Something was wrong with Olivia. Small things at first: a new perfume, hidden texts, glossy shopping bags from stores we couldn' t afford.
Then, during a video call from my business trip, the camera shifted, and I saw a men' s watch on her nightstand. A big, silver one. It wasn' t mine. Her smile snapped, her eyes darted away, and she stammered, calling it a "surprise" before disconnecting.
When she texted an hour later, full of false cheer, I noticed new, expensive diamond earrings that I hadn' t bought. She claimed my sister, Sarah, had given them to her "ages ago." Her stories fell apart under the slightest probe. She was a terrible liar, her panic barely concealed by forced smiles. My gut screamed, but I clung to hope.
But the cheap, plastic keychain she gave me as her "surprise" upon my return, while her brand-new designer handbag sat on the counter, next to the memory of that expensive watch, shattered any illusions.
I became withdrawn, playing the broken husband. Yet, when I "forgot" my wallet and returned home, I heard Olivia whisper to Sarah about "Mr. Davies" and a deal. My sister, my own flesh and blood, had sold my wife to her boss for a promotion.
The realization was a physical blow. My wife, my sister-they had betrayed me in the most heinous way imaginable. They thought I was an idiot, a clueless fool. But the game had just begun.