«I haven’t liked you since our first night!»…

I stood at the kitchen counter of my parents’ townhouse in Connecticut, stirring tea I wouldn’t drink, while Chloe played upstairs with my mother. She didn’t know the full story yet, just that mommy and daddy were going to be living in different houses, and that she’d be staying with grandma for a while. When she asked why, I’d simply said, because I want you to be somewhere peaceful.

She nodded, then asked if her stuffed fox could come too. That was the part that broke me. Not the headlines, not the photos, not even the footage replaying on morning television.

It was her innocence still intact. Around three, I finally turned on the TV. There it was, Daniel’s arrest.

Again, and again, spliced between clips of me toasting to truth and that grainy hotel surveillance footage of him and Ashley. His lawyer had released a statement, some feeble defense about doctored videos and personal vendettas. It didn’t matter.

The footage was too real. The damage was too deep. The court of public opinion had already made its ruling.

I wasn’t sure if I felt satisfaction or something colder, something like release. A knock on the front door startled me. I opened it to find Miles Grayson in his usual dark coat, holding a plain manila envelope.

Told you I deliver, he said. I smiled, stepped aside, and let him in. He placed the envelope on the coffee table.

Final report, he said. Financial breakdowns, travel logs, some offshore accounts that aren’t exactly legal. I sat across from him, arms folded.

Will that help the SEC? They’ve already opened a case file, he said. You might get your day in court. Or 10.

I looked out the window, where the trees had begun to shed their gold and crimson leaves. Autumn had always been my father’s favorite season. You ever get tired of seeing people unravel? I asked.

Miles chuckled softly. Not really. But I do like seeing someone hold the thread for once.

He stood ready to leave. One more thing, he added. I found something.

Odd. You should look through the reports. Last section.

Page 42. Then he was gone. No explanation.

Just that cryptic note. I waited until Chloe was asleep. Waited until the house was quiet.

Then I opened the envelope. Flipped past the names, the numbers, the photos, until I found it. Page 42.

And that’s when I saw it. A scanned copy of a letter, dated two years before our wedding. Written by Daniel, addressed to someone named Lillian Carter.

The subject line, premarital agreement strategy. My blood ran cold. I stared at the letter long, after the words stopped making sense.

Lillian Carter. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. In fact, it was painfully familiar.

She’d been part of my world once, distant but always present. She worked in my father’s legal division. A sharp, poised woman who never stayed long at company events, but always seemed to know everything before anyone else.

She had a quiet power about her, the kind that could hide knives behind smiles. When Daniel and I were newly engaged, she handled our prenup. I barely paid attention back then, too busy choosing flowers, table linens, and imagining a perfect life.

But the letter Miles had found wasn’t professional. It was personal, intimate. It opened with dearest Lily, and closed with yours, always D. In it, Daniel laid out a plan.

Cold, clinical, strategic. He detailed how marrying into the Langford name would secure access to internal investments. How he would keep Victoria satisfied long enough to gain power of signature.

He even referenced our future child. One heir will seal the bond. After that, we’ll see.

I dropped the paper. My hands were shaking. I hadn’t just been betrayed by a husband.

I’d been used by an entire arrangement. Lillian had helped him. She’d sat across from me in boardrooms, shook my hand with polished nails, and looked me in the eye while plotting to make me a pawn.

For a brief moment, I couldn’t breathe. My whole marriage, my whole motherhood, had been built on a foundation they engineered. The next morning, I met Miles again, this time in a cafe on the Upper East Side, away from cameras and whispers.

I slid the letter across the table. What do you know about her? He didn’t even blink. Lillian Carter, former corporate counsel, left Langford six months after your wedding, currently on the board of a hedge fund run by guess who? Ashley Monroe, I said through clenched teeth.

Bingo, he replied. Turns out Daniel was never working alone. Ashley was the bait…