the handle of the cleaver, and wiped the blade hard against my rubber apron. "Sir," I said, my voice dead flat. "This knife cost me thirty bucks.

You chipped the blade. Pay up. Also, I have no idea who you are." Declan froze. His jaw tightened. He expected tears. He expected screaming.

He didn't expect a shakedown for thirty dollars. The whispers started. "Who's the suit? Dresses like a million bucks but bullies a fishmonger." "Exactly.

Look at poor Daphne." "Probably some toxic ex stepping on her while she's down. Huge red flag." The gossip stung. Declan's face drained of color, then flushed dark red.

His assistant rushed forward to run interference, but Declan shoved him back. He locked onto my eyes.

He searched my pupils, desperate to dig up some buried spark of the girl who used to worship him. But there was nothing left to find.

Just numbness. "Drop the act," Declan ground out, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "If Winston saw you right now, he'd roll in his grave.

Those hands were built for boardrooms. Not ripping out fish guts! If you need cash so badly, go apply at a real firm. With your degree—" He choked on his own sentence.

A nasty, mocking smirk twisted his lips. "Oh, right. I forgot. You have a felony record.

Because I put it there." He straightened his cuffs, the arrogant superiority flooding right back into his spine. "So this is you blaming me?

Punishing me with this pathetic show?" I didn't blink. I turned my back to him and plunged my hand into the murky tank, dragging out a thrashing bass. I slammed it onto the board.

The cleaver came down hard. A thick arc of dark blood sprayed through the air, splattering directly across his immaculate dress pants.

Declan flinched back, his features contorting in pure revulsion. I kept my face blank. I shoved the gutted fish into a plastic bag and handed it to the woman waiting. "All set.

Twentyfive. Cash App scan is on the wall." I never even glanced in his direction. That silence gutted him worse than any screaming match ever could.

Chapter 2 He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket and reached out to wipe the flecks of blood from my cheek. I jerked my head away.

The fabric hovered in the air, pathetic and useless. "Sir," I tapped the laminated QR code taped to the peeling wall. My voice didn't even twitch. "Thirty for the cleaver.

Twenty for the wasted time. Fifty bucks total. Scan it. Don't block my paying customers." His fist clamped around the pristine linen, crushing it into a tight ball.

His chest heaved against his tailored vest. My refusal to even react was clearly driving him crazy. "Money? Is that all this is?" A harsh, mocking laugh ripped from his throat.

He whipped out his checkbook, his pen slashing aggressively across the paper. Then, he yanked a thick stack of hundreddollar bills from his money clip.

With a wet smack, he slammed the entire wad of hundreds directly onto the bloody cutting board.

Crisp green paper soaked up the fish slime and bloody runoff. "Pack it up," he ordered.

The CEO tone was back, heavy and absolute. "We are getting lunch and we are ending this stunt.

That's enough cash to buy out this pathetic stall for a year." Sharp intakes of breath echoed from the neighboring stalls. Five grand easily. Out here, that was lottery money.

Declan tilted his chin up, waiting for the break. Waiting for me to burst into tears or hurl the money back in his face.

The old Daphne would have burned the city down over an insult like that. I stared at the bloodsoaked Benjamin Franklins. I didn't hesitate for a single second.

I snatched the soggy bills, weighed the heavy stack in my palm, and shoved it straight into my ducttaped fanny pack. "Thanks for the tip, boss." I gave him a curt nod. Zero shame.

Zero hesitation. "Need anything else? Gutting? Scaling?" Declan's pupils contracted. "Daphne…" His voice actually cracked.

The finger pointing at me trembled violently. "Where the hell is your selfrespect? You used to freeze me out for three days straight just because I missed the drop on a Birkin bag!

Now you're selling your soul for pocket change from a stranger?" I yanked the rubber halter off my neck.

Underneath was a faded, threadbare tshirt, the collar permanently stretched out of shape. "What's the going rate for dignity these days?" I grabbed the industrial hose and blasted the fish guts off my rubber rain boots. "Let's go.

Didn't you want to eat? Just a headsup. No Michelin stars today. They don't exactly welcome the health code violation aesthetic." The retort died in his throat.

His jaw locked as he followed me out the back of the market. I led him down a narrow, dirty alley toward my rundown apartment complex.

Rancid puddle water and crushed, rotting garbage coated the asphalt. The air smelled intensely of black mold.

Declan navigated the sludge like a tightrope walker, terrified of splashing his custom oxfords. "Keep walking.

You'll figure out why I'm so obsessed with cash real soon," I threw over my shoulder.

Shirley, my landlord, was physically blocking the stairwell, taking a long drag from a cheap cigarette.

She exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and flicked the ash onto the concrete the second she saw me. "Daphne! When are you coughing up last month's utility bill?

I'm cutting your power tonight!" "Shirley, I got it.

Just made a huge sale." I forced a sickeningly sweet customerservice smile, dug into my fanny pack, and ripped a few damp hundreddollar bills from Declan's stack.

I shoved them into her hands without even counting.

Shirley's scowl instantly melted into a greedy grin as her fingers curled around the cash. "Well, look at you hitting the jackpot! Alright, alright.

I'll give you a few more days." Chapter 3 We kept walking. Up ahead, Stanley, the neighborhood scrapper, wrestled with a rusty shopping cart wedged in a pothole. I didn't hesitate.

I wedged my shoulder against the metal frame and shoved it free. "Stanley," I wiped my hands on my jeans. "You shorted me fifty cents on that cardboard box last Tuesday.

Cough it up." Declan stood frozen in the grime. His complexion turned a sickly, ashen gray. He watched me scrap over loose change. He watched me swallow my pride for a slumlord.

He watched me effortlessly navigate a suffocating, rotting world that made his stomach turn. The brutal reality of it hit him. A physical blow to his chest. He snapped.

His hand shot out and clamped around my bicep.

His fingers dug into my flesh, gripping hard enough to snap the bone. "Enough!" he roared. "Daphne, drop the damn act." His breathing turned ragged. "There is no way you are living like this.

Pack your things. I'm getting you an apartment. I'll make some calls for a job." He yanked his phone from his pocket.

His thumbs flew across the screen. "I'm wiring you a million dollars right now.

I am not watching you drag yourself through the mud anymore." He needed the transaction to go through.

He needed the zeros in my bank account to wash away the crushing weight in his chest. To buy his own absolution. To prove to himself that he hadn't completely annihilated me.

I didn't flinch. I just stood there, letting the stench of the alley wrap around us, and watched him tap the screen.

Three seconds later, a sharp, synthetic buzz cut through the tension. Not a confirmation chime. An error alert. Declan froze.

He stared at the glaring red text on his screen, total confusion wiping away his arrogance. "What the hell? Is there no cell service in this dump?" He hit retry. Another harsh buzz.

Recipient account frozen. Felony financial restrictions active. Highlimit transfers denied. The phone slipped in his grip. His head snapped up. Our eyes locked.

I let a slow, dead smile curve my lips. "You really do have a short memory, Declan. Three years ago. You wanted to break me.

You personally petitioned the courts to freeze every asset I had and completely destroy my credit score. The block is still active." All the blood drained from his face.

His lips parted. He tried to pull oxygen into his lungs, but his vocal cords seized.

The exact weapon he forged to ruin my life—the absolute financial destruction he authorized—was now the impenetrable wall blocking his pathetic attempt at charity.

It was incredibly ironic. The throaty roar of a highend engine tore through the alleyway. A cherryred Porsche idled at the curb, violently out of place against the rotting brick.

The driver's door popped open. A sixinch Christian Louboutin stiletto stepped onto the cracked pavement.

I shifted my gaze toward the street. "Your wife is here," I stated, my voice entirely hollow. "You should probably go." Paige stepped out of the sports car.

She wore a pristine, straightofftherunway Chanel tweed suit. A massive, blinding diamond pendant rested against her collarbone.

Declan won that stone at a Sotheby's auction last month. The tabloids ate it up—a milliondollar anniversary gift for his beloved wife.

She slid her designer sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. Her perfectly lined eyes darted between Declan and me.

A sickeningly sweet, calculated smile stretched across her lips as she clicked her way toward us. "Declan, baby, what are you doing in this dumpster fire?" She laced her arm through his, pressing her manicured body flush against his side.

She claimed him instantly. But her eyes locked onto mine, slicing across my face like shattered glass.

Chapter 4 "Ugh, what is that stench?" Paige clamped a hand over her nose and stumbled back, frantically waving the foul air away from her face. "It's making me nauseous.

Declan, we need to leave." Her face scrunched up in pure disgust. Like she had just stepped on a rat. Declan stiffened. He didn't push her away. He didn't say a word.

His eyes just stayed locked on me, heavy with something twisted and unresolved. When I didn't take the bait, Paige leaned in closer.

She slapped a hand over her mouth with a perfectly rehearsed gasp. "Oh my god. Daphne?" She reached out, pretending she wanted to touch my cheek.

Her manicured hand stopped dead in midair. Terrified the grime might actually rub off on her. "Daphne, I know you clawed my face up back then.

I know you almost ruined me…" Her fingers lightly grazed her flawless, unblemished cheek. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes. "But I forgave you a long time ago.

You were just so mentally unstable back then. But seeing you like this… it breaks my heart." The faint trace of guilt in Declan's eyes froze over. The memory hit him.

Paige, sobbing with blood streaming down her face.

Whatever pathetic drop of pity he just felt for me vanished instantly. "How much for the fish, Daphne?" Paige pivoted, pointing her designer acrylics at the plastic bag in my hand. "Since we ran into each other, I should totally support your little business." She reached out to grab the handles.

I tightened my grip. "Your hands are too expensive, Paige. Don't touch the trash." I lowered the bag toward the concrete.

Paige lunged for it. "Oh, stop being so stubborn!" Her fingers hooked the plastic. She yanked hard.

The flimsy plastic tore, and a freezing torrent of bloodtinted fish water exploded across my face and chest. The dead bass slapped against my chest before hitting the pavement.

My threadbare tshirt soaked through instantly, clinging to my shivering ribs like an icy second skin. "Oh my god!

I'm so sorry!" Paige shrieked, jumping back to dodge. "It was just so slippery!" She wailed the apology, but her gaze flicked straight to Declan to gauge his reaction.

The second his brow furrowed, the act dropped entirely.

She pointed a shaking finger at the fish on the ground and raised her voice for the entire alley to hear. "Daphne, is this fish rotting? Why does it smell like sulfur?

Are you seriously selling dead, diseased fish to these people? What if someone gets sick? Especially with… you know, that disease you caught…" She let the sentence hang in the air.

The nosy neighbors and passersby zeroed in on the drama, swarming closer. "What disease? Is it contagious?" "Selling bad fish?

That's disgusting." "I'm never buying from her stall again." The narrative flipped in seconds. Out here in the gutter, reputation equaled survival.

She was deliberately starving me out. I stood there, letting the dirty water drip down from my hair. I didn't blink. I didn't flinch.

Three years ago, I would have lunged at her throat. I would have shredded her face for real. Today, my spine just curved.

I bent down, grabbed the slimy bass off the asphalt, and shoved it into a fresh plastic bag.

Straightening my spine, I locked my unblinking gaze onto Paige's perfectly contoured face.

Chapter 5 "Paige," my voice didn't rise, but the syllables cut through the alley. "I hauled this catch in at dawn. The whole block has been eating from my stall for six months.

Nobody got sick. But you." I dragged my eyes over her heavily contoured, powdercaked face. "Your foundation is literally caking off into the puddles.

If this bass died of anything, your toxic makeup poisoned it." A harsh wave of laughter ripped through the crowd.

Paige's face flushed a violent, mottled purple. "You—!" Her acrylic nail shook as she pointed it at my face. "Daphne sells the best cuts on the block.

She never shorts the scale." Shirley stepped out from the mob, spitting another sunflower seed shell onto the asphalt. "And you, parading around in your fancy little suit.

Keep your garbage out of our alley." Stanley rattled his rusted shopping cart forward, backing her up. "Daphne busts her ass.

You rich folks need to back off and stop bullying her." The tide turned instantly. The neighborhood loved a good show, but they hated arrogant outsiders more.

Seeing Paige's dripping superiority triggered a collective nerve. Paige's eyes welled with manufactured tears.

She turned to Declan, desperation bleeding into her voice. "Declan, baby, look at her…" Declan stared at me.

I stood there, drenched in freezing, putrid water, my spine locked straight. Irritation flashed across his features.

This entire circus disgusted him. "Enough!" He barked the order, physically ripping his arm out of Paige's grip. "Haven't you made enough of a scene?" His brows pulled together in that familiar, suffocating scowl.

He looked down at me, a judge passing a sentence. "Daphne, if you possessed half this composure three years ago, you wouldn't be a felon." His tone was full of heavy disappointment. "If you hadn't lashed out like a psycho, we wouldn't be here.

You brought every second of this on yourself." A hollow, rusted laugh scraped up my throat.

My mind snapped back to the executive boardroom three years ago, where Paige had leaned across the mahogany table.

Just loud enough for me to hear. "Your parents' car crash was pure karma. They were in Declan's way. And by the way, he always loved me.

He whispered it to me in bed a thousand times." My mind went blank. I grabbed the brass fountain pen off the table and slashed out. Metal tore skin.

Blood splattered across the quarterly reports. Declan burst through the doors and only saw the aftermath. The violence. He didn't listen to a single word I choked out.

He protected Paige. He handed the security footage directly to the cops to guarantee my conviction.

And now he stood in this rotting alley, lecturing me on selfcontrol. "You're totally right, Mr. CEO," I wiped the water from my face, my voice hoarse. "I brought this on myself.

I was completely blind." Declan's expression hardened. "What is that supposed to mean?" He yanked his money clip out again. He peeled off another thick stack of hundreds.

Five or six grand easily. He shoved it toward my chest. "Paige crossed a line. She ruined your stock. Take the cash. Buy some clean clothes.

Stop humiliating yourself out here and go home." Paige stood slightly behind him.

Even after getting yelled at, a sickening, triumphant gleam returned to her eyes as she watched the cash hit my hand. She fully expected me to snatch it.

To her, starving girls always chose survival over dignity. Chapter 6 I stared at the cash hovering in front of me. Then at Declan's selfrighteous face.

I reached into my tapedup fanny pack. My fingers curled around the bloodsoaked wad he gave me earlier.

I ripped it out, snatched the new stack right out of his grip, and crushed them together. I hurled the entire brick of cash directly at his chest.

The heavy wad smacked hard against his custom vest before bursting open, raining hundreddollar bills into the filthy puddles. Declan froze.

Paige stood paralyzed. "I don't want it." I locked onto his eyes, grinding out every single syllable. "Your money is filthy.

Take your trash and get out of my sight." Declan was enraged. No one spoke to him like that.

Especially not the girl who used to bend over backward for his scraps of affection. "Daphne!" He roared furiously.

The veins in his neck strained against his collar. "Drop the righteous act!

What do you even have left besides the stench of dead fish?" He stepped closer, towering over me. "Your life is over!

Who the hell else is ever going to look twice at you?" Paige instantly latched onto his fury, her voice dripping with venomous pity. "Declan, baby, don't let her work you up.

She isn't worth it. Look at her. It's just pathetic." She dragged her eyes up and down my soaked, shivering frame. "She can't even land a real job.

Forget about getting married or starting a family. Everyone knows what happens to women in prison. Her body is probably ruined. Who would ever want her?

She's going to end up childless and completely alone." My fingernails dug brutally into my palms. The skin threatened to split. The pressure in my skull hit a boiling point.

Frantic, tiny footsteps slapped against the wet asphalt. A small blur barreled out of the alleyway. He slammed directly into my knees. A little boy. No older than three.

He wore a faded but spotless cotton tank top. Tiny arms wrapped fiercely around my legs.

He tilted his head back, his voice bright and entirely innocent. "Mommy!" The silence in the alley became absolute. Declan and Paige turned into stone.

The little boy rubbed his cheek against my damp jeans. He pointed a chubby finger toward the main street. "Daddy is here to take us home!" Declan's eyes locked onto the kid.

The arrogance melted off his face, replaced by total, suffocating shock. His hand trembled violently as he pointed at the boy. "Where… where did that kid come from?

You spent the last three years in a cell… Whose kid is that