His Fake Wife Is A Genius Hacker

I was married to the city's celebrated FBI hero, Harrison Phelps.

But when I was bleeding out on our floor from a miscarriage, he stepped right over me to attend a welcome-home party for his female partner, Brooke.

"It’s not a baby yet. It’s just a clump of cells."

He delivered those cold words and walked out the door.

Later, during a live-broadcast bank hostage crisis, both Brooke and I were held at gunpoint. The hijackers made him choose one to live.

Without hesitation, he chose Brooke, declaring her a "national asset," and left me to take a bullet to the neck.

I barely survived the surgery, only to discover that our six-year marriage was a complete sham—he had never even legally filed the paperwork.

He had also been intercepting my messages for years, systematically isolating me from my only brother.

I had given up my brilliant career to be his obedient wife, only to realize I was nothing but a disposable pawn.

Digging deeper, I uncovered an even more horrifying truth: Brooke's incompetence had caused my mother's death years ago, and Harrison had used his power to cover it up.

Having narrowly escaped death, my grief was completely burned away by a cold, absolute hatred.

I dragged out the sealed, dust-covered case containing my old digital arsenal.

Under my old hacker alias "Pandora," I calmly began to dismantle the FBI hero's life, piece by piece.