Chapter 3

On Monday morning, I got up at seven just like always to wash up and make breakfast.

Out of habit, I made enough for two and set both plates on the table. Then it hit me that we were splitting everything now. I took his plate away, leaving only mine.

David came out of the bedroom at 7:30. He'd spent the night in the study. His hair was sticking up everywhere, with dark shadows under his eyes.

He glanced at the dining table. There was only one plate, one set of utensils. He paused for a couple of seconds, said nothing, and went straight to the entryway to put on his shoes.

"The car keys are in the entryway drawer," I said, taking a bite of toast. "If you use them, remember to transfer the money."

He paused as he opened the drawer. In the end, he didn't take the keys. He just slammed the door and walked out.

I heard the elevator ding out in the hallway. My lips twitched, and I kept eating my breakfast.

At ten in the morning, I got a notification at work. It was a new post from Sophia on Instagram.

The photo was shot from the passenger seat, the Porsche logo clear on the steering wheel. Caption: [Monday morning, got a ride to work!]

Someone in the comments asked who gave her the ride. Sophia just replied, [That's a secret.]

I zoomed in on the photo and spotted a parking pass clipped to the passenger-side sun visor. It was for the lot under David's office building.

So he hadn't taken my car. He'd grabbed a cab to work, and then climbed into Sophia's Porsche? Or had Sophia swung by to pick him up?

I set my phone face down on the desk. Nothing stirred. No surprise there.

During my lunch break, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my best friend, Olivia Green.

[What's the deal with David and Sophia? She posted a photo on Instagram today, and I recognized his parking lot right away.]

I replied, [I'm handling it.]

[Need any help? I know a lawyer.]

[No, thanks.]

I opened another chat and messaged Franklin Mason, my dad's assistant. [Mr. Mason, can you look into someone for me? Sophia Wells, Marketing Department at Brightwell Corporation. She started this year.]

Franklin replied almost instantly. [I'll have it for you in half an hour.]

I switched off the screen and leaned back in my chair.

There were a lot of things David didn't know. He didn't know my dad was the one who'd bought this apartment. He didn't know that Brightwell Corporation, his precious workplace, was just one more business under my dad's name.

That $25,000-a-month job he was so proud of? I was the one who'd pulled strings to get him the interview. Sure, after he got in, the promotions and raises were his own doing. But the platform, that came from me.

I'd never told him any of this, because there was no need. If a marriage needs you to keep score just to hold it together, it's already broken.

I used to think he was worth it. Now I knew he wasn't.

At two in the afternoon, Franklin's file came through.

Sophia Wells, twenty-seven, had jumped ship from a competitor last year.

Her education was a fabrication. Her resume claimed a master's from a top-tier university, but she only attended a mid-tier school, and the degree wasn't registered. Hired through a special channel, her application's referral field was blank.

Interesting.

I kept scrolling. She owned a Porsche Macan, paid in full, picked up last November.

Last November, her monthly salary had been $4,000. Either someone had given her that car, or she'd somehow secured a loan well above anything her income could justify.

I screenshotted the key details and saved them to my encrypted album. No rush. Let the bullets fly a little longer.