Chapter 3

3

I headed straight up to the master bedroom on the second floor.

Rosalie had done a thorough job cleaning up.

Knowing I was due back soon, she had wiped every surface clean and emptied all the trash bins.

What she forgot was that two years into our marriage, our home had been burglarized.

After that incident, I had hidden surveillance cameras installed in multiple corners of the house.

Telling her I had urgent emails to answer, I locked myself in the home office.

The moment I pulled up the cloud archives, a wave of nausea hit me.

This wasn't a sudden mistake during my two-week trip.

Their affair had been going on for over a year.

The bay window, the kitchen counters, the master bathroom, and even the rooftop deck were filled with recordings of their depravity.

I skimmed through the sickening footage with a stone-cold expression.

Then, I exported every single file onto a secure flash drive.

"Perfect. Here is all the evidence I need for court."

Just when I thought my disgust had peaked, Rosalie proved she had no rock bottom.

The most laughable part was how I had treated this woman like a queen for five years.

A chime pinged from the desktop monitor.

I glanced down and realized Rosalie had left her messaging app logged in on the family computer.

A notification popped up from her social media feed.

Ever since we tied the knot, she claimed she hated posting online.

When I clicked into her profile, the truth hit me like a slap to the face.

She hadn't stopped posting at all.

She had simply set her privacy settings to hide every single post from me and my friends.

Reading through her raunchy updates and private chats, fury burned through my veins.

The private thread with the man from last night pushed me over the edge.

"Baby, doesn't your husband care that you gave him my leftover junk?"

"Holden? He loves that designer leather belt. He wears it to every single business meeting."

I looked down at the belt around my waist and ripped it off in disgust.

She had given it to me for my birthday last year.

I had been genuinely touched, thinking it was a symbol of her devotion.

Now, holding it made me feel filthy.

Fighting back the urge to smash the screen, I dug into the man's profile until his identity was fully exposed.

Shane Miller.

Rosalie's college sweetheart.

She had mentioned him briefly before our wedding, dismissing him as a spoiled, useless trust-fund brat who fled abroad after college.

She had looked completely unbothered back then.

To reassure me, she even swore she would never speak to an ex again.

I had loved her blindly and believed every word.

It turned out I had been a pawn in her game from the very beginning.