Adultery Dad's Enemy Made My Mom Heartless (COMPLETED!!)

[thoristhanos]

UPDATE - 10

WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED (AAKASH'S STORY) : 



When Aakash accepted Company management’s offer to take on his previous office duties—the grunt work of audits, vendor payments, and compliance filings—without a corresponding title bump or salary increase, he didn't just feel slighted. He saw an opening. Arun, puffed up with his own authority and eager to offload the tedious paperwork onto his younger, sharper subordinate, handed over access with a careless wave. He saw it as dumping a burden; Aakash saw it as receiving the keys to the kingdom.

For one month, Aakash worked with a quiet, meticulous diligence that earned him more of Arun’s trust and, consequently, more unsupervised access. While Arun was busy “bossing him around”—issuing petty orders, taking credit for his ideas, enjoying the ego boost of having a former rival now running on his one command on phone —Aakash was burrowing deep into the company’s financial architecture. He studied every pattern, every approval threshold, every nuance of Arun’s digital signature file. 
 

The plan was elegant in its cruelty. Aakash began creating a series of false transactions. Phantom supplier invoices from Dubai-based shell companies he controlled. Falsified letters of credit. Forged purchase orders for non-existent construction materials earmarked for the proposed Gulf expansion. He made them just plausible enough to slip past a cursory glance, embedding them in stacks of legitimate paperwork he send to Arun for sign-off during the man’s most distracted moments.

Arun, viewing the paperwork as a mere bureaucratic nuisance, of no real consequence compared to the “big picture” deals he was chasing, would scribble his signature without a second thought. “You handle the details, Aakash,” he’d say on phone, clapping him on the back with condescending familiarity. Each signature was a nail in Arun’s own coffin.

These fraudulent transactions siphoned significant capital out of the company, creating a growing, hidden loss. Aakash managed the books to hide the immediate bleeding, but the evidence of the outflows was there, a paper trail leading directly back to Arun’s authorized approvals.


With the trap set, Aakash pulled the trigger from a distance. After leaving the company, Using anonymized email accounts and untraceable internet connections, he mailed meticulously compiled copies of the damning documents to the company’s internal investigations department and, simultaneously, to the relevant financial oversight authorities in Dubai where the expansion was headquartered. The package was presented not as a whistleblower’s concern, but as a concerned third-party tip about massive fraud perpetrated by Arun Arya.

The reaction was swift and severe. It was 2007 in Dubai. The city was a gleaming monument of ambition, rising from the desert on a foundation of strict, uncompromising law, especially regarding financial crimes that threatened its burgeoning reputation. An accusation of this scale wasn't met with an inquiry; it was met with a raid. Dubai Agency, accompanied by the company’s own horrified internal auditors, descended on Arun’s hotel meeting room. He was arrested on the spot, his confusion turning to paralyzing terror as the charges were read out in formal, chilling Arabic-accented English.


But Aakash wasn't finished. A financial scandal could be fought. A man could claim set-up, blame faulty systems, hire lawyers. To ensure Arun was utterly destroyed, to make him not just a criminal but a moral pariah—to sever him completely from Parineeti’s sympathy and the world’s goodwill—Aakash added a second, deadlier charge.

He called upon friends in Dubai, men with connections in the city’s underbelly. He provided funds and precise instructions. Two high-end prostitutes, chosen for their sophisticated, business-like demeanor, were hired. Their assignment: pose as potential clients interested in Arun’s expansion project. They approached him at his hotel bar, at a “networking event” Aakash’s contacts arranged. They flattered his acumen, spoke knowledgeably about markets, and made their interest unmistakably personal.

Arun, alone for weeks, missing the physical intimacy of his marriage, his ego bruised by the stressful negotiations and now stroked by these beautiful, attentive women, was vulnerable. The seduction was professional and relentless. He succumbed. In the privacy of his hotel suite, with hidden cameras recording every moment, he had unprotected sex with both women, on separate occasions, mistaking transactional lust for a much-needed ego boost and release.

As soon as the financial complaint was formally registered, the women, following their script, went to the authorities. They filed criminal complaints of sexual harassment and coercion, alleging Arun had demanded sexual favors as a quid pro quo for business consideration. They submitted the video evidence. In the context of the already-serious financial charges, these moral crimes painted Arun as a predatory, corrupt monster. The UAE’s legal system, fiercely protective of its moral fabric, took a dimmest possible view. The charges were consolidated. The potential penalties escalated from imprisonment to death.


Aakash’s masterpiece had one final, psychological component. He waited until Parineeti had received the official, soul-crushing charge sheet from the Indian embassy—the dry, legal document outlining the financial and now sexual crimes. Once that reality had begun to sink in, he anonymously sent the video files to her phone.

The timing was calculated to perfection. The shock of the official charges left her reeling, questioning everything she knew about her husband. Then, the visual proof arrived—not of financial ledgers, but of his carnal betrayal. There he was, her Arun, moving inside another woman with a hunger she hadn’t seen in years. The context of the setup was invisible; all that remained was the visceral evidence of his infidelity and the grim official charges that now seemed horrifically credible.

It wasn't just about putting Arun in jail. It was about assassinating his character so thoroughly that his own wife would believe him capable of it. It was about ensuring that when Parineeti looked at the empty space where her husband used to be, she wouldn't see a victim, but a guilty stranger who deserved his fate. And in that emptied space, only one man would remain: Aakash, her confidant, her lover, the one who had seen the “real” Arun all along. The perfect revenge was not just taking what belonged to another, but making the owner willingly hand it over, grateful to be rid of it.