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Chapter 1: The Moonlight Account

Unable to sleep, I was mindlessly scrolling social media when a photo caught my eye. It was a woman intimately embracing a man from behind, kissing his cheek, while he threw up a peace sign. The caption read: “This love is too secretive to tell the world.”

Their faces were blurred. But the man possessed the exact jawline and custom Rolex of my husband, Julian. And the woman strangely resembled my sister-in-law, Elise.

My head felt like it was going to explode.

I immediately checked the geolocation of the post: Tokyo, Japan. Three days ago, my husband flew to Tokyo for a “commercial real estate acquisition.” The very next day, my sister-in-law, Elise, left her estate with two suitcases, telling her husband she was going skiing in the Swiss Alps with her friends.

Could I really be making wild guesses based solely on a blurry photo?

Holding onto a glimmer of hope, I clicked the poster’s profile. Scrolling through, I found over a hundred posts detailing a clandestine, illicit romance. The very first post read: “The moonlight was like water; reason crumbled, and we drifted into a dream.” The accompanying photo showed clothes scattered haphazardly across the back seat of a luxury car.

Just a glance was enough. It was the custom ivory leather interior of a Maybach S680. My husband owns that exact car. It was currently parked in our garage.

I stayed up all night scouring the posts. By dawn, the sickening truth was cemented in my mind. My husband was sleeping with his older brother’s wife. His older brother, Sterling, was the ruthless, terrifying CEO who actually controlled their family’s billion-dollar empire. I couldn’t fathom where Julian got the sheer, suicidal audacity to do this.

Looking back, the red flags had been waving for years. I had just been too blindly in love to see them.

Once, I came home a day early from a tech summit in Silicon Valley. Walking into our dark villa, I found Elise practically glued to Julian in the hallway. When I turned the lights on, Julian panicked, violently shoved her to the floor, and claimed she was just “blackout drunk” and had wandered into the wrong wing of the estate after a fight with Sterling.

I had believed him. After all, who would be stupid enough to sleep with their own sister-in-law under their family’s roof?

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection was haggard, pale, and broken.

I took a deep breath, opened my vanity, and applied my sharpest, most flawless makeup. I chose a structured, charcoal business suit from my wardrobe, stepped into my stilettos, and went downstairs to my car.

I told myself that women may not need men, but they certainly need leverage.

I was going to end this marriage. But not yet.

My software engineering firm and the Sterling family empire had massive, intertwined cooperative contracts. My patents were the backbone of their new hospitality tech division. If I just filed for a simple divorce, Julian would split our liquid assets and move on with a slap on the wrist.

I didn’t want a simple divorce. I wanted his absolute, unmitigated destruction.

Chapter 2: The Facade

At the office, I buried myself in code and contracts until noon. When I finally checked my phone, I had three messages from Julian.

“Darling, Tokyo is wrapping up. Will you miss me when I get back? Don’t forget to eat lunch!”

And another: “Why haven’t you replied? I had your favorite sushi place deliver to your assistant. Love you.”

Julian was always like that. Meticulous. Attentive. He remembered my cycle, my favorite restaurants, and the exact dates of minor anniversaries. I used to think that attention was proof of a profound, once-in-a-lifetime love. Now, I realized it was just a smokescreen designed to keep me compliant while he played in the dark.

Initially, Julian and I had met through a corporate introduction arranged by his father, the patriarch of their empire. I still remember the first time I met him. He was standing outside my office building holding a bouquet of vibrant red roses, looking like a movie star.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with the classics,” he had smiled, his charm effortlessly disarming my natural introversion.

We had dinner. He made me laugh. When he dropped me off, he gently tugged my sleeve and asked, “Can I see you again?”

During our courtship, I once asked him what he thought of me when we first met. He laughed, pulling me into a tight embrace. “You were carrying a heavy briefcase, looking so serious and adorable. I thought, ‘If her skirt were just a little shorter, she’d be perfect.'”

I had blushed, burying my face in his chest, entirely consumed by the illusion of his affection.

The illusion was over.

Two days later, Julian flew back from Tokyo. At the main family estate, my mother-in-law was directing the staff to prepare a lavish welcome dinner. I was sitting in the study, discussing patent licensing with my father-in-law, when the front doors opened.

Julian walked in. Trailing right behind him was Elise.

“We’re back!” Elise chimed brightly. “Evelyn, isn’t it crazy? I bumped into Julian right at the terminal!”

I looked down at my phone. It really was crazy. Because just ten minutes ago, Elise had posted a photo of her and Julian’s hands clasped together on a first-class flight. The caption read: “Beautiful moments are fleeting. Returning to our separate, miserable realities.”

I subtly curved my lips into a polite smile. “What a fun coincidence. Let’s eat.”

After dinner, Julian followed me to our private wing of the estate. The moment the door closed, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket. “Open it, darling.”

It was a stunning ruby tennis bracelet. Julian took it, expertly fastening it around my wrist, and kissed my pulse point. “It suits you perfectly.”

My heart physically ached. A wave of nauseating grief washed over me. If he loved me, why did he betray me? And if he didn’t love me, why did he bother with this suffocatingly perfect performance?

Afraid my mask would slip, I turned away, walking to my vanity. I placed the bracelet in a glass display case where I kept all his gifts.

I remembered Elise once looking at that case with burning envy. “Sterling never does anything romantic,” she had complained. “He just wires a lump sum into my account on my birthday.”

I had comforted her, saying money was the most practical expression of commitment. Elise had just stared at the floor, simmering in resentment. She wanted the romance. She wanted the performance. And Julian was more than happy to give it to her.

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