The Post-Nup, His Fall, My Rise

one more time, and I get everything. He didn't just cheat again; when I co

ing and concusse

side after she faked a sui

e called me "dramati

ia, calling her "my darling" while I was

dn't just betray me; he wou

-nup. Every single clause. And file the felony assault charges.

pte

f Jonathan' s exclusive club. My husband, Jonathan Gross, the man who built this empire, was kissing Kesha Rosa, a bartender whose name I only vaguely knew from staff rosters. His hand was on

t froze, solid and sharp

phone. The video was a mistake, an accidental capture from my pocket as I walked past a mirro

rs, but from a sudden, dizzying

the polished floor. The music, the laughter, the clinking of gla

so confident, faltered. Kesha, still in his arms, looked up, her innoc

as a low murmur, laced with a

efiance. The world seemed to slow down. I could feel e

angerously calm, a stark contrast to t

lling up with tears. "Mrs. Collins, I... I'

t what it looks like? Were you two just practicing CPR, Kesha? Because from where

me. "Anya, stop it. You' re making a scene." His voice was

o. "You want to talk about a scene, Jonathan? Let' s talk about the

de and tearful, darted from me to him. She was playing t

home," he ordered, his eyes still fi

esha started, her voi

ment. He turned back to me, his expression a carefully constru

k about, Jonathan? I saw you. With her. In your cl

firm. "You' re upset.

"I' m beyond upset,

t be dramatic, Anya. Thi

ks an awful lot like betrayal to me." I turned and stormed out, leaving the

promised it was a mistake, a moment of weakness, fueled by stress and loneliness. He swore it would neve

mall, foolish part, that still wanted to believe him. The years we ha

reement," I said, my voic

wide. "Anya, what ar

k at another woman with desire, if I so much as suspect you' re cheating, everything you own, Jo

pitality mogul, his fortune his identit

ring. "What you did was extreme. This

eep me, or at least the illusion of our marriage. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Oka

me flowers. He took me out, held my hand in public, whispered sweet nothings that felt hollow in my ears. I

e city hummed outside our window. He pulled me closer, his breat

s lips brushing my ear. "Thank you f

e world tilted. Kesha

ery nerve ending screaming. It was a mistake, he would say. A sl

violent shove. "Get off me!"

"Anya? What' s wrong?

me, as if they could somehow shield me from the stench of his deceit. "

gned tenderness. "It was a slip! A mistake! You' re overrea

hink this is nice? You think lying to my face

right now. You' re being irrational." He threw the covers back and

. My hands trembled. My stomach churned with a sickening mix of

The in-car audio recording feature. He had shown it to me once, boasting about its advanced features. A cold, determined

a. He was pulling out. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to know. I h

of the radio, a forgotten pop song. Then, his voice, sof

eminine. Then Kesha' s voice, clear

ic digging into my palm. He had gone straight to her. To her apart

nto the car, the rustle of clothes

his voice thick with a tendern

disgusting intimacy of their conversation. They talked about their day, trivial things,

tling, of hungry kisses. My stomach rebelled, bile rising in my throat. They were in our car. The car I

right there, inside the Tesla. My body shook with silent sobs, but no tears came. My ey

it finally stopped, when the car started again and Kesha was dropped off, and Jonathan eventually returned home, th

esk, pulled out the sleek leather folder. Inside was the post-nuptial agreement, signed and sealed

tched against the legal document, sealing not j