Everett Harrison flinched as the face on the screen flickered before him.

He didn't miss it. The version of himself in the video—that sneering smile that never once left his lips.

And I didn't miss it either: the flash of raw horror and repulsion on the face currently standing in front of me.

I took a slow step toward him.

"Everett, I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to figure it out. I asked for a divorce—I pushed for it—and yet you refused. But watching you just now? I think I finally get it."

He stared at me, his expression blank, uncomprehending.

"You were raised in a gilded bubble. Your pedigree and your upbringing have conditioned you to believe you’re some untouchable elite, a man without a single flaw. Your father was a 'perfect' husband, and you were raised to be a carbon copy. But look at you now. You’re a married man, and you’re cheating."

I moved closer, my voice cold.

"You can’t stomach the reality of who you’ve become. You refuse to believe that an Everett Harrison would ever do something so pedestrian. So you refuse the divorce. You hold onto this marriage because it’s the only way you can keep lying to yourself, pretending you’re still that clean, perfect man. As long as we’re married, you can pretend your reputation is still spotless."

I pulled back the sleeve of my blouse, exposing the angry, red mark on my forearm.

"See that? You grabbed your own wife today just to protect Hailey Silva. That isn’t just a bruise, Everett. That is a permanent scar of your imperfection. You’re not special. You’re not better than anyone else. In fact, you’re worse. At least the rest of the world doesn't pretend to be a saint while they’re rotting from the inside out. You’re actually disgusting."

That day, faced with the ugly truth, Everett Harrison scrambled out of the study like a coward.

Later, Roland Harrison handed me an envelope.

Before the wedding, I had signed an ironclad agreement in front of the entire family, promising never to touch a cent of their fortune. But Roland didn't care. He shoved the check into my hand, calling it payment for my "emotional distress," and refused to take no for an answer.