Clayton had loved me once enough to trust me with everything. After six years of marriage, the safe’s password was my birthday, and the bank account number mirrored it.
He had once said, with a look of devotion in his eyes, "Both the money and I belong to you, Irene."
He had sworn, his voice thick with emotion, "If I ever do anything to hurt you, Irene, let me leave with nothing and die an untimely death."
Those vows, spoken in earnest, had probably slipped from his memory long ago.
But I remembered every word.
I packed the videos Matias had sent me, the ones exposing Clayton’s infidelities, and sent them off to my lawyer.
Of course, I didn’t forget the evidence I’d painstakingly gathered from Odessa’s WhatsApp, staying up all night to piece it together.
As soon as I closed my laptop, I felt him, Clayton, wrap his arms around me from behind.
"Irene, I missed you so much.”
He brought the chill of the outside with him. And though he tried to hide it, a faint trace of another woman’s scent lingered on him.
I silently pushed him away. "Wasn’t your business trip supposed to last three days? Why are you back so soon?"
Clayton smiled, his face full of tenderness, as his hand gently caressed my cheek.
"Did you forget what tomorrow is?"
I froze for a moment. "Our sixth wedding anniversary?"
"Exactly."
He gave a playful scratch to my nose.
"Even with my busy schedule, I can’t miss coming home to spend our anniversary with my good girl."
I inwardly sneered.
He had no idea. I had just seen Odessa’s update on her Instagram.
She had posted, [Someone’s truly heartless, satisfies himself and leaves. But luckily, tomorrow, he promised me an even more exciting experience.]
In the hotel suite, Clayton had arranged a grand celebration.
A two-tiered cake stood before me, the words "Grow old together, Happy forever" scrawled across it.
The irony was almost suffocating.
Clayton had always kept me from drinking too much, but tonight, he insisted on pouring me a few more glasses.
"Irene, I’ll be by your side. Don’t worry, just drink up. The driver will take us home later."
I could see the mockery dancing in his eyes—his plan was clear. He wanted me drunk so he could slip away unnoticed to meet his lover.
Fifteen minutes ago, as he sliced into the cake, a message flashed across his phone.
"I’m here, waiting for you in the bathroom."
The profile picture that appeared was one I recognized all too well: Odessa.