Chapter 1 · His Lover's Baby Wasn't His

Late at night, a photo came through on my phone.

I opened it and saw my husband, who was supposedly working overtime, fast asleep in a hotel bed.

The sender was his personal assistant, Gianna Walker.

She'd attached a message, each word staking her claim.

I didn't get angry or cry. I calmly forwarded the photo to the company-wide WhatsApp group with five hundred people.

I added a caption: [And the award for Best Supporting Employee goes to Ms. Walker.]

Then I turned off my phone and went straight to an island resort for a few days.

Three days later, I powered it back on. The screen froze instantly as countless unread messages and missed calls flooded in.

*****

Late at night, my phone screen lit up with a photo.

A hotel, a big bed, a man asleep, the familiar lines of his face in profile.

It was my husband, Daniel Moore.

The sender was Gianna, his assistant.

Below the photo was a message: [Isabella, Daniel said he was working late and fell asleep at my place. Don't worry.]

A shy emoji followed the message.

I stared at my phone and didn't move.

My heart didn't race, and my hands didn't shake.

There was a strange calm, like waiting for the other shoe to drop and finally hearing it hit the floor, quiet, even a little dull.

I remembered the family gathering last week.

Gianna had been there too, invited as Daniel's right hand.

She'd served food to my mother, all sweet and proper.

"Isabella, you're so lucky," she'd said. "Where else can you find a man like Daniel?"

Daniel had laughed. "Gianna started working for me right out of college. She's sharp and capable. I treat her like a little sister."

I'd laughed too, back then.

Now I looked at the photo, the "little sister" and her "brother" in the same bed.

I saved the picture and went to the group with five hundred people.

It was called the AetherNet Core Team, with all the executives, department heads, project leads, and a few board members.

I posted the photo without hesitation and typed: [And the award for Best Supporting Employee goes to Ms. Walker.]

I thought for a second, then added "@everyone."

After that, I pressed and held the power button on my phone and shut it down.

The world went quiet.

I pulled an old phone from the back of my nightstand, one I hadn't used in a long time, charged it, and turned it on.

It had an anonymous SIM card inside.

I opened a travel app and booked the next flight to Fairview. Departure in two hours. First class.

I paid and confirmed the booking.

I got up, went to the closet, and grabbed a small suitcase.

Summer dresses. Swimsuit. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. Passport and ID.

Ten minutes, and I was done.

I didn't look back at the house, the home Daniel and I had shared for five years, with our wedding photo still on the wall, his smile so gentle in it.

I pulled the suitcase out the door.

The rideshare I'd ordered was already downstairs.

I got in.

The driver asked, "Airport?"

"Yes," I said.

The car moved. I leaned back in my seat and watched the city lights slip by the window.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Daniel always told me I was too calm, not feminine enough.

Maybe he was right.

I just thought anger was a weapon for the weak, and crying was a whimper for the helpless. I didn't need either.

What I wanted was a single, fatal blow.

And while his world and hers fell apart, I'd be on a beach in Fairview with an iced coconut water.

I pictured the scene. Tomorrow morning, when Daniel woke up next to Gianna, he'd probably feel a flicker of panic, but mostly relief.

He'd go home as if nothing happened, bring me my favorite breakfast, and spin some airtight lie about the client he'd met, the late-night work emergency.

And Gianna would be waiting for my call, waiting for me to show up screaming like a jealous wife or call Daniel in tears.

Then she could play the victim, the poor girl swept away by love, forced to suffer in silence.

They'd both written their script.

Too bad I tore it up. I wasn't playing their game.

I flipped the table and put them in front of the harshest audience I could find: five hundred colleagues, subordinates, and bosses.

Chapter 1

Late at night, a photo came through on my phone.

I opened it and saw my husband, who was supposedly working overtime, fast asleep in a hotel bed.

The sender was his personal assistant, Gianna Walker.

She'd attached a message, each word staking her claim.

I didn't get angry or cry. I calmly forwarded the photo to the company-wide WhatsApp group with five hundred people.

I added a caption: [And the award for Best Supporting Employee goes to Ms. Walker.]

Then I turned off my phone and went straight to an island resort for a few days.

Three days later, I powered it back on. The screen froze instantly as countless unread messages and missed calls flooded in.

*****

Late at night, my phone screen lit up with a photo.

A hotel, a big bed, a man asleep, the familiar lines of his face in profile.

It was my husband, Daniel Moore.

The sender was Gianna, his assistant.

Below the photo was a message: [Isabella, Daniel said he was working late and fell asleep at my place. Don't worry.]

A shy emoji followed the message.

I stared at my phone and didn't move.

My heart didn't race, and my hands didn't shake.

There was a strange calm, like waiting for the other shoe to drop and finally hearing it hit the floor, quiet, even a little dull.

I remembered the family gathering last week.

Gianna had been there too, invited as Daniel's right hand.

She'd served food to my mother, all sweet and proper.

"Isabella, you're so lucky," she'd said. "Where else can you find a man like Daniel?"

Daniel had laughed. "Gianna started working for me right out of college. She's sharp and capable. I treat her like a little sister."

I'd laughed too, back then.

Now I looked at the photo, the "little sister" and her "brother" in the same bed.

I saved the picture and went to the group with five hundred people.

It was called the AetherNet Core Team, with all the executives, department heads, project leads, and a few board members.

I posted the photo without hesitation and typed: [And the award for Best Supporting Employee goes to Ms. Walker.]

I thought for a second, then added "@everyone."

After that, I pressed and held the power button on my phone and shut it down.

The world went quiet.

I pulled an old phone from the back of my nightstand, one I hadn't used in a long time, charged it, and turned it on.

It had an anonymous SIM card inside.

I opened a travel app and booked the next flight to Fairview. Departure in two hours. First class.

I paid and confirmed the booking.

I got up, went to the closet, and grabbed a small suitcase.

Summer dresses. Swimsuit. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. Passport and ID.

Ten minutes, and I was done.

I didn't look back at the house, the home Daniel and I had shared for five years, with our wedding photo still on the wall, his smile so gentle in it.

I pulled the suitcase out the door.

The rideshare I'd ordered was already downstairs.

I got in.

The driver asked, "Airport?"

"Yes," I said.

The car moved. I leaned back in my seat and watched the city lights slip by the window.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Daniel always told me I was too calm, not feminine enough.

Maybe he was right.

I just thought anger was a weapon for the weak, and crying was a whimper for the helpless. I didn't need either.

What I wanted was a single, fatal blow.

And while his world and hers fell apart, I'd be on a beach in Fairview with an iced coconut water.

I pictured the scene. Tomorrow morning, when Daniel woke up next to Gianna, he'd probably feel a flicker of panic, but mostly relief.

He'd go home as if nothing happened, bring me my favorite breakfast, and spin some airtight lie about the client he'd met, the late-night work emergency.

And Gianna would be waiting for my call, waiting for me to show up screaming like a jealous wife or call Daniel in tears.

Then she could play the victim, the poor girl swept away by love, forced to suffer in silence.

They'd both written their script.

Too bad I tore it up. I wasn't playing their game.

I flipped the table and put them in front of the harshest audience I could find: five hundred colleagues, subordinates, and bosses.