His Wife, Her Intern, And The Watch

erly reports spread before me. It buzzed again, insistent. A third time. I finally glanc

ain a profile for the business. I tapped the icon, and the s

was at some rooftop party, a glass of champagne in one hand. On his ot

aw his whole life, saved for years to buy. It was the only thing of real value he ever owned. He gave it to m

and after a six-month, ten-thousand-dollar servicing. I

onight. A huge thank you to the most generous boss and mentor, Sabr

arted in my gut and washed over me. My hands started t

ely messag

is my

minute later, cas

photoshoot. He needs to buil

He' s calling it a gif

exted back. "Don't be so dr

a w

nded her magazine, her ambitions, her entire world-it all felt like it was crumbling because of tho

anymore. It was cold, sharp, and focuse

need you to go to our house and get it. It's registered under my company. Take it t

uld reply. He knew not

nt straight to our master bedroom, to her walk-in closet. It was a shrine to her success, my success really, fi

first car. I took out the industrial-grade fabric shears I kept in my workshop.

ersace-and shredded them into worthless ribbons of fabric. I left the pile

I took a picture

e just

idn't