Chapter 1"A size two?"
I stared at the outfit in the suitcase.
Ryan was in the shower, had asked me to double-check his luggage.
Yeah, I did check, twice—matching couple sets, his and hers. The women's? Size two.
And I wore a six.
There was also a brand-new bikini.
"Babe, grab me a towel!"
I shoved the bikini back in and shut the suitcase.
"Honey." I pushed open the bathroom door, handed him the towel.
"What's up?"
"Team retreat in Hawaii?"
"Yeah, company thing." He rubbed his hair dry, grinning.
I smiled back.
"Then why only book one 7-day couple's oceanview honeymoon suite? What, your company only has you two?"
The towel hit the floor.
...
Ryan's face went white.
"Did you... did you go through my credit card?"
"Joint account after marriage. I checked our card."
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him squirm.
He bent down, grabbed the towel, wrapped it around his waist. "That's... I'm fronting it. Getting reimbursed after the retreat."
"So you're getting reimbursed for a size-two dress?"
"That's a gift for a coworker." He wouldn't look at me. "You know how it is—team building, small gifts to build rapport."
"So you know exactly what size your coworker wears?"
"I... I don't know what size she wears. Just grabbed something."
I nodded. "And the bikini?"
"Beach retreat essentials."
"Wow. They didn't let the women buy their own? They made you, a MAN, shop for bikinis?"
Ryan went quiet.
I walked out without looking back, his voice trailing behind me: "Babe, don't read into this. It's really just a team thing."
Read into it?
I headed back to the bedroom, shut the door, pulled out my phone.
Credit card statement. Got the authorization notification this afternoon. Some five-star resort in Hawaii, honeymoon suite, seven days, pre-auth for fifty-nine thousand five hundred.
I zoomed in on the booking screenshot.
Two names on the reservation: Ryan Wilson, Sienna Brooks.
Sienna Brooks.
That twenty-five-year-old from his office.
Met her once when I dropped off papers at his company. She'd called him "Mr. Wilson," all sweet smiles, size-two body.
My hands shook, but I kept it together.
Couldn't tip my hand yet.
He was leaving tomorrow. Seven days. I had seven days.
Next morning, Ryan wheeled his suitcase to the door.
"Safe travels, honey." I stood in the doorway, waving with a smile.
"Yeah, take care of Jamie while I'm gone." He kissed my forehead. "I'll be back before you know it."
"How many people are going on this retreat?"
"About ten. Core team members."
"Sienna going too?"
He froze for a second. "Yeah, she's my assistant. She has to go."
"Oh." I nodded. "Have fun, then."
The elevator doors closed on his smiling face.
I shut the door. My smile vanished.
Back in the bedroom, I grabbed his backup phone. He thought I didn't know the password, but I'd watched him enter it enough times.
Opened messages. Recently deleted. Only one.
[Can't wait for tomorrow! Dying to see you.]
[Me too. See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.]
[Dreaming about you is the sweetest dream.]
Every single line felt like a knife stabbing deep into my chest.
But I didn't cry.
I screenshot everything, saved it all, put the phone back exactly where it was.
Walked to the living room. Jamie was playing with his toys.
"Mommy, where did Daddy go?"
"Business trip." I crouched down, ran my hand through his hair. "Do you miss Daddy?"
"Nope. Daddy's never home anyway."
Three years old, already used to his father being gone.
"Mommy, can we go to Grandma's today?"
"Sure."
I picked him up, grabbed my phone, shot a text to my best friend Cassie.
"Can you do me a favor?"
"What kind?"
"Look into someone for me. Sienna Brooks, twenty-five, works at Ryan's company."
Cassie replied instantly: "He's cheating?"
"Yeah."
"Got proof?"
"Some. Not enough yet."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Dig into her background, social media, recent whereabouts."
"Done."
I put my phone down, took Jamie out the door.
...
My parents' place. Mom was cooking.
"What brings you here, sweetie?"
"Ryan's on a trip. Thought I'd stay a few days with Jamie."
"That boy's traveling again? Didn't he just go somewhere last month?"
"Work's been crazy."
Mom gave me a look but didn't push.
I handed Jamie over to Dad, pulled Mom into the bedroom.
"Mom, I want to transfer my $200,000 to your account."
"Why?"
"Just safer with you."
Mom studied my face. "Sweetheart, you and Ryan..."
"I think he's cheating." I kept my voice low. "But I don't have solid proof yet. I need to protect my money first."
Chapter 2
Mom's face went dark. "That son of a bitch!"
"Mom, don't make a scene. I'm handling this slowly."
"You're divorcing him?"
"Yes. But I need evidence first, or Jamie and I won't get anything."
Mom grabbed my hand. "You've been through hell."
"I'm fine. Just kicking myself now."
For what?
Five years ago, when he said, "Just stay home, take care of the family. I'll provide for you," I believed him.
Quit my job, became a full-time mom, lost my financial independence.
After we got married, his "I'll take care of you" turned into "You're spending my money."
But there was no point dwelling on that now. I needed to take back what was mine.
That evening, I sat on my parents' balcony, pulled up Ryan's credit card statement.
Hawaii IP address. Thirty-two transactions.
Plane tickets, two round-trip, total: $20,000.
Hotel, honeymoon suite, seven days: $59500.
Couples spa, two people: $5,000.
Seafood dinners, for two, total: $8,000.
Shopping, women's handbag: $15,000.
Shopping, necklace :$12,500.
All together, exactly $120K.
I calculated it once, then again.
Hell right—$120,000.
Last year when Dad was hospitalized for heart surgery, needed a stent, I asked Ryan for fifty thousand.
He said: "Company's tight on cash right now. I can give you five thousand for now, rest at year-end."
Even I begged him on my knees. He only transferred five grand eventually.
"Your dad has a pension. Stop always coming to me for money."
I still remember that day, standing in the hospital hallway, staring at that five thousand on my phone screen, wanting to smash it.
Later, I emptied my savings from before marriage to pay for Dad's surgery.
A hundred and fifty thousand. Eight years of saving.
When Ryan found out, he said: "You're such a good daughter."
That was it.
Now, he'd blown $120K on his mistress in JUST ONE DAY.
I took a deep breath, kept scrolling.
Cassie sent me a message.
[Got it. Sienna Brooks, born 1999, only child, parents run a business out of state. She joined Ryan's company two years ago as an assistant, makes eight grand a month.]
[Recent activity?]
[Her social media's blocked for most people, but I have my ways.]
Cassie sent screenshots.
Sienna's feed from three hours ago: Hawaii beach at sunset.
Caption: [The most beautiful view is having you by my side.]
In the photo, she wore a flowing dress, a beautiful necklace sparkling in the golden light.
Comment section had several likes.
One comment: [With your boyfriend?]
Sienna's reply: [Yeah, he treats me so well.]
Boyfriend?
I laughed.
[Cassie, can you connect me with a lawyer?]
Cassie: [Divorce lawyer?]
[Yeah. A good one. Someone who's won tons of divorce cases.]
Cassie: [On it. I'll have someone for you tomorrow.]
[Also, can you find me a private investigator?]
Cassie: [You want...]
[I want hard evidence. The kind that holds up in court.]
Cassie didn't respond right away.
Then: [Whatever it costs?]
[Yeah. I've got two hundred grand. Use all of it if you need to.]
Cassie: [Done.]
I set my phone down, stared out at the darkness.
Ryan, you think I'm going to cry, scream, blow up at you like some desperate wife.
But I won't.
I'm going to calmly collect evidence, then strip you bare in court.
Every cent you spent on Sienna Brooks, I'm going to make you cough it back up—with interest.
Chapter 3
Day three, Cassie took me to meet a lawyer.
Ms. Hartley, mid-forties, had handled over a hundred divorce cases, 92% win rate.
"Ms. Morgan, I've got the gist of your situation." She flipped through the materials I'd brought. "What are you looking for?"
"First, divorce. Second, custody of my son. Third, asset division—I want what's mine."
"How much in assets?"
"Marital property: one house, market value 2.8 million, mortgage 800k, net 2 million. Savings: 500k in his name, 200k in mine. Stocks and funds, around 300k. Total, roughly 3 million."
Ms. Hartley nodded. "If you can prove infidelity and that he spent marital assets on his mistress, you can claim a larger share."
"How much can I get?"
"Standard split is fifty-fifty, but with solid evidence, you could get 60-70%. That's 1.8 to 2.1 million."
"I want seventy."
"Then you need ironclad proof." She looked me dead in the eye. "What do you have right now?"
I pulled out my phone, showed her the screenshots.
"Messages, her social media posts."
She went through them one by one. "These are good. But not enough."
"Not enough?"
"In court, he could claim the messages are fake, the charges were business expenses, the social media posts are coincidence. You need more direct evidence."
"Like what?"
"Like intimate videos of them together, or a recording of him admitting to the affair, or third-party testimony."
"Third-party?"
My eyes lit up. "Right. I can ask his coworker!"
"And a PI—if they can get video of them being intimate, that's smoking gun material."
"Already on it."
Ms. Hartley nodded approvingly. "Ms. Morgan, you're sharp. And calm. Most people fall apart emotionally at a time like this, can't do anything."
"Because I know crying won't solve this." I held her gaze. "I want results, not a breakdown."
"Good. Let's start preparing." She pulled out a document.
"This is a divorce agreement template. Take a look. Our strategy: gather evidence first, then file once we've got everything we need."
"He's back in four days."
"Plenty of time." Ms. Hartley said.
"Here's what you need to do: First, contact his company's HR, confirm whether this retreat is real."
"Second, have the PI go to Hawaii and get video."
"Third, recover his more deleted chat logs—there's bound to be useful stuff in there."
"How do I recover chat logs?"
"I've got a specialist who can retrieve deleted data from phones."
"How much?"
"Ten grand."
"Done."
Ms. Hartley extended her hand. "Pleasure working with you, Ms. Morgan."
"Likewise."
Back at my parents' place, Jamie was already asleep.
I sat in the bedroom, called Ryan's company HR.
"Hello, this is H&T Company Human Resources."
"Hi, this is Ryan Wilson's wife. I wanted to confirm—the Hawaii team retreat the company organized, what are the dates?"
"Hawaii retreat?" The HR rep sounded confused. "We didn't organize a Hawaii retreat."
My heart was pounding. "You didn't?"
"No. Our retreat this year is next month, in Bahama. Not Hawaii."
"So Ryan's Hawaii trip..."
"Oh, Mr. Wilson took vacation days. Seven days, November 15th to 22nd."
Vacation days.
I closed my eyes. "Got it. Thanks."
"No problem."
I hung up, leaned back against the chair.
So, he told me it was a company retreat. In reality, he'd taken his own time off.
Third-party testimony—got it.
