Chapter 1

My husband, Mark Davis, was in the shower. The sound of the water was a familiar, comforting backdrop to our quiet evenings. I was on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when a message from an unknown number buzzed.

"66 times in the office, 88 times in the Maybach, 99 times at the Hilton."

I stared at the words, my mind blank. It felt like a prank, a wrong number.

Then the next message came through.

"Your husband says I'm way more exciting than you, his dead fish, and now I'm pregnant with his child. Who do you think he'll choose?"

My breath caught in my throat. The sender's name was listed as Chloe Miller. Mark' s assistant. The same Chloe I had personally recommended for the job, thinking her ambition was a good thing.

Before I could even process the words, a video file downloaded. I pressed play, my hand trembling. It was Mark. His hair was a mess, his shirt unbuttoned, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He looked wild, untamed, an animal I had never seen before. With me, he was always so reserved, so controlled. This man in the video was a stranger. He was laughing, a raw, throaty sound, and then he looked directly at the camera, at Chloe, and said something I couldn't hear over the pounding in my ears.

The video ended. The silence in the living room was deafening, broken only by the steady drum of the shower. Humiliation washed over me, hot and sickening. My world, the one I had carefully built over a decade of marriage, crumbled into dust in the span of thirty seconds.

I didn't sleep that night. I just sat on the couch, the phone cold in my hand, replaying the video in my mind. The image of the disheveled man who was my husband, the taunting words of the woman carrying his child. Each replay was another stab of pain.

When the sun came up, I felt nothing but a hollow ache. I went to our study and found what I was looking for in Mark' s desk drawer, tucked beneath some old company files. A divorce agreement. It was already drafted, his name neatly typed beside mine. He had been planning this.

I took the papers and went straight to the best law firm in the city. Mr. Thompson, a man with kind eyes and a sharp suit, listened to my story without interruption. He took the papers, his expression grim. "This is a solid start, Olivia. But the more evidence, the better."

As I left the law firm, my phone buzzed again. It was Chloe. A new set of photos. This time, they were in Iceland. In one, Chloe was wrapped in a thick white robe, a glass of champagne in her hand, the Northern Lights visible through the window of what was clearly a honeymoon suite. Mark stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her, kissing her neck.

The accompanying text was just as cruel.

"Mark took me to Iceland last week. He said he was at a conference. We even had a honeymoon suite. How long has it been since he touched you, old hag?"

My fingers went numb. I remembered that week. I had packed his suitcase, carefully folding his suits, wishing him a successful trip. I had even put a little note in his briefcase telling him I loved him.

With a steadiness that surprised me, I forwarded the photos and the message to Mr. Thompson.

The subject line was simple: "New Evidence."

When I got home, Mark was there. He was dressed for work, looking every bit the successful CEO. His face was etched with concern, but it felt like a mask he had put on.

"Olivia, where were you? I called. It' s almost time to pick up Leo from school."

I looked at him, at the man I had loved for ten years, the father of my child, and felt a chilling detachment. The pain was still there, a giant, gaping wound in my chest, but on the surface, I was calm.

"I forgot," I said, my voice flat.

He frowned, his concern deepening, but it was all for show. "Forgot? You never forget Leo."

Later that evening, our son, Leo, came home. He ran past me and straight to Mark.

"Daddy, when is Auntie Chloe coming over again? She promised to bring me the new Lego spaceship."

My heart squeezed. Auntie Chloe. She had even won over my son. The collateral damage of this war I didn't even know I was fighting.

Mark' s face tightened. He knelt down to Leo' s level. "Leo, that' s your mother. You say hello to your mother first."

His voice was firm, a rare display of parental authority. It was a performance, an attempt to maintain the facade of a happy family for a little while longer.

"Hi, Mom," Leo said, his eyes on the floor.

Mark stood up and walked over to me, his hand reaching for my shoulder. "Liv, are you okay? You seem... distant."

I shrugged off his touch. "I'm just tired."

He tried to pull me into a hug, his voice soft and coaxing. "We haven't had a date night in a while. Let's go out this weekend. Just the two of us."

I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of genuine remorse, any hint of the man I married. I found nothing. Just the superficial efforts of a man trying to manage a crisis.

He had no idea. He thought he was still in control. He didn't know that I had already made my decision.

Our life together was over. All that was left was to gather the pieces and prove it. My mind was clear, my resolve set. This was not just a separation; it was the beginning of my escape.