The invitation came over breakfast, Rhys's voice casual as he stirred his coffee.
"There's a small corporate gathering next week," he said, not looking up from his phone. "For the IPO. I need you there."
I paused, my spoon halfway to my mouth. "A gathering?"
"Just a few investors, some executives." He shrugged, finally meeting my eyes. "My new bosses will be there. It's important we keep up appearances."
New bosses. The lie slid from his lips so effortlessly I almost admired his skill.
"Of course," I said softly. "What should I wear?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I've taken care of it."
Later that day, a box arrived from a discount department store. Inside was a dress—black, synthetic, and at least two sizes too large. The kind of thing a desperate woman might buy if she had no other options.
I held it against me, looking in the mirror. The fabric sagged in some places, stretched in others. It was perfect—perfectly terrible.
"He wants me to feel inadequate," I whispered to my reflection.
That night, I called Hannah.
"He's setting a trap," she said after I described the dress. "He wants you to look out of place, to feel small."
"I know."
"Then why are you still going?"
I smiled into the phone. "Because it's the perfect venue for our counter-strike."
---
The small device felt cold against my palm as I studied it in the privacy of my bathroom. Hannah's investigator had provided a dozen of them—each no larger than a button, capable of recording hours of high-quality audio.
"Test," I whispered, watching the tiny light blink green.
I began placing them throughout the house—under the kitchen table, behind the living room bookshelf, beneath Rhys's nightstand. Each location carefully chosen to capture the conversations I knew would happen.
That evening, I made Rhys's favorite dinner and opened an expensive bottle of wine—a rare indulgence I'd been saving.
"To what do I owe this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as I poured.
"I thought we should celebrate your success," I said, my voice honey-sweet.
He preened, exactly as I'd anticipated. Three glasses in, his guard dropped further.
"Mr. Montgomery," a voice called from the doorway. "I have those reports you requested."
I recognized the wealth manager—a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who had visited our home twice before.
"I'll leave you to it," I said, rising from the table.
"No need," Rhys waved dismissively. "This won't take long."
I retreated to the kitchen, pretending to clean dishes while straining to hear their conversation.
"The offshore accounts are performing exceptionally," the manager was saying. "The Cayman entity has grown by seventeen percent this quarter."
"And the domestic front?" Rhys asked.
"Everything remains according to plan. Your wife's financial restrictions are working perfectly."
I froze, my hands stilling in the soapy water.
"Keeping her desperate and compliant," Rhys laughed. "That's the key. She doesn't suspect a thing."
"And when you tire of this arrangement?" the manager asked.
"Both of them will be discarded eventually," Rhys replied, his voice cold. "Selena's useful now, but she's becoming predictable. Cora... well, Cora served her purpose. But I'm not ready to make changes yet."
I pressed my hand against the counter to steady myself, feeling the recorder tucked beneath the kitchen island capture every damning word.
---
"He's worse than we thought," Hannah said, her face grim as she reviewed the audio files.
We sat in Hannah's hotel suite, surrounded by laptops and stacks of documents. Elena had transformed our raw evidence into something formidable—a multimedia presentation that would destroy Rhys's carefully constructed world.
"The financial records are damning," Elena added, pointing to her screen. "Offshore accounts totaling over three hundred million dollars. All while you were clipping coupons."
I stared at the numbers, still struggling to process the scale of his deception.
"And this," Hannah said, pulling up the paternity test results, "proves Selena's baby isn't Rhys's. She's conning him just as thoroughly as he conned you."
I nodded, a strange sense of symmetry settling over me.
"We've organized everything into a single presentation," Elena explained, gesturing to a heavily encrypted file. "Financial records, audio files, medical documents—everything is timestamped and verified."
"How do we get it to the gala?" I asked.
Hannah smiled, the expression sharp as a blade. "I have a contact in AV services. One USB drive is all it takes."
I imagined the scene—the ballroom filled with Seattle's elite, Rhys at the podium, the screens lighting up with evidence of his crimes.
"What about Selena?" I asked.
"She'll be there too," Hannah confirmed. "Front row seat to her own destruction."
Elena pressed a button, and the presentation began to play on her laptop—a devastating montage of lies, fraud, and betrayal.
"Are you ready?" Hannah asked, her eyes meeting mine.
I thought of Rhys's voice on the recording: "Cora served her purpose."
"More than ready," I replied, my voice steady with resolve.
