When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

It had come from an unknown number, the sender probably intending to twist the knife.

Steven, asleep in a hotel bed, bare shoulders visible. Genevieve pressed against his chest, smiling at the camera and holding up a peace sign. The bedsheets were white, the lighting forgiving, the smugness unmistakable.

Below it, the text she’d sent: Thank you for your sacrifice.

I’d stared at that message for a long time before answering with a single sentence: Thank you for sending me evidence.

Now Ethan stared at the image without any visible reaction, but his fingers stopped tapping.

“I don’t want a divorce settlement, Mr. Vance,” I said. “I want liquidation.”

Slowly, his mouth curved into a small, predatory smile.

“We take thirty percent of whatever you get,” he said.

“Deal,” I replied.

The next three days, I became a ghost in my own life.

I didn’t pick up Steven’s calls. Sometimes the phone would vibrate for a full minute, stop, then start again immediately from his number. Sometimes it was unknown numbers, probably his assistants. Once it was Genevieve, though she didn’t know I knew.

Her texts ranged from taunting—

He bought it. It’s so heavy. My neck hurts from the necklace, poor me.

—to condescending—

Hope you’re doing okay. You should really learn how to control your temper. Violence is never the answer.

I forwarded them all to Ethan, who replied with one-word messages.

Good.
Useful.
Keep them.

“Why?” I’d asked when he called briefly to check on my injuries.

“Dissipation of marital assets,” he said. “The more he spends on her, the more we can argue he’s deliberately funneling your joint money away. Judges tend to dislike that.”

On the fourth day after the lobby scene, the annual Apex Tech Charity Gala was held at the Ritz.

It was the event of the season in Steven’s world—red carpet, press coverage, a parade of expensive gowns and carefully measured philanthropy. It was also, according to Ethan’s digging, the night Steven planned to officially appear with Genevieve on his arm in front of shareholders and potential partners.

“He’ll spin a narrative,” Ethan predicted, sitting across from me at his conference table, papers spread out between us. “Estranged wife. Long-dead marriage. True love rekindled. People eat that up.”

“People also like underdog stories,” I said. “How do you feel about playing the villain’s villain?”

Ethan’s smile was thin and sharp. “My favorite role.”