Trudy had always known about Zachary's habit. He liked to organize anything important into a single folder, then lock it behind a password.
The next day, while Zachary was at the office, she slipped into his study.
She knew his computer password by heart. It was the pinyin of her surname plus her birthday.
But when she hit enter, the screen flashed: Incorrect password.
Her heart stuttered. She typed in Zachary's birthday instead. Incorrect password.
She typed in Serena's birthday. The computer unlocked.
Zachary had once promised that every password he ever set would have something to do with her.
Now his computer password was Serena.
She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat and began searching through the files.
She found it. A folder labeled Private Photos.
Her fingers trembled over the keyboard. She entered Serena's birthday, and the folder opened.
Inside were videos of her and Zachary together, intimate, filmed in every corner of their life.
His appetite had always been insatiable. Five years of marriage, and he was constantly pulling her into one place after another.
The living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The car. Even a shadowed alcove in some alley.
She had believed he wanted her so desperately because he loved her. So she endured the discomfort, every single time, and gave him what he asked for.
But he was planning to play these videos at the wedding. All of it, just to keep Serena from getting upset.
Her hand dragged the mouse across the screen, slow and stiff, and she deleted every last file. Her rigid body sagged, collapsing inward like something had finally given way.
She closed her eyes and let the tears slide down her face.
She was about to shut down the computer and leave when the study door slammed open.
Zachary spotted her. His brow furrowed. "What are you doing in here?"
Serena rushed past him to the computer. One glance at the screen and her expression twisted. "The jewelry designs for Fox Group are gone."
She rounded on Trudy. "Miss Wren, our entire team spent a month on that proposal. Why would you delete it?"
"I didn't!" Trudy shot back on instinct. "There were no design files on the computer when I opened it."
Serena let out a cold laugh. "Nobody else has been in this study. If it wasn't you, then who?"
The last trace of patience drained from Zachary's face.
"Serena is the daughter of the richest man in the country. You think she'd stoop to framing you?"
"Since she joined the Simmons Group, she's done nothing but give everything she has. She personally asked her father to secure this partnership, just to help us break into the high-end jewelry market."
"And now, because of you, it's all ruined."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Someone lock my wife in the basement. She can reflect on what she's done."
Trudy's gaze snapped up, disbelief flooding her face. Her voice came out raw. "Zachary, you know I'm claustrophobic."
Five years ago, after the car accident, she had been trapped inside the wreckage for three hours. She'd suffered from severe claustrophobia ever since.
Serena suddenly placed her hand over Zachary's.
"Let it go. Miss Wren hasn't worked in jewelry design for years. Maybe she deleted the files by accident."
"I'll just call Daddy and ask him to push the deadline back a few days. It'll be fine."
At that, Zachary visibly relaxed.
He clasped Serena's hand tightly. "Thank God for you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Then he turned to Trudy, his voice flat and hard.
"Thank her. Now. Unless you'd rather spend the night in the basement."
Trudy's body went rigid. Then a sharp, hollow laugh escaped her.
"Thank her for what?"
"For stealing my husband? For setting me up?"
"Or should I thank her for getting pregnant with my husband's child?"
Zachary's expression shifted. "When did you find out?"
"Since you already know, I won't bother hiding it. Serena is the daughter of the wealthiest man in the country, and she's carrying my child. The position of Mrs. Simmons belongs to her."
"Sign the divorce papers. Now."
He had braced himself for a scene. Screaming. Begging. A refusal to sign.
But Trudy took the papers calmly, picked up the pen, and signed her name without a word.
