Jill leaned in, her tone dropping as if she was just scheming.

“Once Nata gets pregnant, we’ll just say it was from your brother’s frozen sperm. A test-tube baby. No one will know the truth. It won’t affect your marriage with Gina at all…”

Christoph cut her off sharply. “Mom. It’s one thing for Gina to act out, but why are you feeding into this?”

He turned to me, his voice rising. “This is just her throwing a tantrum because I haven’t touched her in years!”

I let out a cold laugh, watching him perform like he was auditioning for an award.

What a joke. This marriage was beyond saving. Rotten to the core.

Christoph loved Natalie—that much was obvious. Yet for the sake of appearances, for her so-called “reputation,” he refused to divorce me and marry her outright.

He didn’t want to be labeled the man who left his wife for his sister-in-law. So instead, he did everything behind closed doors—every betrayal, every indecency—and used me as their cover. Their shield. Their excuse.

“The hell are you laughing at?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” I said softly.

I pushed myself up from the bed, weak but numb, my voice light—careless.

“It was just a passing suggestion. Do whatever you want.”

Something in Christoph’s expression shifted. His eyes burned red, fury clouding them—except… underneath the anger was something else. Glee. Satisfaction.

“Since you’re being so generous,” he said coldly, wrapping an arm around Natalie, “I’ll take you up on that.”

Then, with deliberate cruelty, he announced:

“I’ll be taking Nata abroad for a honeymoon. As for you—you’ll stay here and take care of Mom. And while you’re at it, you can learn how to care for a pregnant woman… and later, her baby.”

His mother lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Oh, Chris, that’s such a thoughtful idea. It’s better this way—Gina won’t have to watch you two together. It would only break her heart.”

Natalie blushed and leaned into him, all fake modesty and fluttering lashes, like some Victorian heroine in distress. She tried to act shy, to object.

Christoph silenced her with a kiss—right there, in front of me.

His mother cast a careful glance my way, clearly bracing for a reaction. Yet, I didn’t flinch. I just stared, face blank.

Apparently, that was enough to reassure her. “Chris, maybe just… tone it down a little in front of Gina, hmm?” she said gently, still watching me out of the corner of her eye.

This whole family... what a circus bunch. They really thought I didn’t see through all of it.

By the end of the day, Christoph had already booked the flights for next week’s European honeymoon.

He couldn’t wait.

After the fever finally broke, I quietly got to work.

I had to gather evidence. Real leverage. Enough to blow things up before they left for their honeymoon fairytale.

That night, while Christoph stayed late at the office, I slipped into the one place I’d never been allowed to enter: his bedroom.

Five years of marriage and I had never stepped foot in this room.

Christoph always said that "true, Platonic love" required boundaries. Emotional purity. Even his bedroom had been off-limits to me—his own wife.

The space was cold and clinical. Stark gray and white, not a single personal touch. Just like him—distant, sterile and controlled.

I searched everything—drawers, nightstands, under the bed. Nothing.

I was about to give up when I noticed something tucked away in the far corner of the wardrobe: a small safe, barely visible.

I tried Natalie’s birthday. The lock clicked open without resistance.

Inside was a flood of photographs—hundreds, maybe more. All of Natalie.

At first, they were clearly taken in secret: grainy shots from odd angles, like someone spying through a doorway or a window. But then the tone changed. They became selfies—intentional, sultry, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Her gaze full of knowing.

Disgust clawed up my throat, but I forced myself to keep looking.

Next to the photos was a leather-bound journal. I opened it. The first entry was dated the day Christoph and I met.

“Met a girl at the library today. She asked me if I liked Plato too. The way she said it—it almost felt like she was my sister-in-law. But I can't have those kinds of thoughts about her, can I? I need a distraction. A girlfriend. Gina will do.”

My hands began to shake, but I kept reading.

“Gina’s naïve. She won’t realize I’m just using her. Every time I see Natalie, I have to fight myself not to stare… not to touch.”

“Today was my brother’s funeral. I almost did something unforgivable in the chapel. Good thing Natalie was too grief-stricken to notice how disgusting I really am.”

“Gina keeps trying to get close. It’s pathetic. Why are women always so desperate? Natalie isn’t like that. She’s pure. She’s still keeping herself for my brother.”

Tears blurred the page. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, anything to keep from making a sound. Everything I thought was love—every soft word, every distant smile—it had all been a lie.

I was done being their cover story.

The final page was dated three months ago.

“Visited my brother’s grave today. Nata said she’s known all along about the photos—that she’s been suppressing her feelings for me for years. I was overwhelmed… lost control. I took her right there, in front of my brother’s headstone.”

The journal slipped from my hands and hit the carpet with a dull thud.

A wave of cold swept through me, seizing my chest. My stomach churned violently. I gripped the wall just to stay upright.

So this was it. From the very beginning, I had never been the love story. I was just the cover—something neat and legal to hide their obsession behind.

A shield for their shame.

Then—a sound. Soft, almost imperceptible, coming from deep inside the closet. I turned, pulse hammering in my ears and noticed something I’d missed before: a narrow seam in the back panel.

It was a hidden door.

I pushed it open. A narrow, dusty passage stretched forward, connecting to the house next door—his brother’s old home.

The walls were plastered with photos of Christoph and Natalie. Candid shots, posed portraits, some so graphic I had to look away.

My hands were shaking as I raised my phone.

Click. Click. Click.

Every photo. Every piece of it—I recorded it all.

I had just turned to leave when footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Natalie’s voice, sickly sweet, edged with laughter, “Chris, are you sure Gina won’t find out?”

Then Christoph’s voice was dismissive, “Relax. That idiot’s probably in our room crying her eyes out right now.”

I froze. There was no time to think. No time to breathe. I ducked into the passageway and pulled the hidden door shut just as their shadows passed the closet.

Through the narrow gap in the hidden door, I watched Christoph pull Natalie down onto the bed.

They didn’t even try to pretend. They couldn’t wait to get their hands on each other.

Natalie giggled, casting a lazy glance toward the half-closed hidden panel. “Easy... You were a little rough last night,” she purred.

Christoph sank his teeth into her earlobe. “Well, you shouldn't be so irresistible.”

He laughed low in his throat, voice thick with lust. “When we get abroad, I’m not letting you out of bed for three days.”

I clamped both hands over my mouth, pressing so hard my fingernails dug into my palms.

Their moans, their breathless whispers—it was like venom, sliding into my ears, coiling around the last threads of my dignity.

I didn’t move. Not until it was over. Not until they were wrapped in each other’s arms, fast asleep.

Then I slipped out through the hidden passage and ran away. I got back to my room, silently shaking as I calmed down my nerves.

Once the door clicked shut behind me, I didn’t cry. I opened my laptop. Gathered every photo, every recording. Then, I called a different lawyer. One who actually worked for me.

We drafted a new divorce agreement. One that wouldn’t leave me empty-handed this time.

In the days that followed, Christoph didn’t even bother hiding it. He’d kiss Natalie right in front of me. Whisper things in her ear, let his hands wander across her waist as if I wasn’t even there.

I said nothing. I packed my things, one bag at a time.

When I threw all the gifts he’d ever given me into the trash, he finally snapped.

“Gina! What the hell are you doing?!”

I calmly slid the divorce papers across the table. “Sign it.”

Christoph glanced down, lips curling into a smirk.

“What's this? A confession letter? Shame you only realized your mistakes now. Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Without reading the actual content, he scribbled his name, then flung the document in my face.

“Nata and I fly out this afternoon. You stay here, get cozy with that maternity nurse and start learning how to take care of pregnant women and babies.”

As Christoph spoke, he casually pointed to a woman I hadn’t even noticed standing in the doorway.

“By the way, this is the maternity specialist I hired—paid top dollar. So do yourself a favor and learn from her.”

With that, Christoph wrapped his arm around Natalie and walked out like he was the hero of his own story.

I didn’t flinch. I picked up the divorce papers from the floor, ignoring the smug, amused looks around me. Then I went upstairs, packed the last of my things and walked out of that house for good.

The moment I got into the car, my phone rang.

It was his mother. “Gina, honey, I know you’re upset. But going with Chris will only make things harder on you. Just stay home, out of sight, out of mind. It’s better that way, don’t you think?”

That faux-concerned tone, that smug little martyr act… she didn’t care about me. She just didn’t want me messing up her golden boy’s honeymoon.

I answered coolly, without a flicker of emotion. “You don’t have to worry. Christoph and I are divorced. I won’t be ruining any more of his plans.”

Before she could respond, I hung up—and blocked her number.

Not long after, just as I arrived at the airport, my phone buzzed again.

A message from Christoph.

[“I’ll come back once Nata’s pregnant. As long as you behave, I’ll still give you a child. Through IVF, of course.”]

I stared at the screen and smiled.

Not the kind of smile he would recognize. This one wasn’t bitter. Or broken. It was the beginning of something he would never see coming.

His message was meant to sound generous—merciful, even. But it only made me laugh. A bitter, humorless laugh.

I blocked him without hesitation.

Then I opened my photo gallery, selected every intimate photo of him and Natalie—the ones that would ruin them in an instant—and sent the whole batch straight to a journalist I knew wouldn't hesitate.