Chapter 2: His Prey, My Weapon

Recently, Mark ran into a real hardcase—Jessie Lee.

Jessie was different—older, sharper, less afraid. She played the game better than he did.

She found out about the company’s funding round and tried to blackmail Mark with photos and videos.

She had receipts—texts, emails, hotel bills. Mark panicked. For once, he was outmatched.

I stepped in several times, but it didn’t work.

Jessie wouldn’t back down. She wanted blood—or money.

In the end, I agreed to pay her off and arranged for her to be an executive assistant.

It was a calculated risk. Better to have her close, where I could keep an eye on her.

Mark didn’t want to, but compared to total ruin, giving someone a job was nothing.

He grumbled, but he knew I was right. Jessie joined the team, and I started building my own network.

After occasionally helping out at the company, I became even more curious about Mark’s hookup channels.

I started digging—checking emails, reviewing his calendar, watching for patterns. The truth, when it came, was worse than I imagined.

He was busy all day—how did he have time to work the apps and meet women?

The answer was simple, and chilling.

He personally reviewed every performance evaluation and even did the final round of interviews for new hires.

It hit me—he was using his power to screen for more than talent. The company was his personal hunting ground. I felt sick to my stomach.

Even a master of time management couldn’t be that efficient.

No one could juggle that many meetings, that many affairs, without help. I started to suspect there was a system—a method to his madness.

It took me a while to realize he’d been lying to me—his hookup channel was actually job recruitment apps.

I scrolled through his phone one night, pretending to look for a photo. The evidence was all there—LinkedIn, ZipRecruiter, even Craigslist.

That’s right—the same ones everyone uses to look for work, like LinkedIn or ZipRecruiter.

He’d message candidates late at night, using company email to make it look official. The pattern was unmistakable.

Every morning, Mark would spend an hour screening resumes.

He’d sit at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, pretending to work. I watched him, pretending not to notice.

But he wasn’t screening for employees—he was hunting for “prey.”

He had a type—young, pretty, ambitious, a little bit desperate. He knew exactly what to say to draw them in.

He’d check profile photos for looks, analyze hobbies for personality, and review education to gauge family background.

He built profiles, tracked responses, ranked his prospects. It was sickeningly efficient.

He’d specifically pick girls from smaller towns, average family backgrounds, ordinary schools, but pretty faces.

They were less likely to fight back, less likely to have connections. He preyed on their dreams.

Success rate over 90%, and no strings attached.

He bragged about it once, after too many drinks. I pretended to laugh, but inside I was plotting revenge.

During that period, he was living the high life.

The company was thriving, our social circle admired us, and Mark acted like he was invincible. I let him believe it.

His career was booming, home life was stable, and he had a steady stream of women.

He thought he had it all. He never saw the cracks forming beneath his feet.

He kept praising me—not only did I handle his “side-chick” problems, I was getting more and more professional at work too.

He called me his "secret weapon," his "rock." I smiled, thinking of all the ways I could bring him down.

But I wasn’t doing it for him.

I did it for me, for the child I still hoped to have, for the future he tried to steal from me.