Chapter 2

A week later, I sat down next to Dominic on the sofa, a printed household budget in my hand.

"Poppy's extracurriculars went up. Our joint account balance is getting low. Is the company's cash flow okay?"

He barely glanced at the paper, his tone laced with impatience.

"The company's fine. The gala budget was locked in months ago. Put it on a credit card if you're short. I'll move some cash next month."

"The tenth anniversary is at The Astoria Grand?"

He looked up.

"How do you know that?"

"I saw the promo materials when I walked past." I lowered my eyes. "I heard it's expensive."

"It's our ten-year mark. We have to show the investors and clients our scale."

He slung an arm around my shoulder.

"Maui. Soon as this is over. I promise."

Maui again.

Always later.

I looked up at him.

"Can I at least see the schedule? As the founder's wife, I haven't even seen what our own anniversary looks like."

He stayed silent for a few seconds before relenting.

"Fine. I'll email it to you."

A minute later, a PDF schedule and a gala seating chart hit my inbox.

"Just look at it. Don't forward it."

"I know."

He got up to take a shower.

I opened the file.

Head Table:

Dominic Vance, CEO and Board Chair.

Vanessa Cole, Director of Operations.

Vanessa was in the company.

Right under his nose.

I took screenshots, uploaded them to an encrypted cloud drive, and backed them up on a secure external hard drive.

Walking past his study, I noticed the door was ajar.

His old laptop was glowing on the desk.

I slipped inside and opened the folder marked "Work Backup 2021."

As I was backing out, another folder caught my eye.

It was password-protected.

I didn't try to force it. The "Date Modified" stamps, the auto-generated thumbnails, and the file names—labeled with hotel names and clinic corridors—were enough to paint the picture.

The timeline spanned three years. The woman in the thumbnails was always the same.

Dominic with his arm around her waist. Dominic resting his chin on her shoulder.

The most recent photo was taken last week.

The background was the maternity ward of a high-end hospital.

She was clinging to his arm, looking down at an ultrasound printout. Dominic was looking at her with a raw, unguarded tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

I quickly snapped photos of the screen and sent them to my phone.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Footsteps approached the study.

I casually shut the laptop, turned around, and smiled.

"Done already? I left your pajamas on the bed."

Dominic stood in the doorway, water dripping from his hair.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Looking for Poppy's preschool forms. They're due tomorrow."

I waved a manila folder at him.

"You left your old laptop on. Wasting electricity."

"Forgot to shut it down." He brushed past me and held down the power button. "Don't touch my laptop anymore. It's loaded with confidential IP."

"Got it, Mr. Vance."

I deliberately used the title he loved hearing at the office, gave his arm a light tap, and walked out.

Back in the bedroom, I transferred the wire receipts, the timeline, the photo evidence, and the burner number to my encrypted drive.

But it wasn't enough.

A few days later, I sat across from Claire Bennett.

She was my college roommate, now one of New York's top family law attorneys.

We were in a quiet private conference room in Manhattan.

After I finished, she sat in absolute silence for a long moment.

"Nora. Are you sure you want to initiate divorce proceedings?"

"I'm certain."

I stared out the window at the city traffic.

"I need to protect Poppy. And I'm taking back what belongs to me."

Claire nodded sharply and opened her laptop.

"In BrightVance's incorporation documents and the shareholder registry, your controlling interest has always been on record. You aren't just a founder's wife sitting at home. You hold a 51% controlling interest."

She looked at me.

"But from this second forward, you do not log into his accounts. You do not touch any password-protected devices or folders. Everything you've seen—the previews, the joint account logs, the payment trails—give it all to me. The photos and corporate files on that old laptop will be subpoenaed later through the auditors, legal counsel, and the formal discovery process."

"Understood."

"We have to legally preserve the evidence, file for a Temporary Restraining Order on the assets, and track the siphoned funds. Brace yourself. This won't be quick."

"I'm ready."

I pressed my fingertips against the table.

"The woman who trusted him blindly is gone."

Claire reached out and gripped my hand.

"Then I'll help you take back everything you're owed."

After leaving, I went to an electronics store on the West Side.

The owner, Ethan Walker, was a junior from my college days.

"Nora. Got what you asked for."

He slid a black velvet box across the counter.

Inside was a micro-camera disguised as a rose-gold brooch.

"4K video. But only use it in public spaces where you have a right to be. The gala stage, public speeches, your own conversations." He lowered his voice. "Claire already vetted the risk. You're clear."

"I know."

"The footage streams directly to your phone's local storage."

"Thank you."

Ethan looked at me, his expression complicated.

"You need to be careful."

I snapped the box shut.

"I'm not the one who needs to be careful."

Dominic stumbled in at 2:00 AM that night, reeking of alcohol.

I helped him into bed and pulled off his shoes.

He blindly grabbed my hand.

"Babe... you're the best."

"Go to sleep."

I pulled my hand free and pulled the covers over him.

As I turned away, he let out a slurred murmur.

"Vanessa... don't..."

I turned off the lamp.

In the dark, I pulled Dominic's old iPhone from the depths of my study drawer.

He had taken the black phone, but this old device still received his old Instagram push notifications.

The screen lit up. Vanessa's Instagram Story was on the page.

She was wearing a luxury bracelet, holding up a flute of champagne. The background was the breathtaking, starry dome of the Celestial Ballroom.

The caption:

Some things are worth the wait. Three days left.

I tapped the heart icon from his account. Instantly, a direct message popped up.

Dom, why did you like my Story? You said we had to keep a low profile until the reveal at the gala.

Mimicking Dominic's tone, I typed back: I missed you.

She sent a blushing emoji. I already had my final fitting for the dress—are you still going to announce us that night?

I stared at the text. The last shred of hesitation in my chest evaporated.

I didn't open the message. I didn't reply.

I screenshotted the exchange and sent it to Claire.

She told me it could only be used as an investigative lead for now.

But I didn't need any more confirmation.

Chapter 2

A week later, I sat down next to Dominic on the sofa, a printed household budget in my hand.

"Poppy's extracurriculars went up. Our joint account balance is getting low. Is the company's cash flow okay?"

He barely glanced at the paper, his tone laced with impatience.

"The company's fine. The gala budget was locked in months ago. Put it on a credit card if you're short. I'll move some cash next month."

"The tenth anniversary is at The Astoria Grand?"

He looked up.

"How do you know that?"

"I saw the promo materials when I walked past." I lowered my eyes. "I heard it's expensive."

"It's our ten-year mark. We have to show the investors and clients our scale."

He slung an arm around my shoulder.

"Maui. Soon as this is over. I promise."

Maui again.

Always later.

I looked up at him.

"Can I at least see the schedule? As the founder's wife, I haven't even seen what our own anniversary looks like."

He stayed silent for a few seconds before relenting.

"Fine. I'll email it to you."

A minute later, a PDF schedule and a gala seating chart hit my inbox.

"Just look at it. Don't forward it."

"I know."

He got up to take a shower.

I opened the file.

Head Table:

Dominic Vance, CEO and Board Chair.

Vanessa Cole, Director of Operations.

Vanessa was in the company.

Right under his nose.

I took screenshots, uploaded them to an encrypted cloud drive, and backed them up on a secure external hard drive.

Walking past his study, I noticed the door was ajar.

His old laptop was glowing on the desk.

I slipped inside and opened the folder marked "Work Backup 2021."

As I was backing out, another folder caught my eye.

It was password-protected.

I didn't try to force it. The "Date Modified" stamps, the auto-generated thumbnails, and the file names—labeled with hotel names and clinic corridors—were enough to paint the picture.

The timeline spanned three years. The woman in the thumbnails was always the same.

Dominic with his arm around her waist. Dominic resting his chin on her shoulder.

The most recent photo was taken last week.

The background was the maternity ward of a high-end hospital.

She was clinging to his arm, looking down at an ultrasound printout. Dominic was looking at her with a raw, unguarded tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

I quickly snapped photos of the screen and sent them to my phone.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Footsteps approached the study.

I casually shut the laptop, turned around, and smiled.

"Done already? I left your pajamas on the bed."

Dominic stood in the doorway, water dripping from his hair.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Looking for Poppy's preschool forms. They're due tomorrow."

I waved a manila folder at him.

"You left your old laptop on. Wasting electricity."

"Forgot to shut it down." He brushed past me and held down the power button. "Don't touch my laptop anymore. It's loaded with confidential IP."

"Got it, Mr. Vance."

I deliberately used the title he loved hearing at the office, gave his arm a light tap, and walked out.

Back in the bedroom, I transferred the wire receipts, the timeline, the photo evidence, and the burner number to my encrypted drive.

But it wasn't enough.

A few days later, I sat across from Claire Bennett.

She was my college roommate, now one of New York's top family law attorneys.

We were in a quiet private conference room in Manhattan.

After I finished, she sat in absolute silence for a long moment.

"Nora. Are you sure you want to initiate divorce proceedings?"

"I'm certain."

I stared out the window at the city traffic.

"I need to protect Poppy. And I'm taking back what belongs to me."

Claire nodded sharply and opened her laptop.

She looked at me.

"Understood."

"We have to legally preserve the evidence, file for a Temporary Restraining Order on the assets, and track the siphoned funds. Brace yourself. This won't be quick."

"I'm ready."

I pressed my fingertips against the table.

"The woman who trusted him blindly is gone."

Claire reached out and gripped my hand.

"Then I'll help you take back everything you're owed."

After leaving, I went to an electronics store on the West Side.

The owner, Ethan Walker, was a junior from my college days.

"Nora. Got what you asked for."

He slid a black velvet box across the counter.

Inside was a micro-camera disguised as a rose-gold brooch.

"I know."

"The footage streams directly to your phone's local storage."

"Thank you."

Ethan looked at me, his expression complicated.

"You need to be careful."

I snapped the box shut.

"I'm not the one who needs to be careful."

Dominic stumbled in at 2:00 AM that night, reeking of alcohol.

I helped him into bed and pulled off his shoes.

He blindly grabbed my hand.

"Babe... you're the best."

"Go to sleep."

I pulled my hand free and pulled the covers over him.

As I turned away, he let out a slurred murmur.

"Vanessa... don't..."

I turned off the lamp.

In the dark, I pulled Dominic's old iPhone from the depths of my study drawer.

He had taken the black phone, but this old device still received his old Instagram push notifications.

The screen lit up. Vanessa's Instagram Story was on the page.

She was wearing a luxury bracelet, holding up a flute of champagne. The background was the breathtaking, starry dome of the Celestial Ballroom.

The caption:

Some things are worth the wait. Three days left.

I tapped the heart icon from his account. Instantly, a direct message popped up.

Dom, why did you like my Story? You said we had to keep a low profile until the reveal at the gala.

Mimicking Dominic's tone, I typed back: I missed you.

She sent a blushing emoji. I already had my final fitting for the dress—are you still going to announce us that night?

I stared at the text. The last shred of hesitation in my chest evaporated.

I didn't open the message. I didn't reply.

I screenshotted the exchange and sent it to Claire.

She told me it could only be used as an investigative lead for now.

But I didn't need any more confirmation.