The crystal award for 'Architect of the Year' felt heavy in my hand, a symbol of everything I' d built. Beside me, my husband, Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation, flashed his perfect, devoted smile for the cameras. We were New York' s power couple, Olivia Vance, the sharp architect, and her seemingly perfect marriage. But the applause was a dull roar; I just wanted to go home. A recent project had left me with a shattered arm, a fresh, angry scar hidden under my gown. Ethan called it a small price for victory. Back in our penthouse, the celebratory champagne sat untouched. Ethan was on his phone, his voice a low, charming murmur. Then my phone buzzed with an unknown number. "This little flower is ready to bloom for you tonight." My breath hitched. Before I could react, another message arrived: a selfie of a young woman, maybe twenty. She was in my bed, the custom headboard, silk sheets, and specific grey walls unmistakable. "On your wedding bed, how scandalous!" the caption read. A cold wave washed over me, a chilling realization that shattered my arm felt with sudden, sharp pain. All my success, all my sacrifices for him, felt like a cruel, elaborate lie. He was letting a child play in our bed. Disgust curdled in my stomach as I looked at the man I had loved. Something inside me broke more completely than any bone. The love died. Only a cold, clear decision remained: I would bring his entire empire crashing down. I would take back my name, my life, and my freedom.
The crystal award for 'Architect of the Year' felt heavy in my hand, a symbol of everything I' d built.
Beside me, my husband, Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation, flashed his perfect, devoted smile for the cameras.
We were New York' s power couple, Olivia Vance, the sharp architect, and her seemingly perfect marriage.
But the applause was a dull roar; I just wanted to go home.
A recent project had left me with a shattered arm, a fresh, angry scar hidden under my gown.
Ethan called it a small price for victory.
Back in our penthouse, the celebratory champagne sat untouched.
Ethan was on his phone, his voice a low, charming murmur.
Then my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
"This little flower is ready to bloom for you tonight."
My breath hitched.
Before I could react, another message arrived: a selfie of a young woman, maybe twenty.
She was in my bed, the custom headboard, silk sheets, and specific grey walls unmistakable.
"On your wedding bed, how scandalous!" the caption read.
A cold wave washed over me, a chilling realization that shattered my arm felt with sudden, sharp pain.
All my success, all my sacrifices for him, felt like a cruel, elaborate lie.
He was letting a child play in our bed.
Disgust curdled in my stomach as I looked at the man I had loved.
Something inside me broke more completely than any bone.
The love died.
Only a cold, clear decision remained: I would bring his entire empire crashing down.
I would take back my name, my life, and my freedom.
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