familiar, comforting backdrop to our quiet evenings. I was on the couch,

88 times in the Maybach

mind blank. It felt like

xt message

n you, his dead fish, and now I'm pregnant w

hloe Miller. Mark' s assistant. The same Chloe I had personally

beaded on his forehead. He looked wild, untamed, an animal I had never seen before. With me, he was always so reserved, so controlled. This man in the video was a

rum of the shower. Humiliation washed over me, hot and sickening. My world, the one I had

ying the video in my mind. The image of the disheveled man who was my husband, the t

was looking for in Mark' s desk drawer, tucked beneath some old company files. A divorce ag

ith kind eyes and a sharp suit, listened to my story without interruption. He took the pape

one, Chloe was wrapped in a thick white robe, a glass of champagne in her hand, the Northern Lights visible through

ing text was

at a conference. We even had a honeymoon suite. H

case, carefully folding his suits, wishing him a successful trip. I

ed me, I forwarded the photos

ne was simple:

, looking every bit the successful CEO. His face was etc

called. It' s almost time t

f my child, and felt a chilling detachment. The pain was still ther

I said, my

ing, but it was all for show.

, Leo, came home. He ran pa

ing over again? She promised to

en won over my son. The collateral damage o

o Leo' s level. "Leo, that' s your moth

rity. It was a performance, an attempt to maintain t

said, his eye

his hand reaching for my shoulder. "L

his touch. "I

d coaxing. "We haven't had a date night in a whil

emorse, any hint of the man I married. I found nothing. Jus

still in control. He didn't know t

e pieces and prove it. My mind was clear, my resolve set. This