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My husband, Liam Goldstein, was publicly the perfect man. He donated a kidney to save my life and named the new tower of his corporate headquarters after me. The world saw us as the ultimate power couple, a love story for the ages.

But in private, he was cheating on me with an influencer.

He arranged a "romantic evening" with private fireworks, only for me to discover it was a birthday party for his mistress, Ava. I overheard him promise her my "Maya's Horizon" necklace, the one he gave me after the transplant. His friends were all in on it, laughing behind my back and calling me "the main course."

After a car accident, I found them together at the hospital. She was pregnant with his child.

When I lunged at her, he grabbed my wrist and snarled at me to apologize to his pregnant mistress.

Then came the final blow. A text from Ava with a picture of the sonogram. "Our baby, Maya." Underneath it, a photo of her wearing my necklace.

"He says it looks better on me."

On our anniversary, I had his prized rose garden bulldozed. Then I had the divorce papers delivered to his office, along with every single taunting message Ava had ever sent me. By the time he read them, Maya Goldstein was already a ghost.

Maya Goldstein dialed the number.

It was a number she knew by heart, a lifeline to a new beginning.

"Hello, sweetie," a warm, steady voice answered.

Her mother's.

"Mom," Maya said, her voice even despite the tremor in her hands. "It's time."

She stood by the large window of her Manhattan penthouse, looking down at the city that had been her stage.

There was a soft sigh on the other end, full of understanding. "He betrayed you, didn't he? I knew this day might come."

"Completely," Maya confirmed, her voice cold now. "I'm done. I'm coming home. But he can't find me. Ever."

"Don't you worry about a thing, Nightingale," her mother said, using Maya's childhood nickname. "You get yourself here. I'll handle the rest. I learned a thing or two about disappearing from a man who doesn't deserve you. He'll never find you in Montana."

The call ended.

Maya lowered her phone.

There was no need to destroy this one.

It was a link to her future, not her past.

It was done. The first step.

A news alert pinged on her phone. She glanced down.

Liam Goldstein, her husband, was on the screen.

He was at a press conference, charming, handsome.

The article was gushing about his latest dedication to her. "In a move that solidifies their status as the city's ultimate power couple, Goldstein yesterday dedicated the new West Tower of his corporate headquarters to his wife, naming it 'The Maya Goldstein Pavilion.'"

A picture showed Liam beaming beside a massive bronze plaque.

It followed with a montage of his other public devotions. "This comes just months after Mr. Goldstein funded a new oncology research wing at Mount Sinai, a cause famously dear to Mrs. Goldstein's heart."

And, of course, there was the "Maya's Horizon" necklace, unveiled last week at a charity gala.

A cascade of sapphires and diamonds, a multi-million dollar spectacle.

The article's closing line read, "A testament to their perfect love, a love story for the ages."

Maya watched, a bitter taste in her mouth.

Perfect love.

If only they knew.

The news segment continued, a montage of Liam's devotion.

"Four years ago, Mr. Goldstein donated a kidney to his then-fiancée, Maya, saving her life."

Footage of Liam, looking weaker but smiling, beside a recovering Maya in a hospital bed.

"He cultivated an award-winning white rose garden at their Hamptons estate, simply because white roses are her favorite."

A breathtaking shot of the sprawling garden.

"And who can forget the privately published 'Book of Us,' a collection of their most cherished moments, a true romantic gesture."

Close-up of a beautifully bound book.

Maya felt nothing watching it now, only a cold, hard knot in her stomach.

The public saw a saint. She knew the devil.