No longer a slave

I was Ava, the unsung architect behind InnovateNext, the tech empire my husband Ethan now helmed.

For eight years, I' d been his devoted wife, sacrificing my groundbreaking career and protecting his fragile ego by taking the blame for our infertility.

Our Connecticut home was a picture of domestic bliss, a testament to our seemingly perfect life.

Then came the ping.

A casual link from a friend, unfurling a private Instagram story, shattered everything.

There was Ethan, supposedly headlining a conference in San Francisco, but geotagged in SoHo, New York.

He stood beaming in a luxury baby boutique, arm around Chloe, a young intern, her belly unmistakably round.

The look on his face – pure, unadulterated joy – was a stranger to me.

My frantic call to him went to voicemail, followed by his immediate lie: "In a keynote session. Can't talk."

Within hours, I faced Chloe in a lavish SoHo loft, perfectly tailored to the desires Ethan had always denied me.