Chapter 4

I woke up slumped against the side of my car, a throbbing pain in my head where it must have hit the door handle. The mountain air felt thin and sharp in my lungs. My chest ached with a dull, persistent throb. For a moment, I felt nothing but that physical pain. Then the memory of Sarah turning to Mark, of her pulling away from me, rushed back in. The emotional agony was far worse.

A cold, terrifying calm settled over me. It was over. The denial, the pathetic hope, the one-month charade-it was all gone. All that was left was the stark, ugly truth.

I drove back to the city in a daze, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. I didn't go home. I couldn't. It wasn't my home anymore. I checked into a downtown hotel, a sterile, anonymous room that felt safer than the house I had built.

The first call I made was to my lawyer. "David," I said, my voice hoarse. "Draw up the divorce papers. I want everything to go to her. The house, the cars, a controlling interest in the company's trust fund. I just want out."

The second call was to my lead partner. "Mike, I'm selling my shares," I said, cutting him off before he could ask any questions. "Find a buyer. I don't care about the price. I'm leaving the country."

The third call was to an immigration consultant. "Switzerland," I said. "As fast as possible."

I was dismantling my life with the same methodical precision I used to design buildings. Every call was a brick being removed from the structure of my old existence. It was painful, but it was necessary. I had to tear it all down before it crushed me completely.

The next day, I went home to pack a suitcase. Sarah was there, meditating. She opened her eyes as I entered the bedroom.

"You're back," she said, her tone unreadable.

"I'm packing," I replied, pulling a suitcase from the top of the closet.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes." I threw shirts, socks, and pants into the bag without bothering to fold them. "I'm leaving, Sarah. For good this time."

She watched me for a moment. I braced myself for an argument, for tears, for something. I got nothing.

"I see," she said. "I suppose the mountain trip didn't provide the clarity you were hoping for."

"Oh, it provided clarity," I said, my voice dripping with bitterness. "Crystal clear."

I zipped the suitcase shut and walked towards the door.

"Liam," she called out. I stopped but didn't turn around. "Don't forget your heart medication. You know how you get when you're under stress."

The casual, almost maternal concern felt like a mockery. She could watch my life fall apart and her primary concern was whether I'd remembered my pills. It confirmed everything. I wasn't a husband to her. I was a responsibility, an unstable fixture in her life that needed to be managed.

I left without another word. Back in my hotel room, I felt a strange urge. I opened my laptop and pulled up the live feed from the home security system. I don't know what I expected to see.

The house was empty for hours. Then, Mark let himself in with a key. He walked through the house like he owned it, grabbing a beer from my fridge, putting his feet up on my coffee table. A few minutes later, Sarah came downstairs. She was wearing one of my old sweaters. She sat next to him, and he put his arm around her, pulling her close.

"He's gone," Mark said.

"I know," Sarah replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "He said he's leaving for good this time."

"Good," Mark said. "He's so draining. All that emotional baggage. It's much more peaceful without him."

"Yes," Sarah agreed. "So much more peaceful."

They sat there, in my living room, on my sofa, celebrating my departure. But that wasn't the worst of it. I kept watching, a sick glutton for punishment.

They moved into the kitchen. Mark opened the pantry, the one I had custom-built for her with specialized spice racks. He pulled out a small, locked box from the very back shelf.

"Did you get it?" he asked.

Sarah nodded. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small, ornate key. My key. The one I kept on my nightstand. The key to my private safe in the home office.

She had stolen it.

Mark unlocked the box. Inside were stacks of documents. He fanned them out on the counter. They were geological surveys, zoning permits, proprietary architectural plans-all related to the Apex Tower. My life's work.

"This is everything?" Mark asked.

"Everything," Sarah confirmed. "The bid from Sterling Corp comes in tomorrow. With these, they'll be able to underbid Liam's company by a fraction and replicate the core design without the R&D costs. They'll get the contract, and you'll get your finder's fee."

"And you'll get your freedom," Mark added, stroking her cheek. "And a very, very generous divorce settlement from a man whose company is about to go bankrupt."

The world tilted on its axis. The affair wasn't just an affair. The public humiliation wasn't an accident. It was all a plan. A cold, calculated, vicious plan to ruin me, steal my work, and take my money. The woman I had loved for fifteen years, the angel who I thought had saved my life, was a monster.

A guttural roar of pure rage tore from my throat. I stood up, sweeping my laptop off the desk. It crashed against the wall, the screen shattering. It wasn't enough. I grabbed the hotel lamp and threw it at the mirror, which exploded in a shower of glass. I tore the curtains from the windows, kicked the chair across the room, my mind lost in a red haze of betrayal and pain. This wasn't just a heartbreak. This was an execution. And they had been planning it for months.