Chapter 3

Kate's POV

A sharp, unfamiliar ringtone sliced through the heavy morning air.

Alan's body went completely rigid.

His eyes darted frantically toward his pocket. A custom ringtone.

A ringtone I had never heard in our twelve years of marriage.

Panic flashed across his perfectly handsome face.

He snatched the phone, his knuckles turning stark white.

"It's... an important logistics supplier," he stammered, his voice unnaturally high.

He didn't even dare to look me in the eye.

He practically sprinted toward the balcony to answer it, shutting the glass door tightly behind him.

Nina skipped into the room, not missing a single beat.

"It's definitely the equestrian coach calling!" Nina announced loudly, "My championship is coming up soon! My coach said she needed to confirm the venue with Dad!"

I slowly turned my head to stare at my ten-year-old daughter.

She was smiling. A bright, sweet, angelic smile.

Father and daughter.

A flawless, seamless duet of lies.

I kept my face entirely blank. I didn't scream. I didn't break down.

I didn't expose their sick little act.

Alan rushed back inside a minute later, quickly shoving his phone away. "Emergency at the warehouse, Kate. I have to go."

He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"Drive safe, honey," I replied. My voice was eerily calm.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind him, the illusion shattered.

I turned to Nina.

"Sweetie, go play in your room. Mommy needs to clean."

"Okay, Mom!" she chirped, happily bounding up the stairs to play with the toys her father's mistress probably bought her.

Once she was completely out of sight, I walked into the kitchen.

I pulled on a pair of thick latex gloves.

I marched directly into the master bedroom.

This wasn't a bedroom anymore. It was a crime scene.

I began a methodical, grid-like search.

I tore the expensive silk sheets off the mattress. I checked the back of the heavy oak drawers. I ran my hands along the baseboards.

Then, I saw it.

Wedged deep in the narrow, dark gap between the nightstand and the wool rug.

A crumpled piece of latex.

A used condom.

My stomach violently heaved, threatening to empty right there on the floor.

Alan and I hadn't used condoms since the very first day we got married.

We had always wanted another baby.

We had spent years trying to give Nina a sibling.

This wasn't an accident. This wasn't mine.

It was Lillian's sick, twisted "trophy."

She left it here on purpose.

To mark her territory. To mock the pathetic, blind, stay-at-home wife.

Right beside the wrapper, catching a sliver of morning light, was a diamond stud earring.

I fought down the vile nausea violently rising in my throat.

Tears of absolute rage pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

With shaking, gloved hands, I picked up the diamond earring.

I forcefully shoved the expensive stud deep inside the disgusting, used condom.

I sealed the entire vile package tight in a clear plastic ziplock bag.

I stood up, ripping the gloves off my hands.

I wasn't staying in this contaminated, filthy house for another second.

I dragged a single suitcase from the walk-in closet and threw my essentials inside.

I pulled out my phone and told Alan that I needed to go out for a few days to see a famous art exhibition, and left Nina in the care of a nanny.

The moment I stepped into the pristine, empty downtown apartment, I didn't unpack.

I immediately made a phone call. To the top-tier divorce lawyer in the entire city.

"I want out," I told the lawyer, "I want to liquidate everything. His company shares. The marital assets. Every single penny."

"Consider it done, Mrs. Sterling," the lawyer replied smoothly.

Three agonizing, silent days passed.

Then, a heavy, embossed envelope arrived in my mail.

A VIP invitation.

It was for Nina's highly anticipated equestrian championship finals.

I opened it.

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh that echoed against the bare apartment walls.

Printed right there on the thick, glossy paper, in bold black ink:

Special Head Judge: Lillian Reed.

It was a blatant, unapologetic provocation.

She wanted me there. She wanted me to sit in the stands and watch her play happy family with my husband and my brainwashed daughter.

I sneered at the expensive cardstock.

"You really want to play this game, Lillian?" I whispered to the empty room.

I grabbed my phone and ordered a premium, same-day local courier.

I placed the freshly drawn-up, fully signed divorce papers into a crisp manila envelope.

And right on top of those heavy, life-destroying legal documents?

The clear plastic bag holding Lillian's used condom and her diamond earring.

I sealed the envelope tight.

When the courier arrived, I handed it over. "Deliver this directly to Alan Sterling's office," I told the courier.