Chapter 4

"The evidence chain is solid, Professor," Alexandr confirmed. His voice was calm and professional, a comforting anchor in my storm. "We have everything."

"And the poems?" I asked. "The ones he wrote for her. Can they be used as supporting evidence of his moral conduct?"

"Absolutely," Alexandr said. "They establish a timeline and a motive. They paint a very clear picture of his character, or lack thereof."

I thought about all the other things I had collected over the years. The antique scrolls he accepted from a developer seeking zoning changes. The expensive watches from a lobbyist. Each item was a link in a long chain of corruption.

"The art, the gifts... you have a record of all of it?"

"Every last piece," he confirmed. "With verified appraisals and records of who gave them to him and when."

I clutched my phone, the screen still showing the photo of them with their matching rings. The image burned in my mind.

"What will happen to him, Alexandr? If I turn this in."

There was a slight pause. "Given the value of the bribes and the evidence of money laundering... he's looking at life in prison. No parole."

My eyes blurred with tears again. Life in prison. It felt so final, so devastating. But what choice did he leave me?

I needed to act fast. He was planning his new life, a life built on my ashes. He would probably think losing his reputation was a small price to pay for a new family.

I remembered our wedding day. He had whispered in my ear, "Till death do us part, Helena." It was a promise he had broken in every way but the most literal one.

"Go ahead, Alexandr," I said. "File it."

"I will," he said softly.

I hung up and stared out the window, watching the rain fall. How could a man's promises turn to dust so easily? He had become the very thing he used to despise: a corrupt, self-serving fool.

I stayed with Jared, recovering my strength, waiting. Carroll never called. But Jared's network of friends kept me informed. Carroll was meeting with lawyers daily, trying to expedite the transfer of the mountain villa into Kandy's name.

He was trying to secure their future before divorcing his "dying" wife.

I continued to play my part. I let him think I was weak, oblivious, and fading away in my nephew's guest room.

A month later, I decided my "cancer" had gone into a miraculous, unexplainable remission. I had Jared drive me home.

We walked in to find Carroll in the living room, on the phone. He saw me and his face went from surprise to sheer, undisguised horror.

"What are you doing here?" he stammered, quickly ending his call. "You... you look..."

"Better?" I finished for him. "Yes. The doctors are calling it a miracle."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and a flicker of something else: disappointment. He was disappointed I wasn't dead.

Jared put a supportive hand on my arm, but I shook it off. I walked toward my husband, my steps slow and steady.

The rage I had been suppressing for months finally broke through. Tears streamed down my face as I swung my hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room.

"You're disappointed, aren't you?" I screamed, my voice raw with pain. "You were hoping I'd just die and make things easy for you!"

The pain in my chest flared, a real, physical agony. "I was in the hospital! My heart gave out! And where were you? You were with her! You were buying her cars and rings while I was fighting for my life!"

Every word was a shard of glass tearing at my throat. My heart was truly broken, even if the cancer was a lie. This pain was real.

He reached for me, his expression a clumsy mix of shock and guilt. "Helena, I... I didn't know."

It was a pathetic, cowardly excuse.

I grabbed the sleeve of his expensive cashmere sweater, clinging to it like a drowning woman. "I want one last thing, Carroll."

I was acting, but the desperation in my voice was real.

"Ten days," I begged. "Just ten days. Take me to the villa. Let us have one last memory in the place where we were happy. After ten days, I'll sign the divorce papers. I'll walk away and you'll never see me again."

He looked at me, at my tear-streaked face. He thought I was a dying woman, clinging to a final thread of hope. He thought my heart condition would finish me off soon enough. His pity, his arrogance, made him agree.

"Alright, Helena," he said, his voice soft with condescension. "Ten days."

I dug my nails into my own palm, the sharp pain grounding me. He didn't know the real reason I wanted those ten days.

When we married, I made him a promise. "I know men in your position face temptation," I'd told him. "I'll allow you three mistakes. The first time, I'll forgive you. The second time, I'll give you a chance to fix it. But the third time, Carroll, I will destroy you."

His affair was the first mistake. I had tried to forgive it. My fake illness was the second chance, my desperate attempt to make him fix what he had broken.

This was his third and final chance. I truly, honestly, hoped he would take it.