Chapter 2

When I caught a whiff of a perfume on Derick that wasn't mine, I kept telling myself it was from socializing.

But when I pulled a hotel key card out of his pocket, that was when it hit me that my marriage had long since become nothing but an empty shell.

From that day on, I started paying attention.

I hired the best private investigator money could buy, spent every penny Derick gave me, and turned every single one of his affairs into hard evidence.

I collected the time, place, who was there, photos, and recordings.

I even tracked down the houses, cars, and bank transfers he'd given those women.

I was like a crazy hoarder, carefully stashing away every bit of his filth, just waiting for the right moment.

I'd been waiting for today.

I said into the phone, "It's not enough. This will only mess him up, but I want to ruin him for good."

Hugh took a deep breath on the other end. "You need something to ignite a media storm."

I stared out the window at the rising sun, the light so bright it hurt my eyes.

"I'll create my own opportunity," I said.

After hanging up, I logged into my X account.

Overnight, my follower count had shot up by three million.

My DMs were overflowing with messages, all offering comfort and encouragement.

I ignored all those messages and started typing out a new X post.

I wrote: [Thank you for your support, everyone. I know you're all waiting for my response. Tomorrow at 10 AM, I'll go live and lay everything out for you.]

As soon as I posted, it shot straight to the top of X's trending list.

A person wrote: [Gillian Shorts has responded.]

Another wrote: [Gillian Shorts is going live.]

Lindsay Dolton, Derick's agent, called me instantly, her voice so sharp it nearly split my eardrums.

She said, "Gillian, have you lost it? Who told you to post on X? Who told you to go live? Do you want to destroy Derick?"

I held the phone away from my ear.

I siad, "Lindsay, I'm not going to ruin him."

I was just going to let him dig his own grave.

Lindsay was still shrieking, "You'd better behave yourself. Derick can put you on a pedestal, or drag you through the mud!"

I ignored her completely, hung up, and powered off my phone.

At last, the world was peaceful.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

My face was pale, with heavy shadows under my eyes.

I smiled. This was just right.

I looked worn out and miserable.

That way, my "apology" would look even more genuine.

At 10 AM sharp the next day, I went live.

I had no makeup or fancy lighting. I was in my plainest loungewear, hair thrown up in a messy bun.

On camera, I looked so worn out, like a flower on its last legs.

The moment I went live, the viewer count shot up like a rocket.

In the end, the viewer count hit thirty million.

The comments were flying by so fast that it was impossible to make out anything.

But most of the messages were the same.

A person wrote: [Mrs. Shorts, don't cry!]

Another wrote: [We've got your back. Leave that jerk!]

Someone wrote: [Gillian looks so exhausted. My heart aches for her.]

I gave the camera a smile that was uglier than crying.

Then, tears started falling, one after another, like beads slipping off a broken string.

I said, "Hello, everyone. I'm Gillian Shorts."

My voice was hoarse, choked with emotion.

I said, "I know you've all been waiting all day for me to speak up.

"I'm so sorry for making you worry."

I bowed deeply.

The live chat was flooding in even faster.

A person wrote: [Don't blame yourself! Why are you even saying sorry?]

Another wrote: [That scumbag Derick should be the one apologizing!]

Someone wrote: [Gillian, snap out of it. Don't let any guy make you suffer!]

With tears blurring my vision, I looked up at the camera.

I said, "I want to apologize to my husband, Derick."

As soon as those words left my mouth, it was like someone hit pause on the whole stream.

The chat froze for a split second.

Then, the screen exploded with question marks.

A person wrote: [Did I hear that right? She's apologizing to Derick?]

Another wrote: [She is going crazy. This woman is out of her mind.]

Someone wrote: [She's love-sick. There's no saving her. It's sad, but I'm pissed she won't fight back!]

Someone else wrote: [I have updates. Derick's fans are already popping champagne to celebrate.]

I ignored the wild barrage of comments and kept talking, my voice thick with hurt and self-blame.

I said, "Derick, I'm sorry.

"It's all my fault. I slept so deeply last night that I forgot to put your seasonal allergy meds by your bedside.

"Because of me, you had a severe skin allergy in the middle of the night and had to be rushed to the hospital.

"I even dragged your colleague, Haley Row, into this, too. She was trying to help you, but the paparazzi snapped photos, and now everyone's got the wrong idea.

"I'm really sorry."

As I kept talking through my tears, I sobbed so hard my shoulders shook, looking utterly devastated.

The mood in the live stream shifted instantly, turning strangely awkward.

A person wrote: [Allergy? Hospital?]

Another wrote: [So the trending topic was fake? Did the paparazzi just make it up?]

Someone wrote: [I told you, Derick isn't that kind of guy. It must be a misunderstanding!]

Someone else wrote: [Wait, something's not right. What kind of allergy sends you to the hospital in the middle of the night? Why were they so intimate?]

Another person wrote: [Yeah, and that young model's last name is Row? How did Gillian even know that?]