Chapter 2

I took the phone, my fingers trembling with rage.

I opened Snapchat. The profile picture of his pinned contact, "Arthur Vance," was a void of solid black.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped on the chat.

The entire conversation had been wiped completely clean.

Empty.

Behind me, Julian spoke in a sighing, patronizing tone. "See? Nothing. Nora, does our marriage of five years really mean so little that you'd throw it away over baseless paranoia?"

What an incredible actor.

If I hadn't heard the truth from Coco myself, I might have actually believed him.

I handed the phone back, keeping my face completely blank.

"Maybe I was just being paranoid."

Julian's shoulders dropped in instant relief. He stepped forward to wrap his arms around me. "I knew you'd understand, Nora. I love you and Coco so much. Everything I do is for us."

His embrace, which used to be my safest haven, now felt suffocating.

I didn't push him away. I just stood there like a statue, letting him hold me.

"Yeah, I get it," I whispered. "I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower."

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, my strength vanished. I slid down the door and collapsed onto the cold tile floor.

I didn't cry.

My heart was completely dead. That was the only way to describe it.

He thought deleting the chat cleared his tracks, but he forgot about his auto-sync desktop app.

And more importantly, he forgot that I knew his iCloud backup password.

That night, once Julian was fast asleep, I quietly slipped out of bed, grabbed his phone, and walked to the living room.

I connected it to my laptop and logged into his cloud drive.

Inside the backup folder, a zip file named "Work Materials" sat in plain sight.

I clicked on it.

Photo after photo loaded onto the screen.

Me, wearing a silk slip, reading on the couch.

Me, fresh out of the shower, water droplets still glistening on my shoulders.

Me, cooking in the kitchen, the collar of my shirt draped open as I bent down.

The angles were intrusive and creepy, taken without my knowledge.

And the last photo was the shot of the blue butterfly tattoo on my lower back.

The picture was crystal clear, the lighting soft—perfectly staged.

The date showed it was taken last week, on our anniversary.

He had set up a candlelit dinner that night and insisted on taking "romantic photos" to celebrate.

Turns out, the "romance" was just currency to offer up to another man.

I downloaded every single photo and the zip file, transferring them to my own secure, encrypted cloud drive.

By the time I finished, the first light of dawn was filtering through the curtains.

I went back to the bedroom and stared at Julian's sleeping face.

This was the man I had loved for five years, the man for whom I had paused my own career to raise our child.

To him, I was nothing more than an asset to be traded.

At breakfast, Julian was exceptionally attentive.

"Nora, I took the day off. Why don't we go out as a family today?"

"By the way, Vance agreed to fund the project I told you about. Once the deal is finalized, I'll buy you that Tesla you wanted."

He enthusiastically planned our future—a future bought with my stolen dignity.

Sticking my spoon into my oatmeal, I said calmly, "Sure. But before we go, I want to stop somewhere."

Julian blinked. "Where?"

"The Blue Nightingale Gallery. Isn't there an exclusive private exhibition today?" I looked up and offered a soft smile. "You always said you wanted to take me out to appreciate some high art."

The Blue Nightingale Gallery.

I had seen the chat screenshots between Julian and Arthur Vance in that zip file.

Vance wrote: *Bring her to the exhibition tomorrow. Tell her to wear that backless black dress.*

Julian replied: *Of course, Mr. Vance.*

Julian's face turned slightly pale.

"That exhibition is just boring networking. We can go some other time."

"No, I want to go today," I insisted firmly. "Didn't you say you'd do anything to make me happy?"

In the end, he had no choice but to nod.

"Alright. Whatever you want."