I had already grown used to the whispers in the night—the giggles, the clinking glasses, the muffled sounds of bodies colliding like strangers in a dark room.
Henry didn't even bother to hide it anymore. He had turned the mansion into a revolving door of lust and ego, parading his women right under my nose, knowing I couldn't do anything. Or so he thought.
But tonight is different.
It started with laughter—familiar, like a haunting melody from a memory I hadn't revisited in years. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I was projecting my bitterness onto the faceless women he brought home.
Maybe I wanted it to be someone I knew—someone I could hate more than Henry.
But then I heard it again.
"Henry, you haven't changed at all," the voice said, half-laughing, half-breathless. "Still so reckless."
It wasn't just familiar. It was intimate. Close. Like the sting of a betrayal I'd once buried deep.
I froze.
No.
It couldn't be.
Not her.
I turned my iPad on and adjusted the camera's position. I angled it toward the door, just as the figures passed down the hallway. I caught a glimpse of a black dress and a woman's long hair trailing behind her like a veil.
She paused near my door for a second—just a second—and I saw her profile.
Evelyn? No, no way.
My ex-best friend?
The same woman who had stood beside me at my wedding. The one who helped me pick out my dress. The one who held my hand through the worst nights of my early marriage to Henry.
And now she is here.
With him?
In my house?
My fingers trembled as I saved the video file.
This wasn't just another woman. This was personal. Strategic. Intentional.
Evelyn knew I lived here. She knew what Henry had done to me. And yet, here she is—laughing in the arms of the man who had discarded me like spoiled milk.
The silence in my room felt suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a stone. My vision blurred, not from tears, but from the overwhelming weight of fury. For the first time in weeks, I wanted to scream.
But I didn't.
I sat there in the dark, letting the flames of betrayal build into something stronger. Sharper. Something useful.
---
There was no any signs of peace in my heart.
I waited until I heard Henry's bedroom door open. The sound of casual footsteps. The chime of a phone. Evelyn's light voice echoing behind him—still here. Still shameless.
I didn't care anymore.
I wheeled myself out of the room, down the hall, and into the main lounge where he was sitting on the leather couch, scrolling through his phone with a cup of coffee like it was just another Tuesday.
Evelyn was perched on the armrest beside him, wearing one of his shirts. She smirked when she saw me, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like I was a housecat that had wandered out of its designated corner.
"Look who's up," she said, mockingly sweet.
Henry didn't even look at me. His eyes remained on his screen.
I tapped on my iPad with unhurried fingers.
"We need to talk."
Nothing. Not a glance. Not a word.
I rolled forward, stopping just a few feet away from them.
"You brought her here?"
Evelyn laughed under her breath. "Oh please, Sophia. Don't be dramatic. It's not like you two were ever real friends. You just liked having someone you could feel superior to."
I stared at her. My silence wasn't weakness. It was calculation. I was reading her, memorizing every expression, every flicker of guilt hidden behind her smug performance.
But Henry… he still hadn't acknowledged me.
I turned the screen to him.
"I know everything. I recorded everything. You think I won't expose you?"
Finally, he looked up. But his eyes were cold. Dismissive.
"Then do it," he said calmly, sipping his coffee. "Post whatever you want. You think anyone's going to care? You're just the broken wife with a vendetta. You don't have power. You have pity."
My fingers twitched over the keyboard.
"You think that makes you untouchable?"
"I know it does," he said. "You're bluffing. You've always been weak. All talk. That's why you stayed even after you knew who I really was. Because deep down, you need me."
Evelyn chimed in, smug. "He's right. You love playing the victim. Honestly, it's exhausting."
I should've cried. Should've screamed. But I didn't.
Instead, I hit a button on the iPad and watched their faces change.
The television behind them flickered to life.
It was synced to the app on my iPad. A folder titled "Confession Recordings" appeared on screen.
Then, video clips began to play—one after the other.
Henry drunkenly slurring insults. Calling me a burden. Mocking me to one of the women he brought in. The night he told me he wished I had died. Each word crisp. Each image damning.
Henry's jaw tightened.
Evelyn paled.
"I don't just have proof," I typed. "I've already sent it. To the press. To my lawyer. To everyone who matters."
Henry stood abruptly. "You think this is a game? You want to embarrass me? Fine. But you won't win."
I looked at him square in the eyes for the first.
"You already lost."
Then I turned to Evelyn.
"You always wanted my life. Now you can have it—burning and crumbling."
---
I returned to my room without another word, letting them stew in the storm they created.
Back inside, I sat by the window, watching the sky shift.
The house felt different now. Not because it had changed, but because I had.
Henry's threats didn't scare me anymore. His silence didn't suffocate me. I had taken the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation—and I had weaponized it.
Later that afternoon, my lawyer called.
"The media outlets are biting," he said. "Three major blogs want exclusive interviews. And Henry's PR team is panicking."
I typed quickly.
"Good. Tell them I'll speak when the divorce is finalized."
There was a pause.
"And if he doesn't sign?"
"Then I keep releasing more. I have weeks' worth of footage. Let him drown."
My lawyer chuckled softly. "You're not what I expected, Sophia."
"No one ever is. Until it's too late."
---
That night, there were no giggles in the hallway. No perfume lingering in the air. No Evelyn.
Henry didn't bring anyone home.
For the first time, he was the one who couldn't sleep.
And I? I closed my eyes peacefully.
Because I wasn't done yet.
This is just the beginning.