My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
So this was for Ingrid. Because she acted weak, because she played the victim, because she almost got “hurt” at that dinner… he wanted me to feel it too.
He really loved her that much?
One of them crouched down, his hand reaching toward my clothes, rough fingers brushing against my skin. I froze, my body going cold.
Then suddenly—
Police sirens.
Loud. Sharp. Getting closer.
“Hey! Stop right there!” someone shouted from a distance. “I already called the cops!”
The men cursed under their breath.
“Shit, let’s go!”
They scattered immediately, running off into the darkness without even looking back.
Just like that, they were gone.
I lay there, soaked, trembling, staring up at the night sky. My mind was blank. Empty.
Then something inside me cracked.
I started crying.
Everything I held in just poured out all at once. My chest hurt so bad I could barely breathe. Even then, my body kept retching.
It took a long time before I could move again.
I pushed myself up slowly and walked home.
Bernard didn’t come back that night.
Or the next.
...
A whole week passed, and we didn’t talk once. No calls. No messages. It was just silence, cold and distant, like we were strangers sharing the same name.
But I still knew where he was.
Ingrid made sure of that.
Every day, she posted pictures. Dinner under candlelight. A private movie theater just for the two of them. Fireworks lit up the sky while she stood beside him, smiling. Every post was different, but the message was the same.
He was with her. Always with her.
He gave her everything. Designer bags, jewelry, a house, even one of his black cards with no limit. The kind of treatment I never even got as his wife.
I stayed home.
I didn’t go out. I didn’t call anyone.
If I was leaving, then everything tied to me should disappear too.
On the first day, she posted photos of them together. Smiling. Close. Intimate.
I went to the storage room and took out all the albums. Every memory we ever kept. I burned them all.
I watched them turn to ash, one by one, until there was nothing left.
…
The next day, she posted a video of them baking together. Flour on their hands, laughing, feeding each other like they were the only two people in the world.
I stood in the living room for a long time, staring at it. Then I walked to the wine cabinet. Bottles he had collected for years. Expensive, rare, things he once said he was saving for special days with me.
I took one down.
And smashed it on the floor.
Then another.
And another.
Glass shattered everywhere, the smell of wine spreading through the air. I didn’t stop until my hands were shaking and the floor was a mess of broken pieces.
On the seventh day, she posted a video again. Bernard confessed to her, vand she smiled shyly before slipping off the ring on her finger.
I looked down at my own hand.
The diamond was still there. Shining under the light.
Once, I thought it meant something.
I stared at it for a long time. Then I walked to the bathroom, took it off, and dropped it into the toilet.
...
That night, Bernard came back.
It was already late when the bed dipped beside me. His arm reached around my waist out of habit.
“Wife,” he muttered, voice low and a little tired. “Let’s stop this cold war, alright? I’m not in the mood for this shit anymore. Tomorrow’s the company’s tenth anniversary. Come with me. We’ll show up together.”
Our eighth wedding anniversary.
Funny, right? It used to mean everything to me. Every year, I planned it myself. Every detail. Every smile.
This year would be the last.
I moved slightly, closer to the edge of the bed, just out of his reach.
“Mm,” I answered softly.
His hand paused in the air. Missed me.
For a second, he didn’t move. Then he let out a quiet breath. Probably thought I was still angry.
I felt him settle back.
He must’ve remembered the “gift” he prepared. Something to make me happy again. That always worked before.
It didn’t take long before his breathing evened out.
He fell asleep.
I stayed awake.
The next day, the anniversary event was held in one of his private estates. A huge garden, lights everywhere, a pool at the center reflecting everything like a mirror. People in suits and dresses, laughter, music, deals hidden under smiles.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
The big screen lit up. It started with the company’s history. Growth. Power. Blood behind success that no one talked about.
Then it switched to us.
Ten years of “love.”
Photos, videos, memories. Us standing side by side, smiling, holding hands, facing everything together.
People around us started whispering. Admiring. Envious.
I felt his gaze on me. When I looked up, his expression had softened a little. Almost… warm.
Then everything changed.
The screen flickered.
And suddenly, it was her.
Dozens of photos. Bernard and Ingrid. Close. Intimate. Some taken in places I didn’t even recognize. Some of her alone, private, exposed in ways that made people gasp.
The entire place exploded into noise.
Everyone started talking at once. Eyes turned to me instantly. Of course. Who else would do something like this? The wife exposing the mistress.
Bernard’s face darkened. His eyes went cold again.
“Naomi,” he snapped, “What the hell is this? You think this is funny?”
I shook my head immediately. “I didn’t do this.”
Before I could say more, Ingrid ran up to us, tears already falling.
“Mrs. MacAllister,” she cried, “Mr. MacAllister and I… we never crossed that line. Why would you do this to me? Why would you ruin me like this?”
“I didn’t,” I said, my voice coming out weaker than I wanted.
She grabbed Bernard’s arm, holding on tight. “Mr. MacAllister, I can’t stay anymore. If I stay, people will keep talking. I’ll resign. I’ll leave. I don’t want to destroy your marriage.”
Then she turned and ran off, crying.
Bernard’s body tensed. Panic flashed across his face. He moved to go after her, but I grabbed his hand.
“I didn’t do it,” I said again, looking straight at him. “You have to believe me this time.”
He didn’t.
He shook my hand off hard. I stumbled back, my heel slipping. My body crashed straight into the champagne tower behind me.
Glass shattered.
Liquid spilled everywhere.
I fell to the ground, pain shooting through me as sharp edges cut into my skin.
He didn’t even look.
“You’re really getting out of hand,” he said coldly. “Following people, taking pictures, spreading shit like this. What won’t you do anymore?”
“I didn’t…”
“I was gonna make it up to you,” he cut me off, irritation clear in his voice. “Thought you were just throwing a tantrum. But you? You crossed the line.”
Then he pulled something out.
An emerald necklace.
My breath stopped.
That necklace… it was my family’s. Passed down for generations. I sold it years ago to save his company. I never got it back and now it was in his hand.
For a second, hope flickered.
Then he threw it.
Straight into the pool.
“No—!” I shouted, my voice breaking.
But he was already turning away.
“Stay here and clean up your mess,” he said without even looking back. “I don’t have time for this.”
And then he left.
Chasing after her.
