Chapter 4

The next morning, I walked into the offices of a well-regarded Austin divorce lawyer, a man named Arthur Friedman.

He had a calm, no-nonsense demeanor that I appreciated immediately.

"Irreconcilable differences is the standard, Mr. Thompson," Arthur said after I briefly explained my situation, omitting the more lurid details for now. "But it can be a lengthy process if contested."

"I don't think it will be," I said, reaching into my briefcase. "We have a post-nuptial agreement."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "That's less common, but helpful. May I see it?"

I handed him the document. Jess and I had signed it seven years ago. It was during a period of intense, almost desperate love on my part, a time when I truly believed we were building something permanent.

I' d convinced her it was a "safety net for both of us, ensuring we always treat each other right."

A way to pre-determine asset division and ensure an expedited divorce process in the case of proven infidelity.

We both thought, with the naive certainty of happy couples, that it would never, ever be used.

Arthur read through it carefully. "This is quite clear," he said. "Particularly this clause regarding infidelity. If proven, it triggers a very straightforward and swift dissolution. Do you have proof, Mr. Thompson?"

"I believe so," I said.

I showed him the printouts of Liam's Instagram post with the Porsche. Then, the folder of photos.

Jess and Liam on "work trips" to Napa, to Aspen – trips I wasn't invited on, trips that were clearly romantic getaways. Smiling, holding hands, one even showed them kissing on a balcony, clearly taken by someone else. A disgruntled employee, perhaps, or just carelessness on their part.

Finally, I presented the credit card statements – company card statements – detailing lavish gifts Jess had bought for Liam. The lease agreement for the Taycan, in Innovatech's name but clearly for Liam's exclusive use. Receipts for designer clothes, expensive watches (real ones, unlike mine), five-star hotel stays.

Arthur Friedman looked through the evidence, his expression unchanging but his eyes sharp.

He stacked the papers neatly.

"Mr. Thompson," he said, his voice firm. "This is more than enough. This is irrefutable. Based on this post-nuptial agreement and this evidence, we can file for an uncontested divorce. I anticipate you can pick up the finalized divorce decree in a matter of days, perhaps a week at most, given the court's current schedule."

Relief washed over me, so potent it almost buckled my knees. Days.

That evening, my phone buzzed. Jess.

I let it ring a few times, then answered, my voice neutral.

"Mike," she said, her tone brisk, businesslike. "Just wanted to let you know I'll be working late tonight. We have a critical investor pitch to finalize. I won't be home until very late."

A pause, then, "You should use the time to reflect on your attitude, Mike. This hostility isn't helping anyone."

As she spoke, I heard another voice in the background, muffled but clear.

Liam.

"Jess, honey," Liam' s voice crooned, "which suit do you think I should wear for my birthday dinner tonight? The Armani or the Zegna?"

My blood ran cold.

Birthdays. Jess had always claimed to have a deep-seated trauma around birthdays, stemming from a difficult childhood. We never celebrated hers, never celebrated mine in any significant way. It was always a "sensitive topic."

And now, she was "working late on an investor pitch" while planning a birthday dinner for her lover, a dinner likely paid for by Innovatech.

The hypocrisy was a physical blow. Reflect on my attitude? She was unbelievable.