After his first affair, Adam James developed a sudden, violent case of mysophobia. He took no fewer than eight showers a day.
By the ninth, he would scrub until his skin turned raw and bright red, nearly flaying himself alive.
I had rushed over then, wrapping my arms around him.
"Stop washing," I pleaded. "I forgive you. Isn't that enough?"
Adam dropped the showerhead and fell to his knees. He slapped his own face, over and over, the sound echoing off the tiles.
"I'm a fucking bastard," he sobbed. "I've wronged you, Layla."
Tonight, Adam took me to a banquet hosted by a business partner.
I drank too much. Needing air, I stepped outside—only to see him guiding Lola Henson into the backseat of our car.
With trembling hands, I pulled up the in-car surveillance on my phone. Two tangled bodies filled the screen.
My mind went blank. Adam's voice, hoarse with lust, filtered through the speakers.
"Baby, I missed you so much!"
He held her tight, his breath ragged.
"Just to make Layla believe I'd changed, I've been living like a monk for a whole month!"
The words barely left his mouth before they were tearing at each other's clothes.
My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the pavement with a crack. The screen shattered.
So all this time, Adam James had been lying to me.
But it doesn't matter, I thought, a cold calm settling over me. Because I've been lying to him, too.
I picked up the cracked phone and dialed.
"Proceed with the original plan," I said. "I want Adam James left with nothing."
——
I stood in the biting wind for two hours before the car finally stopped rocking.
The door opened. I forced my numb legs forward.
Adam stepped out, satisfied smile in place. His tie was crooked, the top buttons of his shirt undone.
"I went to the third floor to discuss project details with our partner," he said smoothly. "Sleepy? Let's get you home."
He wrapped an arm around my waist like nothing had happened.
But the hickeys blazing red on his neck made my stomach turn.
I shoved him away and stumbled to the roadside, retching. Acid burned my throat as I threw up everything I'd drunk.
Adam patted my back. "Told you to drink less. Now look at you."
The image of his naked body on that screen flashed through my mind. His fake concern was the last straw. I spun around and slapped him hard across the face.
"Adam James, you really know how to put on a show," I spat. "These past few days must have been so hard for you."
He froze, hand rising to his cheek.
"Sneaking into bed with Lola—was it exciting?" I sneered. "Did she serve you well?"
His chest heaved. Panic flickered across his face before anger swallowed it.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. "I told you, I was discussing a project!"
He cursed under his breath, called me unreasonable, and turned to leave.
I grabbed his arm, unlocked my shattered phone, and shoved the footage in his face.
"Is this what you call discussing a project?"
The color drained from him. Panic flared in his eyes.
"I'm posting this online," I said, thumb hovering over the upload button. "Let the whole world see how shameless you two are."
I opened social media, ready to broadcast his filth.
Adam's eyes went red. He snatched the phone and shoved me hard.
I hit the ground, the impact jarring my bones.
"Enough!" he roared, face darkening. "Layla Hampton—what man in my circle doesn't have someone on the side?"
He loomed over me, voice dripping venom.
"Why do you have to be so precious about it? Acting like you're dying! So what if I play around?"
"Lola is more sensible than you," he sneered. "More interesting. She actually brings me pleasure."
He jabbed a finger at me, so worked up that spit hit my face.
"And look at you. You don't even wear makeup anymore. You're boring. You don't stir up the slightest interest in me."
Pain shot through my shoulder where I'd landed, but the ache in my chest cut deeper. I thought of the past few months—Adam holding me every night, swearing he'd changed.
No matter where he went, he sent me his location. Shared every mundane detail of his day. Watching him scrub his skin raw, I'd actually believed him.
It was all just cover. In his eyes, I was nothing but a washed-up housewife.
But I used to care about how I looked, too. I only became this way because I spent years running everywhere with him, scraping together everything we had to build this empire from nothing.
