Chapter 2

Hannah's POV

Fighting back a wave of nausea, I found a plastic bag and dropped the disgusting thing inside.

With trembling fingers, I turned on the dashcam and directly pulled up the footage.

The screen lit up. The latest footage was from the day of the accident.

The lens captured everything perfectly: my car pulling out of Vivian’s downtown apartment building. Less than two blocks later, the front swerved violently, and the right tire violently chewed the curb.

A moment later, the passenger door popped open, and someone stepped out to check the tire.

It was Vivian.

Expressionless, I dragged the progress bar backward, pulling up the parking footage from a few nights prior.

The aggressive squeak of leather seats. The heavy, muffled panting of two people trying to keep quiet.

"Nathan... don't do it here... What if Hannah drives it tomorrow?"

"She's so clueless she'll never ask for it back. This car is yours now... so hop on and let me see how well you ride."

His urgency was naked. The rustling grew more frantic.

He actually believed that as long as they weren't in our house, my car was their ultimate safe zone.

I scoffed and dialed Nathan's number.

I called ten times. He killed every single one, sending me straight to his cold, automated voicemail.

Just as I was about to dial the eleventh time, a bank notification popped down from the top of my screen.

My Chase Sapphire Reserve card had just been swiped for $30,000.

I tapped into the app. The transaction was crystal clear: an Hermès boutique. Deposit for a limited-edition Birkin.

I scrolled down his transaction history. Over the past year, he had used my supplementary cards to buy women's luxury gifts twenty-nine times, totaling over half a million dollars.

Every time, he used the exact same script: Essential schmoozing for important female clients.

Yet every single necklace and bag had magically appeared on Vivian's Instagram a few days later.

A man who thought spending $100 on his own wife was a "waste" was draining my cash to fund his mistress without blinking an eye.

Staring at my dwindling credit limit, the last flicker of hope I had for this marriage completely died.

I dialed the bank's VIP line.

"This is Hannah Carter. I want every single card under my name frozen and canceled. Now."

Less than a minute after the freeze went through, my phone vibrated furiously.

Nathan was calling back. No hesitation this time.

"Hannah, I was going over details with the suppliers, didn't see my phone. What's wrong?"

He was still playing the innocent victim. Not a hint of panic at being caught.

"Didn't see your phone?" I asked evenly. "Then how did you have time to swipe my card?"

The breathing on the other end hitched.

"I did it for the Halloway account! I had to buy a limited-edition bag to suck up to Marcus's wife!"

Exposed, his embarrassment instantly morphed into rage. His voice spiked to an earsplitting volume.

"Can you stop being so paranoid all the time? Why is your mind always fixated on counting pennies?"

When I didn't immediately apologize like I used to, he dropped the ultimate weapon he’d relied on for three years.

"Hannah, if you can't even give me basic trust, I will never touch a single dime of your money again!"

In the past, the moment those words left his mouth, I would instantly yield, desperate to salvage our bond.

"Good," I cut him off.

"Remember what you just said. Don't ever spend a dime of my money again."

Dead silence on the other end. He clearly didn't expect me to call his bluff and shut the door in his face.

I didn't give him a second to process. "For the last three years—the mortgage, the car insurance, even the lifeline funding that kept your precious company afloat—I paid for all of it."

He refused to back down, immediately turning the attack back on me.

"I knew it! You're still throwing a tantrum over that road trip!"

"Do you have any idea how selfish and petty you sound right now?"

Trying to force me to unfreeze the cards, he softened his tone slightly, offering what he thought was an enormous concession.

"Look. Once I finish this busy spell, I'll drop everything at the company and take you on a private road trip, okay? I'll admit I was wrong."

"Now, call the bank within ten minutes and unfreeze my cards. If my dinner is ruined tonight, I'm holding you personally responsible for all the company's losses."

I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity.

During that road trip last month, he received a crying phone call from Vivian claiming a "lethal supply chain crisis." He dumped me on the side of a deserted highway and drove off.

While hiking back to civilization, I was ambushed and mauled by three wild dogs. My right calf was torn open. I got sixteen stitches in the dead of night and spent weeks getting rabies shots.

When he finally saw the massive, jagged scar, his only comment was: Why are you always so clumsy?

And today, he had the audacity to use "taking me on a trip" as an act of ultimate charity.

"No need," I said, my grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"Since you think I'm selfish and petty, I'm officially done trying to be the perfect wife. Consider this the new normal."

I hung up before he could finish screaming.

They had turned my Range Rover into their personal sex den. Touching the steering wheel made my skin crawl.

I floored the gas and drove straight to a used car dealership on the south side.

I tossed the keys to the appraiser. He gave me a lowball price; I didn't counter once. I signed the title over, walked out with a cashier's check, and hailed a cab.

When I walked through my front door, Vivian was sitting on my custom leather sofa, wearing my silk robe, sipping wine from my crystal glass.

Hearing the door, Nathan stepped out of the kitchen in his loungewear, holding a fruit platter.

He was clearly pissed off that I was home before my usual time.

"Why did you leave the office early?"