A cold shiver raced through me.

Bradley Lawrence had a photographic memory, yet he couldn't even remember my phone number.

"It’s me," I said, pausing for a beat. "I’m looking for Lacey Rose."

"She’s in the shower."

He didn't even recognize my voice. His tone was as flat and indifferent as if he were shooing away a telemarketer. From the other end of the line, I heard the rush of water, followed by Lacey’s voice drifting over:

"Honey, could you grab me a towel?"

The phone was set down carelessly. I heard his footsteps fade away, then return.

"Here."

"Help me dry off, will you?" she purred.

"I need to get home early tonight."

"What’s the matter? Can’t keep it up?"

He let out a low, gravelly laugh. "You really don't know what I'm capable of?"

Lacey giggled, followed by a sudden gasp, as if she’d been pulled onto the bed. I wanted to hang up. But my fingers were shaking so violently that I couldn't hit the button.

Thirty minutes later, she updated her feed.

The video showed a pair of large, familiar hands kneading her calves, thumbs tracing circles, working their way up from her ankles. A Patek Philippe watch caught the light, gleaming on his wrist.

The comment section exploded. *Teach us, girl! How did you get such a high-quality man to wait on you hand and foot?*

She replied: *True love just happens naturally. When a man really loves you, he’ll give you everything.*

I tightened my grip on my phone. That Patek Philippe stared back at me from the screen. In the early days of his practice, when money was tight, he had stared at that watch for three years, unable to bring himself to buy it. I had secretly sold the house my mother had gifted me to fly abroad and surprise him with it.

The day I found out about the affair, I had smashed it against the floor.

Bradley had flown to Switzerland himself to find a specialist to restore it. He’d knelt at my feet, holding it out to me like a peace offering, swearing that a broken mirror could still be made whole.

But no matter how perfectly they polished it, that tiny, jagged crack on the watch face never really disappeared.

The comments continued to flood in, a sea of envy. Some praised them, while a few skeptical voices chirped up: *She won’t show her face. Isn't she just a mistress?*

Moments later, Lacey posted an audio clip.

I tapped it.

Bradley’s voice played clearly through the speaker, low and steady, enunciating every word:

"She isn't a mistress. She is the woman I love most in this world."

I bit my lip until it bled, then closed the video.

I dialed his number.

"Let’s get a divorce."

Bradley went silent for two seconds. "What’s wrong? I’m coming home now."

"Don’t bother. Just use the same template we talked about last time."

His voice dropped, cold and edged with irritation. In the background, I heard the distinct creak of a mattress spring under weight.

"I really am busy with something important, Madeline. I’ll be back soon."

A woman’s honeyed, sticky voice murmured in the background.

I laughed until the tears spilled over. "Go ahead and finish your business."

He seemed to be restraining something, his voice dropping into a warning growl: "No matter how angry you are, you don't get to bring up divorce again. That was our pact."

On the other end, something must have happened, because Lacey let out a soft, stifled hum and then fell silent.

I hung up, my hands trembling as I dug out that old promise letter. The edges were frayed and curled. It was a document where he’d pledged a lifetime of devotion, promised we would grow old together, and swore he would never betray me. He said a signature wasn't sincere enough, so he’d bitten his own finger until it bled and pressed a crimson thumbprint onto the page.

I remembered how hard he’d bitten down that year. The blood had welled up, and just looking at it had made my own skin ache. He had smiled at me then, saying that only pain could make a memory last forever.

I opened my laptop, attached the divorce papers, and hit send.

The phone rang instantly. Bradley’s voice was laced with genuine fury.

"Madeline Pierce! I’m giving you half the assets. Can you just stop acting out?"

The tears hit the screen as I bit down on my lip to keep from sobbing.

"I want the money," I whispered. "And I want the divorce papers signed."