The first time I saw panic hit him was at a dinner party Ethan had planned—a desperate attempt to maintain the illusion that everything was fine. I played along, smiling, laughing, keeping up the act while Ethan kept shooting discreet glances at his phone.
Liam arrived late, his usual arrogant confidence dimmed. His eyes darted around the room as if expecting someone to corner him. When he finally reached our table, he yanked Ethan aside.
I followed at a distance, staying just close enough to hear.
“This is bad, man,” Liam muttered, his voice sharp. “Whoever sent that video knew what they were doing. People are talking.”
Ethan’s face darkened. “Keep your voice down.”
Liam exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “We need to find out who’s behind this.”
I smiled to myself.
You already know, don’t you?
Their paranoia was spreading, and I was feeding it—little by little. Small, carefully placed rumors. Anonymous messages. Just enough breadcrumbs to make them wonder, to make them question everything.
And then I made my next move.
One night, when Ethan was asleep, I unlocked his laptop with the passcode he never thought I would remember. I scrolled through his emails, searching for anything useful. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for—an email thread between Ethan and a woman whose name I didn’t recognize.
I clicked it open.
The messages were recent. Too recent.
“Can’t stop thinking about last weekend. Wish we had more time alone.”
“You looked so beautiful when you left.”
“When can I see you again?”
I stared at the words, my pulse steady.
I had suspected it for a while, but having proof in front of me made something inside me settle into place. There was no sadness, no heartbreak—just confirmation of what I had already known.
I took screenshots, sending them to myself before deleting all traces of what I had done. When I shut the laptop, I turned to look at Ethan’s sleeping form.
He had no idea.
The next morning, I sat across from him at breakfast, watching as he scrolled through his phone. He looked exhausted, the weight of his paranoia finally settling in.
“You seem stressed,” I said lightly.
He forced a laugh. “Just work… and Liam’s freaking out.”
“Oh?” I poured myself another cup of coffee. “Why would Liam be freaking out?”
Ethan hesitated. “It’s nothing. Just some rumors.”
I tilted my head. “Rumors about what?”
He glanced up, studying me as if trying to gauge how much I knew. I met his gaze evenly, offering nothing.
Finally, he shook his head. “It’s not important.”
If only he knew.
That evening, I sent the screenshots to Liam. Not with a message. Not with an explanation. Just the images—letting him interpret them however he wanted.
The response was almost immediate.
“Liam: What the hell is this?”
I didn’t reply.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail.
Thirty minutes later, Ethan stormed into the room, his face a mask of barely contained rage.
“What did you do?” His voice was tight, controlled.
I set my book down, looking up at him. “What are you talking about?”
His phone shook in his hand. “Liam just sent me something—something that was sent to him.” He clenched his jaw. “Someone is messing with us.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Messing with you, Ethan? You’ve been lying to me for years. Why would you assume someone else is the problem?”
His eyes darkened. “You think this is funny?”
I stood, walking toward him slowly. “No, Ethan. I think this is overdue.”
His expression flickered—anger, realization, fear.
“You,” he whispered.
I smiled. “Me.”
His entire body tensed, as if he finally understood that the woman standing in front of him wasn’t the same one he had married.
I leaned in slightly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought I wouldn’t fight back. But Ethan, darling…” I let my voice drop, my smile widening. “You should have known better.”
And just like that, his world tilted on its axis—because he knew, really knew, that he was about to lose everything.
Ethan stood there, his hands gripping his phone so tightly I half expected it to shatter. His eyes flickered with a whirlwind of emotions—anger, disbelief, and beneath it all, a creeping sense of fear.
He had spent years thinking he was in control, that I was just a piece on his chessboard—a pawn too blind to notice she was being moved.
Now he was realizing the truth.
The game had flipped.
