Our eyes met. His gaze dodged mine for just a second before he let out a quiet sigh.

"Ellie, I don't like it when you act like you can't trust me."

The suffocation rose from somewhere deep in my chest and locked my throat. I couldn't get a single word out.

Lydia Fox's call shattered the silence without warning.

"Lambert, I went and got everything freshened up down there just for you today. Pink, soft, feels amazing. You don't come over, I'm calling another male doctor to do it instead!"

Her voice was demanding, laced with a flirtatious purr.

Lambert's brow knotted. He held my gaze for a moment, then hung up and walked into his study, forcing calm into every step.

A few minutes later, he snatched his coat off the sofa.

"Ellie, believe me. It's just work."

He left without looking back.

So rushed he forgot his phone.

I stood frozen where he'd left me, as if something inside me had short-circuited.

After a long while, I picked up his phone and made myself read through every message between them.

All those blurred, half-remembered nights suddenly snapped into focus against the chat history.

No wonder he always covered my eyes when he lost control.

All that hunger, the kind that felt like he wanted to crush me into his body—none of it had been for me. Every bit of it was spent on Lydia's explicit photos.

The nausea hit so hard I barely made it to the bathroom before I was throwing up.

I threw up until my body was wrung out and empty, and when I finally stopped, what was left wasn't sadness. It was bitter, bone-deep refusal to accept it.

If it was just work, then fine. Let him work it to the end.

I took Lambert's phone, opened his account, and posted those explicit chat logs, screenshot by screenshot.

Then I changed his bio: I'm Lambert Harding. Starting today, taking unlimited appointments for women's intimate restoration. No cap.

When I was done, I sat back against the sofa and waited.

It didn't take long. Lydia called. Video.

I'd expected Lambert's fury on the other end. But when the call connected, all I saw was a dim room and a faint, rhythmic swaying on the screen.

Lambert stood in front of her. His Adam's apple worked up and down. His face was dark.

Lydia's body shook slightly.

"Mm... Lambert..."

The image pitched and swayed, and her voice turned smug.

"You like that, don't you? You've wanted this all along—that's why you came running the second I called..."

"Feels good, doesn't it? I know how to make you beg for more way better than she—"

Lambert hissed at her to shut up, but Lydia wouldn't stop, and in seconds the argument collapsed into a kiss.

"Mm... I can't take it..."

"Don't stop..."

After what felt like an eternity, Lambert pulled his hand back.

"Next time."

His voice was still unsteady, threaded with a self-satisfied smile.

"I've got something tonight. Past midnight it's my anniversary with Ellie. You know how it is—she's got me whipped."

"Seriously? Lambert, are you even a man? You can stop just like that? What, you can't even get it—"

More bickering. Then another drawn-out kiss.

I ended the call.

Something inside my chest shattered, and the pain tore through me so hard my whole body wouldn't stop shaking.

Two years ago, when I first stumbled onto the fact that Lambert had been married before, that deception, that sick, lurching uncertainty, had made me cry until I threw up. I thought that was the worst it could ever get.

Reality had one more cruelty left. There had only ever been one woman in his heart.

I was just a fool who believed she was loved.

Lambert didn't come home all night. I sat awake until morning.

At dawn, I opened the gift box, picked up the pregnancy test—two lines, positive—and gathered my documents and went to the hospital.

I'd planned to surprise him on our anniversary.

Now there was no need.

Before the procedure, I called Lydia's number.

Half hoping Lambert would pick up. Half hoping he wouldn't.

A long stretch of ringing, then the call cut off. Lydia sent a video instead.

The man who had always been precious about his hands, who never set foot in a kitchen, was in hers, carefully making her breakfast.

The two of them bickered over how many minutes to steam the soup dumplings.

Then the argument dissolved into a kiss.

"Mm… Lambert! Kissing me won't shut me up. Maybe try putting that energy below the waist next time!"

A short clip. I watched it three times.

Then I turned off my phone.

When I got home after the procedure, the shower of flower petals at the door startled me.

"Ellie, happy second anniversary!"

Lambert slid his arm gently around my waist and produced a gift he'd clearly put thought into.

"Marrying you is the happiest thing that's ever happened to me. See if you like it?"

My gaze landed on his neck.

A flicker of unease crossed his face, and he reached up to tug his collar higher.

Beneath the collar was a vivid love bite.

"Got bitten by a mosquito at the office last night. It's nothing, don't worry."

By the time I came back to myself, he'd already fastened the necklace around my throat.

His fingertips had just traced my collarbone, and they still reeked—that sticky, rancid musk of someone else's skin.

I forced the nausea down, picked up his phone, and held it out to him.

"Happy anniversary, Lambert. Your gift is on here."

"Open it. You might like it."

He looked puzzled for a second, then took the phone.

The moment the screen lit up, notifications flooded in. When he saw what they were, his anger spiked white-hot in an instant.

"Ellie, have you lost your mind?!"

"You put those chat logs online—what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what this is going to do to Lydia?"

"All this over one work project? You'd really pull something this disgusting?!"

Lambert's brow was knotted tight, and the look he gave me was pure disappointment.

"I told you it was just work. She and I are divorced, there's nothing between us. You can't even give me the most basic trust? Is that how pathetic I am in your eyes?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

Vaginal restoration as a cover to fuck another woman, and he still had the nerve to question me.

So righteous. So pathetic.

His face darkened another shade.

Before I could say anything, Lydia appeared at the door, tears streaking her face, walked straight in, and dropped to her knees in front of me.

"Yes, I love Lambert! I loved him with nothing to hide. But he still chose you—you already won, Ellie. So why are you doing this to me? Do you want me dead?"

"Fine! I shouldn't have loved him. I'm cheap. I deserve to die. Here—I'm on my knees. Is that enough for you?"

The moment her words landed, Lambert looked at me like he wanted to kill me.

"Ellie, I never thought you'd turn out to be this stupid and this cruel. I honestly—"

I cut him off, my voice steady. "I am stupid. Stupid enough to be played like a fool. So let's get a divorce."

He went blank for a beat.

Then fury and humiliation fused together, and he grabbed my arm and wrenched me off the sofa.

My abdomen—still raw from the procedure—cracked against the table edge. Pain blacked out my vision and I gasped, breath after ragged breath.

The flash of concern in his eyes vanished as quickly as it came.

Seeing her moment, Lydia choked out through tears, "You've been sending me anonymous messages for weeks, humiliating me—I took all of it. And now you post the chat logs for the whole internet to see, let them dox me, drag me through the mud—just because Lambert and I loved each other once, you can't even stand me existing?"

She thrust her phone at Lambert. "I didn't want to tell you. I wanted to suffer through it quietly. But this time… she's really trying to destroy me."

Lambert took the phone. His eyes swept the screen and his face went so dark it could have curdled.

He raised his hand and cracked me across the face.

"Ellie, I don't even recognize you!"

"You've been doing this behind my back—humiliating Lydia like this? We got divorced. She's not dead. How the hell dare you!"

The blow stunned me for a second. It wasn't until he shoved the phone in front of my eyes that I understood what had happened.

According to the messages, I had been anonymously harassing Lydia for weeks. Calling her a cheap piece of filth, a whore who sold herself, trash that deserved to be ridden by a thousand men and mounted by ten thousand more.

Saying Lambert would sooner fuck a pig on the side of the road than spare her a glance. Saying if she was that desperate to get scratched, she should go spread her legs in the street—plenty of stray dogs to keep her satisfied.

Saying if she ever went near Lambert again, I'd hire a hundred men to fuck her to death.

I whipped my head toward Lydia, still kneeling on the floor.

She tilted her head and flipped me off.

"Apologize to Lydia!"

Blood was spreading through my mouth. I pressed my lips together. "I didn't do it. Why should I apologize to a homewrecker?"

Lambert's hand flew at me again, then froze midair. His fingers clenched into a fist and dropped.

"Ellie… don't push me."

He helped Lydia up, voice turning soft as he murmured comfort to her.

They leaned into each other, cooing and flirting right in front of me, every low laugh like a thin needle twisting deeper into my chest.

Maybe Lambert had never had room for me at all.

Fine. Then I was done wanting him.

"Once the divorce is done, you two can cling to each other all you want. But right now, stop making me sick."

A ringing phone cut me off.

I answered. A nurse from the hospital. "Ms. Winfield, we're calling to follow up on your abortion. How have you been feeling…"

The word *abortion* hit the air, and Lambert's head snapped toward me. "What abortion?!"

I said I was fine, hung up, and shrugged. "Scam call."

Lambert watched me, half-suspicious, but my face gave nothing away, and he let it go.

His expression stayed hard. "Ellie, don't let me hear the word 'divorce' again."

I didn't answer. He didn't look at me again. He soothed Lydia with a few more gentle words, then personally escorted her home.

The two of them chatted the whole way out, laughing and easy, like a devoted couple who had never been apart.

I watched their silhouettes disappear. Then I looked down and carefully rolled up my pant leg.

The impact had gone straight into my belly, still raw from the abortion. Blood had already run down my thigh.

It hurt.

It hurt so much the tears wouldn't stop.

I curled up on the floor for a long time before Lambert called.

He apologized for the slap. Said he shouldn't have hit me. But at the end of the day, I'd brought it on myself—those disgusting threats had put Lydia in real danger, and he needed to stay with her the next few days to keep her safe…

I didn't finish listening. I hung up.

I contacted Attorney Bennett to draft the divorce papers, then passed out.

Lambert didn't come home for days.

The online storm around Lydia had already been smoothed over by him.

On the fifth day, he texted me a bar address. Said Lydia had forgiven me. Told me to come out and have some fun—put it behind us, all friends now.

I picked up the divorce papers and went.

Outside the private room, through the glass, Lydia was having the time of her life. She yanked off her jacket in one motion, leaving nothing but a lace bra hanging from her shoulders.

She spun a bottle. "Let's make it interesting. Whoever can unhook my bra with their mouth gets three months of home-cooked meals from me!"

The bottle landed on another man. Lambert reached over, casual as anything, and nudged it with his knuckle until the neck pointed straight at himself.

The room hit a fever pitch, everyone egging them on with lewd whoops and jeers.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, like this was exactly what she'd been waiting for.

She lay back on the sofa amid the noise, and Lambert leaned slowly toward her.

Her top had a front clasp. The way they were positioned had already crossed from suggestive into obscene.

A soft snap, and the clasp came undone.

Lambert froze for a second, clearly not expecting it to open that easily.

He grabbed his jacket and threw it over her.

Then he caught it—someone off to the side, smirking, phone raised.

Lambert's face went ugly in a way I'd never seen before.

"Delete it!"

The guy laughed. "Delete what? Lydia, babe, this is premium dirt. I'm saving this shit forever!"

Everyone could tell it was a joke. Lambert grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the man's head.

By the time anyone reacted, the guy was on the floor, blood running down his face.

"Lambert!"

Lydia pulled him back hard, wrapping her arms around him.

Like some kind of miracle, he went still in her arms.

"Lydia, I won't let anyone bully you."

"I know."

The words hung there, and the whole room went quiet.

I'd always known Lambert cared about Lydia. I still hadn't expected him to lose control like that.

The viciousness in his eyes the instant that ashtray left his hand was something I'd never seen before.

When we were still in love, someone had nearly groped me, and all he did was call a lawyer to handle it.

So it wasn't that he couldn't lose control. The person he cared enough to lose it for just wasn't me.

What a joke. This whole marriage—and in the end, I was the one who felt like the other woman.

I gripped the divorce papers tight and walked in.

"Looks like I picked a bad time."