→
The first night my husband came home after three years away, I noticed something strange: he no longer slept on his back. Instead, he wrapped an arm around my waist as if he’d been doing it for years. “Who taught you to hold me like that?” I asked.
The scandal exploded across social media and financial news outlets overnight.
Ethan stormed into our penthouse in a absolute rage. He smashed decorative vases, slammed doors, and threw my phone onto the floor, shattering the glass.
“You leaked those photos!” he screamed, his face contorted. “You’re trying to ruin my career because you’re jealous!”
Ignoring the sharp pain in my ankle where the phone had bounced off my foot, I unlocked my tablet and pulled up Chloe’s live feed.
A video had been posted minutes prior: Ethan was fast asleep in bed right beside her.
Ethan went ghost-white. “Mabel… I didn’t know she posted that.”
He looked around at the destruction he had just caused in our living room. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
I didn’t say a word.
Because while he was stammering apologies, my attorney had already spent hours finalizing the divorce petition that Ethan was convinced I would never have the courage to sign.
And he had no idea what my non-negotiable conditions for that divorce were going to be.
