Chapter 1[Babe, is your wife home tonight? I got a new box of condoms—strawberry flavored. Wanna try them out?]
11 p.m. My husband's phone lit up with that message.
The sender? That college girl he's been "sponsoring." The one who just turned eighteen.
I glanced toward the bathroom. Could still hear the shower running.
And all I could think about was how we'd just fucked twenty minutes ago.
Turns out you really can fake love.
And make it look that real.
I swallowed down the sick feeling rising in my throat and typed back fast:
"Come over. She's out."
...
The water stopped.
Ethan walked out and his eyes went straight to the phone on the pillow.
"Babe... did you touch my phone?"
I didn't say anything.
I just sat there, ran my fingers through my messy hair, picked my clothes off the floor, and got dressed.
"Babe?"
I finally looked up at him.
His robe was hanging loose, water still dripping down his chest.
Same face I've known forever.
But right then? Looked like a stranger.
I gave him a tiny smile, didn't answer, grabbed my jacket, and walked out.
The living room was dark.
I sat on the couch and waited.
Waited some girl straight to my door.
About twenty minutes later, the doorbell didn't ring—his phone did.
He came out of the bedroom, hair still wet, phone pressed to his ear.
I sat there watching him. Watching all the color drain out.
"Babe..."
I kept my voice light, almost smiled.
"Your little girlfriend's here. Outside. You gonna let her in or what?"
His eyes went wide.
He didn't explain. Didn't say a word.
Just clenched his jaw and stormed to the door, yanking it open.
I heard a girl's voice in the hallway. Soft, shaky.
"I just—"
Then Ethan, angry and low:
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"But you said I could come! I missed you so much!"
Her voice cracked, sounded all innocent and hurt.
Footsteps got closer. I stayed put until a young girl showed up in the doorway.
Summer Hayes.
The "broke college student" Ethan's been paying for. For three years.
White dress. Wavy hair. Face like a Disney princess.
She saw me and froze like she got shocked.
Next second—
"I swear nothing happened! Me and Ethan, we're just friends! He's just helping with tuition, that's it!"
Her voice came out fast, eyes already tearing up.
I didn't say anything.
I just found it ridiculous.
I didn't even ask her a question.
But the first thing out of her mouth was "nothing happened."
That's what guilty people do.
I looked past her at Ethan standing behind her.
He stood there, face gray, mouth opening and closing like he couldn't get words out.
Then Ethan actually dropped to his knees.
"Babe. This is my fault."
His voice sounded like gravel.
"I swear, I'm cutting her off. Completely. Done."
Honestly?
The cheating didn't shock me as much as watching him get on his knees.
Because seven years ago, Ethan got on his knees in the pouring rain outside my parents' house, begging my dad to let us get married.
Now?
Same position.
Totally different reason.
My chest felt like someone was squeezing it, tighter and tighter, until it went numb.
"Ethan. Sign something."
I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer.
Half an hour later, the document showed up in my email.
I printed it, dropped it on the table, and slid it toward him.
"If you do this again, everything we own goes to me."
Ethan didn't even read it. Just grabbed the pen and scribbled his name.
Fast.
No hesitation.
But I knew better.
A guy who cheats with his wife right there isn't gonna stay loyal because of some piece of paper.
That signature was guilt for now. Not a promise for ever.
Still. I needed it.
After he signed, he looked at me with red eyes.
"Babe, I really love you. Let me just take Summer back to campus. She didn't do anything wrong."
Didn't do anything wrong?
I stared at him for a long time, then said calmly, "Fine."
Ethan hugged me, then turned to Summer.
"Alright. I'll drive you back."
Summer headed down, following him like a scared puppy.
When she walked past me, she glanced up for just a second.
I caught it.
Smug.
I didn't stop them.
I walked to the balcony.
Down below, under the streetlights, I could see their shadows stretching long on the pavement.
Ethan stood by the car, saying something.
Summer looked up at him.
Then he leaned down.
She leaned in.
Their lips touched, lit up under the yellow glow like some cheesy movie scene.
Right then, it felt like someone ripped a chunk out of my chest.
It hurt.
So bad.
My hand was shaking as I raised my phone and took a picture.
This was the guy who just got on his knees, swore an oath, signed a contract—and then kissed that girl.
Ethan.
This time, it's not a game. Not a test.
It's real.
I'm done with you.
Chapter 2
Three days later, I was sitting on the interview panel at work, going through résumés from the new intern batch.
When the fourth one landed in front of me, I stopped.
The photo showed a girl in a white dress, wavy hair, sweet smile.
Summer Hayes.
She applied to my department.
Coincidence? Or on purpose?
I closed the folder and wrote on word: Rejected.
No explanation needed.
This girl was not getting into my company.
But I underestimated her.
That afternoon, my office door flew open.
Summer stormed in, eyes red, two receptionists chasing after her.
She stopped right in front of my desk, voice high and shrill.
"Why the hell did you reject me?"
I put down my pen and looked up.
"Because you're not qualified."
"You're lying!"
Tears started pouring down her face.
"You just hate me! You're trying to ruin my life! I'm on financial aid—do you know what this job means to me? You want poor girls like me to just die?"
Her voice got louder. People were gathering by the door, staring.
I sat there quietly, looking at her.
Looking at the designer heels on her feet. The luxury watch on her wrist.
I recognized that watch.
Patek Philippe. Eighty thousand dollars.
I saw the same one at an auction once. Almost bought it. Didn't.
Now it's sitting on the wrist of a "broke college student," shining under the lights.
Every piece of clothing I own, I bought with my own money.
But everything she's wearing, head to toe—who paid for that? My husband.
A woman living off my family's money is standing in my office, crying about being poor.
What a fucking joke.
I was about to say something when—
Thud!
Summer's body lurched forward and her forehead slammed into the corner of my desk.
Blood started gushing out, running down her face.
She collapsed on the floor, holding her head, screaming.
"Help... she hit me..."
I froze.
I didn't touch her. Not even close.
SHE did that herself.
Sure enough—Ethan burst in.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
He shouted, dropped down, and scooped Summer up like she was made of glass.
"She's just a student! You're a VP and you're beating up some college kid? What's wrong with you?"
I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
Not because I had nothing to say—but because it was too insane.
So insane I didn't want to waste my energy to argue.
He didn't look at me once. Just carried Summer out.
At the door, he stopped and said over his shoulder:
"Go home. You don't belong here anymore."
Seven years.
I gave this man and this company my youth, my work, my time.
And now, in front of everyone, he's kicking me out.
The irony? I own half this company.
What gives him the right?
But, anyway, something changed—
During that day, the same people who used to call me "boss" picked sides the second Ethan carried Summer out.
I stared at the smear of blood on my desk and almost laughed.
My phone buzzed. Message from Ethan.
[Come home. We need to talk.]
Four words. No warmth. Like a work email.
I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
Seven years.
From "babe where are you" to "come home, we need to talk."
What's between those two messages?
Summer Hayes.
Chapter 3
When I walked into the apartment, every light was on.
Ethan sat on the couch.
Across from him, Summer was curled up in the chair, bandage on her forehead, eyes puffy like she'd been crying for hours.
The second she saw me, she flinched and grabbed onto Ethan's sleeve.
Ethan nodded at the seat across from him.
"Sit."
This is my home.
But I felt like I was being interrogated.
Ethan seemed to realize I wasn't moving.
He stood up, walked over, and lowered his voice—but there was no room for argument.
"Tomorrow morning, ten a.m., there's a press thing at the office."
"You're gonna be there and apologize to Summer in front of everyone, then announce you're quitting."
I stared at him, making sure I heard right.
"What?"
"Apologize. Quit."
"This got too big—everyone saw it."
"Summer got three stitches. If she goes to the cops, you're looking at assault charges. You could get arrested. I'm trying to help you here."
My voice shook. "I didn't touch her."
Ethan reached out like he was gonna touch my shoulder. I stepped back.
His hand dropped. His voice softened, sounded tired.
"Babe, I'm doing this for you."
"If you step back now, you leave with dignity."
"I don't wanna see you in jail."
For me?
I've heard that before.
Years ago, when he secretly paid for Summer's tuition, he said it was for me—didn't want me get jealous.
Later, when he kept texting her, same thing—for me.
Now he wants me to apologize, quit, give up everything—still for me.
I smiled, but it felt empty.
"Fine. I'll do it. Apologize, quit. Tomorrow at ten. I'll be there."
Summer's head snapped up, eyes wide with shock.
Then she quickly looked down, hiding the smirk on her face with the bandage.
Ethan just stood there, frozen.
I didn't look at him again.
Turned around, walked into the study, and locked the door.
Then opened my laptop and sent an encrypted email to my lawyer.
Ethan.
I'm not giving you another chance.
Next day, 9:58 a.m.
Conference room was packed.
Managers, department heads, even some people from partner companies.
Ethan sat at the head of the table.
Summer sat in the corner, smaller bandage on her forehead now, looking all tragic.
When I walked in, everyone turned to stare.
Some looked sorry for me.
Some looked curious.
Some looked like they were enjoying the show.
I walked to the front and stopped.
Ethan spoke first.
"Alright. Say what you need to say."
His tone made it sound like he was coaxing some guilty kid into apologizing in front of the class.
I looked at him.
One last time.
At the face I'd loved for ten years.
Then I turned toward the door and said calmly,
"Mia, come in."
The door opened. My assistant walked in carrying a thick stack of bound documents.
She moved quickly around the conference table, stopping in front of each person, placing a copy in their hands one by one.
The room filled with the sound of shuffling paper.
Someone sucked in a sharp breath.
A few people exchanged glances.
Finally, the last copy landed in front of Ethan.
He looked down and opened the first page.
The air went still.
I watched his fingers tighten around the paper, knuckles going white.
That calm, composed face twisted—shock giving way to fear.
He shot to his feet, chair screeching back.
"What the hell—"
