“Before they come back from their honeymoon,” I said.
That was enough.
“I understand,” Ethan replied. “I’ll move everything forward.”
I hung up.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and let the air fill my lungs slowly.
Then I got back to work.
Because this wasn’t about revenge.
It was about correction.
The next morning, I didn’t go into the office.
I drove to the house.
Not to stay.
To end it.
When I walked through the front door, everything looked exactly the same.
Perfect.
Spotless.
Empty.
The kind of perfection that now felt… artificial.
Like a stage set after the actors had left.
I walked into the kitchen and ran my fingers along the marble countertop. I remembered dinners there. Conversations. Laughter. Promises whispered late at night when everything felt safe and certain.
And then, just as quickly, I remembered the photo.
And every single memory lost its weight.
I went upstairs.
Into the bedroom.
The closet door slid open smoothly.
Daniel’s clothes were still there—lined up neatly, untouched, as if he still belonged.
As if he still had a right.
I grabbed a suitcase.
Not mine.
His.
I packed quickly. Methodically.
Shirts, jackets, shoes—everything.
No hesitation.
No care.
No nostalgia.
Just removal.
When I was done, I zipped it shut and dragged it downstairs, leaving it by the front door like an item waiting for pickup.
Then I called security.
“I need all access changed,” I said.
“All of it, Ms. Carter?” the voice on the other end asked.
“All of it.”
Codes.
Locks.
Permissions.
Everything.
By the end of the day, Daniel no longer existed in that house.
Three days later, the property was already in escrow.
Luxury homes like that didn’t sit idle.
They didn’t wait.
They moved.
Forty million dollars.
I signed the paperwork without blinking.
While, somewhere far away, Daniel and Chloe were still living their perfect little story.
Beaches.
Sunsets.
Cocktails.
Photos posted with captions about love and new beginnings.
Her hand resting on her stomach.
Everything glowing.
Everything false.
Because they didn’t know yet.
Not until they came back.
The morning they returned, I was in my office.
Waiting.
At 10:43 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Daniel.
I looked at the screen for a moment… then answered.
“Olivia, what the hell is going on?” His voice was tight, uneven.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
“I can’t get into the house!”
“Of course you can’t.”
Silence.
Then, sharper, “What did you do?”
“I fixed things.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”