"Look at you—causing all this drama, and Morton still took your side. Keep pushing, and you're just proving you don't deserve it."

Everyone expected me to fold after that. Accept the scolding, swallow the humiliation, fall back in line.

I didn't.

My gaze cut past Morton to Lottie, standing right behind him.

"Then I don't deserve it. This divorce is happening."

Morton stared at me, eyes rimmed red with fury.

"Paula, is there someone else? Is that why you're so hell-bent on divorcing me?"

I was done talking. I turned to leave, but Morton seized my wrist and wouldn't let go.

"Who is he? Tell me his name—just say it, and I'll give you one more chance!"

Lottie stepped in right on cue, voice soft, eyes all concern.

"Paula, Morton works so hard, and you're home by yourself all day—of course it gets lonely. He's giving you a chance here. Just tell us. Is there someone else? Is that what this is really about?"

As she spoke, her chest rose and fell, and I noticed a damp stain spreading across the front of her blouse. It hit me like a slap.

I slapped her across the face.

"Don't you dare put this on me. You know exactly why we're getting divorced."

Lottie clutched her cheek and crumpled straight into Morton's arms.

"Manager Henson, I was only trying to talk some sense into her! I don't understand why she has so much hostility toward me, a woman who's already had a child!"

Morton pulled Lottie tight against him, glaring at me with open fury.

"Paula, since you want this divorce so badly, we'll settle it in court!"

A thread of tension inside me loosened the moment I heard him agree.

I turned and walked away without looking back. Not a trace of hesitation.

The moment I stepped out of the banquet hall, I saw the door to the nursing room across the corridor standing wide open.

A breast pump sat on the counter, not even put away.

My stomach lurched. I grabbed the nearest trash can and threw up.

By the time I made it out of the hotel, my phone was buzzing.

A text from Tim, my private assistant.

[Ms. Sullivan, lab results on that glass of milk just came back. Report's in your inbox.]

I opened it immediately. At the bottom of the report, a single line: *Result: human breast milk.*

There was nothing left in my stomach, but my body still convulsed with dry heaves.

I wiped my mouth and called Tim.

"Compile everything. Every last piece. I want Morton Henson destroyed in open court."

I hung up, glanced once at the hotel blazing behind me, and walked toward the parking area.

Ray was already blocking the car door before I could reach for the handle.

He looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"Sorry. Manager Henson says you two are about to divorce, and this car is his personal property. You have no right to use it."

I stared past him at the mountain road, nothing but darkness in every direction, and clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms.

Morton had held his promotion banquet at Hillcrest Resort. Beautiful scenery, but the location was remote. There wasn't a rideshare to be found out here.

He'd planned this. A lesson in what happened when I didn't fall in line.

Ray watched me standing there and smirked.

"A housewife living off her husband, making a scene over a glass of milk and demanding a divorce. I'd love to see how long you last without Manager Henson."

I didn't look at him. I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached, and I walked down that dark mountain road alone.

Two hours on that mountain road in the dark, and my legs were shaking by the time I hit the bottom.

I'd barely stepped onto the main road when a Mercedes shot up from behind me and cut to a hard stop at my side.

Morton and Lottie in the back seat. Neither of them blinking.

"Paula. You get it now, right? What leaving me looks like? Apologize to me and to Lottie. Do it, and you can get in the car and go home."

Lottie chimed in right behind him.

"Just say sorry, Paula. Morton just made manager—his future's wide open. Walk away now and there's no coming back."

I looked at that smug, passive-aggressive smile on Lottie's face and let out a cold laugh.

"You're welcome to him. I don't do trash. I have standards."

Morton's face went white, his eyes turning flat and dangerous.

"Paula. I'll be waiting for the day you beg me on your knees."

He floored it, and the Mercedes tore off down the road.

The moment he was gone, I walked straight to the Maybach parked beneath the streetlight.

As soon as I got in, Tim handed me Morton's personnel file.

"Ms. Sullivan, Morton Henson has no business being marketing manager. Without you he'd still be a junior sales rep. Say the word and I'll have him out by morning."

I waved the suggestion away, my gaze drifting toward the darkness outside.

"I want him standing at the very top before I pull the ground out from under him."

Morton had won me over with what I believed was genuine devotion. For the sake of his pride as a man, I'd given up everything to be the woman behind him.

I'd leveraged every connection and resource I had to pave his way, and the reward for all of it was betrayal.

That night I went back to my private estate, a property worth hundreds of millions. I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang.

A friend.

"It's bad. Someone's blasting doctored photos and videos all over the internet—you in bed with dozens of different men. And they used your face for a fake strip-tease game, posted it on an overseas site."

The second I hung up, notifications poured in, one after another.

I tapped open the first one and saw photo after photo of myself in bed with men I had never met. A link was attached below.

I opened the link. A strip-tease game loaded, and the woman on screen was me.

Before I could even launch it, my phone rang again.

An unknown number.

"Filthy whore. You deserve to be thrown in a river and held under. Go die!"

I slammed the call off, but a second one came in right after.

"Paula, you cheated and you're trying to frame Morton Henson? He must have been cursed for eight lifetimes to marry a woman like you."

Only then did I realize all my personal information had been leaked. I scrambled to pull the SIM card out of my phone.

Morton moved fast. The very next day, I received his lawsuit filing and a court summons.

That same day, I went to collect my belongings from the apartment.

But the moment I reached the entrance to the complex, I saw a pile of things scattered across the ground.

I stepped closer and realized they were mine.

Morton had thrown my belongings out like garbage.

I bent to pick them up, and that was when Morton's mother appeared with a crowd of people and closed in around me.

"This is the shameless whore right here! Sleeps around with God knows how many men, then makes up some excuse about a glass of milk to frame my son and demand a divorce."

Rotten cabbage leaves and stinking eggs slammed into my head, my shoulders, my back—I threw my arms up but they kept coming, the smell hitting me before the next impact did.

Then hands were on me, fistfuls of fabric twisting, seams ripping, nails catching skin as they tore at my clothes.

"You're a housewife! Every stitch on your back, every bite in your mouth came from Morton Henson! And you still had the nerve to cheat? Why don't you just drop dead!"

My clothes had been nearly ripped off me, strips of fabric hanging loose, skin bare to the cold air—utterly humiliating.

That was when Morton finally rushed over, pulling off his own jacket and draping it around my shoulders like he'd rehearsed the gesture.

He turned on his mother with a look of reproach.

"Mom, as long as Paula and I aren't officially divorced, she's still my wife. You can't treat her like this!"

The crowd flipped on a dime. Phones were still filming, but suddenly the comments changed.

"That woman did all that to him and he's still protecting her? What a good man!"

"Paula, if you had even a shred of conscience, you'd be begging him to forgive you!"

Morton turned to me, face arranged into perfect devotion.

"Honey, just come back to me. I'll drop the whole thing. Right now."

I looked at that rehearsed tenderness, grabbed his jacket, and flung it straight back at him.

"Morton Henson, I'll see you in court!"

The hearing arrived fast.

Relatives, friends, concerned citizens, even reporters packed the gallery.

Every one of them waiting to see me ruined.

Morton showed up with Lottie at his side. When he saw me, there was still a sliver of earnest appeal in his eyes.

"Honey, it's not too late to change your mind. Once this hearing starts, you'll walk out with the clothes on your back—nothing else."

I looked at that smug confidence and let out a dry laugh.

"Who's leaving with nothing? That's far from decided. Don't celebrate too early, Morton."

The smile slid off his face. His eyes went hard and flat.

"Paula. Then don't blame me for not sparing you an ounce of dignity as my wife."

The judge called the case. Morton stood, slid a thick folder across the bench, and launched in.

"Paula Sullivan carried on affairs during our marriage and posted a fake strip-tease game on a porn site, causing severe damage to me and my family."

He sat back and shot me a look—satisfied, proprietary.

Right at that moment, my legal team walked toward me.

The entire courtroom went silent when they saw who it was.

"Isn't that the top elite legal team in the city? Why would they represent a woman like her?"

Morton sneered at me.

"So what if you hired the best? I've got witnesses. I've got evidence. All of it."

"Paula, you're finished."

He rattled off ten separate charges against me, right in front of the judge.

The judge fixed me with a cold stare.

"The plaintiff has submitted all evidence. Defendant, you are accused of carrying on multiple extramarital affairs and of illegally profiting through sexual content. Do you have any objections?"

I smiled, perfectly calm.

"Of course I do."

And I produced a set of documents.

The moment Morton saw what was in my hands, his whole body began to tremble.

I looked at him and smiled.

Showtime.