After his first affair, Adam James developed a sudden, violent case of mysophobia. He took no fewer than eight showers a day.

By the ninth, he would scrub until his skin turned raw and bright red, nearly flaying himself alive.

I had rushed over then, wrapping my arms around him.

"Stop washing," I pleaded. "I forgive you. Isn't that enough?"

Adam dropped the showerhead and fell to his knees. He slapped his own face, over and over, the sound echoing off the tiles.

"I'm a fucking bastard," he sobbed. "I've wronged you, Layla."

Tonight, Adam took me to a banquet hosted by a business partner.

I drank too much. Needing air, I stepped outside—only to see him guiding Lola Henson into the backseat of our car.

With trembling hands, I pulled up the in-car surveillance on my phone. Two tangled bodies filled the screen.

My mind went blank. Adam's voice, hoarse with lust, filtered through the speakers.

"Baby, I missed you so much!"

He held her tight, his breath ragged.

"Just to make Layla believe I'd changed, I've been living like a monk for a whole month!"

The words barely left his mouth before they were tearing at each other's clothes.

My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the pavement with a crack. The screen shattered.

So all this time, Adam James had been lying to me.

But it doesn't matter, I thought, a cold calm settling over me. Because I've been lying to him, too.

I picked up the cracked phone and dialed.

"Proceed with the original plan," I said. "I want Adam James left with nothing."

——

I stood in the biting wind for two hours before the car finally stopped rocking.

The door opened. I forced my numb legs forward.

Adam stepped out, satisfied smile in place. His tie was crooked, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

"I went to the third floor to discuss project details with our partner," he said smoothly. "Sleepy? Let's get you home."

He wrapped an arm around my waist like nothing had happened.

But the hickeys blazing red on his neck made my stomach turn.

I shoved him away and stumbled to the roadside, retching. Acid burned my throat as I threw up everything I'd drunk.

Adam patted my back. "Told you to drink less. Now look at you."

The image of his naked body on that screen flashed through my mind. His fake concern was the last straw. I spun around and slapped him hard across the face.

"Adam James, you really know how to put on a show," I spat. "These past few days must have been so hard for you."

He froze, hand rising to his cheek.

"Sneaking into bed with Lola—was it exciting?" I sneered. "Did she serve you well?"

His chest heaved. Panic flickered across his face before anger swallowed it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. "I told you, I was discussing a project!"

He cursed under his breath, called me unreasonable, and turned to leave.

I grabbed his arm, unlocked my shattered phone, and shoved the footage in his face.

"Is this what you call discussing a project?"

The color drained from him. Panic flared in his eyes.

"I'm posting this online," I said, thumb hovering over the upload button. "Let the whole world see how shameless you two are."

I opened social media, ready to broadcast his filth.

Adam's eyes went red. He snatched the phone and shoved me hard.

I hit the ground, the impact jarring my bones.

"Enough!" he roared, face darkening. "Layla Hampton—what man in my circle doesn't have someone on the side?"

He loomed over me, voice dripping venom.

"Why do you have to be so precious about it? Acting like you're dying! So what if I play around?"

"Lola is more sensible than you," he sneered. "More interesting. She actually brings me pleasure."

He jabbed a finger at me, so worked up that spit hit my face.

"And look at you. You don't even wear makeup anymore. You're boring. You don't stir up the slightest interest in me."

Pain shot through my shoulder where I'd landed, but the ache in my chest cut deeper. I thought of the past few months—Adam holding me every night, swearing he'd changed.

No matter where he went, he sent me his location. Shared every mundane detail of his day. Watching him scrub his skin raw, I'd actually believed him.

It was all just cover. In his eyes, I was nothing but a washed-up housewife.

But I used to care about how I looked, too. I only became this way because I spent years running everywhere with him, scraping together everything we had to build this empire from nothing.

He once called me the most beautiful woman in the world. Now that he had power and wealth, I was nothing but a stain on his perfect life.

I forced myself to stand, my gaze burning into him despite the tears blurring my vision.

"Adam, I won't stay with you for another second." My voice trembled, but the resolve behind it was steel. "I want a divorce."

His rage evaporated instantly, replaced by a terrifyingly soft demeanor. He stepped forward and caught me by the waist, pulling me close.

"I was wrong just now," he murmured, low and coaxing. "I got too worked up."

He smoothed my hair, playing the doting husband. "Divorce is serious, Layla. We've been together over a decade. You can't just throw that word around."

I forced a smile, masking the cold hatred taking root in my chest. I let my demeanor soften, mirroring the submissive wife he wanted.

"You're right. We shouldn't end things so easily."

I'll drag him back to the bottom, I thought. He'll taste every ounce of pain he's inflicted on me.

He exhaled, satisfied he'd managed me once again. He ushered me toward the car and shoved me inside.

The interior reeked—the unmistakable, musky scent of sex that hadn't yet faded.

My gaze fell to the passenger seat. Crumpled in the corner lay a pair of torn lace stockings.

Adam followed my gaze. His eyes widened. He snatched the stockings and hurled them out the window, then raised a hand like he was taking an oath.

"I swear, this is the last time." Desperation crept into his tone. "Don't post that video. If it gets out, it'll ruin us both."

I met his gaze and scoffed.

"Are you afraid it'll affect us? Or that it'll destroy Lola?"

He stiffened. Guilt flashed across his face before anger masked it. He turned the key.

"I can't explain right now. Think whatever you want!"

He drove in silence until we reached the overpass. Then a specific ringtone filled the cabin—melodious, unmistakable.

His special tone for Lola.

That ringtone once belonged to me.

He answered immediately. Her voice, shrill and sobbing, echoed through the speakers.

"Adam, I resigned from the company. With something like this exposed, I... I can't go on living!"

Her sobs mixed with howling wind.

"You and your wife should be happy together. I was just an extra in your story—I shouldn't have existed."

Through the windshield, I spotted a figure on the overpass railing. Lola stood at the edge, dress fluttering in the gale like a broken butterfly. Below churned the dark, bottomless sea.

Adam panicked. He checked his phone.

Only then did he see it—a video uploaded minutes ago. The recording from inside the car, exposing their affair to the world.

Veins bulged on his forehead. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

I froze, feigning ignorance. "What's wrong?"

His roar nearly shattered my eardrums.

"I told you I wouldn't do it again! Why are you so relentless?" He turned on me, eyes wild. "What did Lola do wrong? She just made me feel good—do you have to be this vicious?"

He didn't waste another second. He unbuckled, scrambled out, and sprinted toward the bridge's edge.

In the distance, Lola swayed in the wind, looking ready to plummet at any moment. Pitiful. Fragile. A perfect performance.

"Lola! Come down—don't do this!"

His eyes were rimmed red, and for the first time in years, I saw a tear slide down his cheek.

I sat there, stunned.

I remembered accompanying him to a high-stakes negotiation. We were intercepted by kidnappers. To protect him, I took a knife to the gut. As I lay in the ambulance, bleeding out and hovering on the brink of death, his eyes had been red too.

But he never shed a single tear for me.

I clenched my hands, bile rising. The bitterness was suffocating.

He was still running, his voice carrying as he coaxed Lola.

Then the car lurched.

My face went pale. In his rush to save his mistress, Adam had left the engine running, the car in neutral. He hadn't engaged the parking brake.

It began rolling forward, gathering speed toward the gap in the railing.

I stomped the brake. It sank uselessly to the floor.

The brakes had failed.

Terror seized me. I scrambled for my phone, fingers trembling as I dialed him.

Through the windshield, I saw him glance at his screen. He saw my name. With a look of impatience, he declined the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

His heart was filled only with Lola.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I rolled down the window and screamed.

"Adam! Save me! The brakes failed!"

"Adam, save me!"

No matter how loud I screamed, he didn't turn around. He acted as if I didn't exist.

As the car plunged toward the edge, I saw Lola look past his shoulder.

She looked directly at me.

And smirked.

My heart plummeted the instant the car tipped off the bridge.

In those final, suspended seconds, I managed to retrieve the pinhole camera I'd hidden inside the vehicle. Through the window, a singular image burned into my retinas: Adam coaxing Lola down from the ledge, cradling her like a treasure he'd nearly lost.

Then gravity took over. I crashed into the sea, and the bone-piercing cold swallowed me whole.

Consciousness returned in a haze of antiseptic and pain.

A cold hand rested on my forehead. I blinked, my vision clearing to reveal Adam hovering over me. Worry was etched into his features—but the moment our eyes met, it vanished. An icy mask slammed down over his face.

I had foolishly thought the accident might have sparked a flicker of guilt. I was wrong.

He straightened, looking down at me with sneering contempt. "You're lucky to be alive. If I hadn't spotted you, you wouldn't have lasted the night." He shook his head, disgust dripping from every word. "I never expected this from you, Layla. Staging a suicide attempt just to play the victim? You'd really go that far to dodge responsibility?"

His gaze darkened. "You gambled with your life just to spite Lola. Now the internet is tearing her apart. Are you satisfied?"

I stared at him in disbelief, my fingernails digging into my palms until the skin broke. The physical agony radiating through my battered body paled against the sting of his words.

"You think I drove off a bridge for sympathy?" I rasped, throat raw. "You think I did this because you cheated?"

"Stop playing the martyr." Adam's temper flared. "The only victim here is Lola." He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply to suppress his rage. "I'm starting a livestream. You're going to apologize to her. Publicly. Now."

The injustice boiled over, eclipsing the pain. I snatched the phone from the bedside table and hurled it with every ounce of strength I had left.

"I will never apologize!"

The device struck his forehead with a sickening thud. Blood trickled down his temple.

Adam cursed, wiping the blood away. "Fine. Have it your way."

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the room shook.

I curled into a ball, hugging my bruised body as sobs tore through my chest. I cried until my heart felt like it was shredding itself apart.

Before I could even wipe my face, the door burst open again.

Tiffany ran in. My daughter.

But instead of rushing to hug me, she flung the leftover cake she was holding at my face. Cream and crumbs splattered across my cheeks, stinging my eyes.

"You're a bad person! You bullied Aunt Lola!" She screamed, her small face twisted in anger. "I'm never calling you Mom again!"

I looked at her through a blur of tears, heart shattering. "Tiffany..."

Adam followed her in, phone raised, camera already rolling. He supported Lola with his free arm. Her wrist was wrapped in thick bandages—a prop for the drama he was orchestrating.

Tiffany didn't stop. She grabbed whatever she could reach—pillows, cups—and threw them at me while the camera broadcasted everything.

"You did it on purpose! You made a fake video to hurt Aunt Lola! I hate you!"

The viewer count skyrocketed. Tens of millions flooded in. Comments scrolled at a dizzying speed, each one a dagger.

"So the cheating rumors were fake? It was all edited?"

"Even the daughter is saying it. Kids don't lie. Didn't expect someone so weak-looking to be so vicious."

"Mr. James is unlucky to have such a psycho wife. She almost drove an innocent woman to suicide. She deserves to rot in hell!"

"She's insane. Didn't even care about her own life just to frame Lola."

"Divorce her immediately! Lola seems like a saint compared to her. Netizens support the new couple!"

One comment after another branded me a monster.

Adam chuckled darkly and ended the stream. The performance was over.

I gripped the bedsheets, knuckles white, glaring at him. "You are truly despicable."

Lola stepped out from behind Adam. A smug smile curled her lips as she dangled a USB drive between her fingers—the evidence I thought I had saved. She had deliberately uploaded the manipulated video.

Adrenaline surged, momentarily overriding my injuries. Dragging my cast-encased leg, I shoved myself off the bed. I lunged, grabbed a fistful of Lola's hair, and struck her across the face.

"Why are you framing me!"

Lola wailed, burying herself in Adam's chest to play the victim once more. Seeing this, Tiffany rushed forward and shoved me.

"Leave her alone!"

I stumbled back, clutching the nightstand to keep from falling. But before I could steady myself, a stronger force slammed into me.

Adam pushed me. Hard.

I hit the floor with a bone-jarring crash.