Chapter 2
That afternoon, I set up a meeting.
It wasn't Monica.
It was James Harper.
His name was a big deal around here. He ran Harper Capital, the man whose money built half the city's skyline.
We grew up together.
To be precise, he was the Shaw family's idea of the perfect match for me.
Three years ago, when I insisted on marrying Victor, James never said a thing. He sent a bracelet over with someone on my wedding day.
Inside was a card with a single line: [My number hasn't changed. I'm always here.]
I never called that number in three years.
It was the first time.
He picked up after one ring. "Emily."
His voice sounded exactly like it did three years ago, steady, calm, without a hint of emotion.
"James, I want to see you," I said.
There was a quiet pause on his end. "I'm at the clubhouse by New Lake, third floor. When can you get here?"
"Twenty minutes."
"I'll be waiting."
*****
James was sitting by the window in a private room on the third floor of the New Lake clubhouse, the coffee in front of him still steaming.
He stood up when he saw me.
Three years had gone by, but he looked almost the same. His jawline was a bit more defined now.
"Sit." He poured me a cup of coffee, skipping any small talk. "What kind of errands?"
"I'm getting a divorce," I said.
His hand was steady as ever as he held the cup. "What do you need me to do?"
Seven words. That was all. He had no questions, no "I told you so," no extra words.
Suddenly, I understood why my dad always thought he was the right one for me.
"I need a job. I've been out of the workforce for three years, and I need somewhere to land."
"Harper Capital's brand department is looking for a director."
"I don't want you to pull any strings for me. I want to get in on my own, through the interview."
He gave me a steady look. "Alright. HR will post the job opening on Monday. Apply like everyone else."
"One more thing."
"Go ahead."
"Who's Victor's biggest client?"
James leaned back in his chair, giving me a half-smile. "You really don't know?"
"What do you mean?"
"Seventy percent of his business comes from Evercrest Realty."
Evercrest Realty. That was a company under the Shaw family.
I paused for a few seconds. "Was this my dad's doing?"
"You really think Victor's third-rate ad agency could hit ten million dollars in revenue in two years on its own?"
Something in my mind was cracking, piece by piece.
I thought I'd married a self-made man, someone who worked his way up from nothing.
The only reason he got anywhere was that my dad was handing him everything on a silver platter behind the scenes.
And with all those chances my dad gave him, he was busy keeping another woman on the side.
"Does he know about Evercrest's background?"
"No. There are three layers of companies in between. He can't trace it back." James took a sip of his coffee. "Your dad's exact words were, 'I'll protect my daughter's dignity, but I won't let her find out."
I clenched my hands on my knees.
For three years, I thought I'd cut all ties with the Shaw family.
But all this time, my dad had been quietly holding up my marriage from the shadows.
And my so-called good husband lived it up without a care, using both my money and my dad's on another woman.
"James."
"Yeah?"
"Is it possible to cut off deals from Evercrest?"
He looked at me. "Are you sure?"
"If you pull the plug on those orders, what happens to his company?"
"His cash flow will collapse in three months."
I stood up. "Don't do anything yet. Wait for my word."
He didn't try to stop me or ask any more questions.
Just as I reached the door, he said, "That number's still the same."
I didn't look back. But my lips curled into a faint smile.
*****
When I got home, Victor still wasn't back.
I sat in the living room, scrolling through every file Monica had sent me.
Victor had moved money from the company account to his own three times in the last two years, over three hundred thousand dollars in total.
The apartment at Rosewood Residences was paid for in full, four hundred thousand dollars.
And Sophia had a white Mercedes C-Class in her name, picked up this June.
June. That was my birthday month.
He told me money was tight this year and asked if we could keep my birthday simple.
I said, "Sure, a quiet dinner at home is fine."
That night, I cooked four dishes. He barely touched his food before making up some excuse about work and leaving early.
He was out picking up Sophia's new car.
I sorted through the files and saved them in an encrypted folder.
Since I had the evidence, there was no need to rush.
He was the one who should be sweating.
My phone screen lit up with a friend request from an unknown number.
The name was Sophia.
The message said: [Hey, Emily. Victor's always talking about you. I thought I'd reach out and connect.]
I stared at the message, and couldn't help but find it amusing.
I accepted the request.
As soon as I did, Sophia sent over a voice message. Her voice was sugary sweet, almost fake. "Hey, Emily. I'm Sophia from Victor's company. He's always saying how nice you are. I finally got to chat with you."
I texted back: [Hi, Victor talks about you all the time.]
She fired off a whole paragraph right away. [You're so sweet, Emily. Victor says your cooking is incredible. I can't wait to come over and taste it myself.]
I took my time typing back. [You're always welcome. Is it convenient for you to come to Bluewater Bay? Or, if it's easier, tell me where you live, and I can come to you.]
There was a pause on her end for a good ten seconds.
She texted: [I live a bit far, so it's easier for me to come to your place.]
Far? Rosewood Residences to Bluewater Bay was a twelve-minute drive. Not far at all. She couldn't bring herself to tell me her address.
I didn't call her out. I kept things polite and ended the chat after a few more messages.
Then I scrolled through her media.
The first post was a cup of coffee, tagged at Victor's office building. Caption: [Happy Monday.]
The third post was a bouquet of roses with no caption, but a small card was attached. If you looked closely, you could see "Victor" written on it.
The seventh post was a photo of a pair of matching rings, one for a man and one for a woman. The caption read: [Match made.]
The date was last month.
Matching rings. I glanced down at the wedding ring on my finger.
We got it on sale at the mall for twenty-five thousand dollars. He always said money should be spent where it counts. Rings were only a formality.
I took a screenshot of that post and sent it to Monica.
Monica replied with two words: [Stay calm.]
I set my phone down and went to the kitchen to make myself a plate of pasta.
From that day on, I wasn't making pasta for him anymore.