CHAPTER ONE #2
"Every single one. My favorite was when you told her she was better than me. More eager. More appreciative." I let the words hang in the air, poisonous and damning. "I wonder what your mother will think when she reads them. Or my father. Or your precious colleagues."
"You wouldn't—"
"I already have." I held up my phone again. "Forwarded to my lawyer. My father. Your mother. And I'm seriously considering posting them online, just so everyone knows exactly what kind of man Barthalomew Hillson really is."
"Mrs. Hillson." Summit's voice cut through the tension. He stood, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate precision. "Gentlemen, clear the room. Now."
The executives scrambled to obey, gathering their materials and practically running for the door. Within seconds, it was just the three of us: me, Bart, and Summit.
And I could see someone's phone camera pointed through the glass wall from the hallway—Lyndsey Kimmble, one of the junior associates, her eyes wide as she recorded everything.
Perfect.
Summit walked toward us with the measured pace of a man who'd never hurried for anything in his life. He stopped beside me—close enough that I could smell his cologne, expensive and subtle—and looked at Bart with absolute contempt.
"You're fired," Summit said simply.
Bart's face crumpled. "Sir, please—"
"You violated company policy. You created a hostile work environment. You demonstrated catastrophically poor judgment." Summit's voice was clinical, detached. "You're also clearly a liability. Security will escort you out. You have one hour to remove your personal belongings."
"Summit, I've worked here for six years—"
"And you've just destroyed your career in six minutes.
" Summit turned to me, and his expression softened fractionally.
"Mrs. Hillson, I apologize that you had to witness your husband's infidelity in such a public manner.
If there's anything I can do to assist you during this difficult time, please don't hesitate to contact me directly. "
He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine, warm and deliberate, and I felt a jolt of something electric race up my arm.
His eyes held mine for a beat too long. Dark. Intense. Hungry.
Oh.
Oh.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilder," I said softly. "I appreciate your... support."
"It's Summit." His voice dropped, intimate despite Bart's presence. "And the support is genuine. You deserve better than this."
Bart made a choked sound. "Are you fucking serious right now? You're hitting on my wife while you're firing me?"
Summit's smile was razor-sharp. "I'm offering assistance to a woman who's been wronged.
If you're interpreting that as something else, perhaps it's because you recognize that any man with eyes would be interested in someone like her.
" He paused. "Unlike you, however, I have standards. I don't pursue married women."
The implication hung in the air: But she won't be married much longer.
I felt a thrill of dark satisfaction. This was better than I'd planned. Not only was Bart losing his job, his reputation, and his marriage—he was watching another man, a better man, a powerful man, express interest in his wife.
The humiliation was exquisite.
"Karrie, please." Bart's voice cracked. "Don't do this. Think about the kids. Think about our family."
"I am thinking about them. That's why I'm leaving you.
" I stepped closer, letting him see the absolute certainty in my eyes.
"You're going to sign whatever divorce papers my lawyer puts in front of you.
You're going to agree to my custody terms. And you're going to walk away with whatever scraps the prenup allows you—which, by the way, is almost nothing. "
"The prenup—" His face went gray. "No. No, that's not—"
"Infidelity clause. Very clearly stated. You cheat, you lose everything." I tilted my head. "Did you really not read it? Or did you just assume I'd never find out?"
"You can't take everything—"
"I can. I will. The house is mine. The cars are mine. The investment accounts are mine. Even that ridiculous boat you bought is registered in my name." I smiled sweetly. "You'll be lucky if you can afford a studio apartment when I'm done with you."
"Karrie—"
"And the children?" I continued, relentless. "Full custody. You'll get supervised visitation if you're lucky. I have evidence of your infidelity, your poor judgment, your willingness to prioritize your dick over your family. No judge in the world will side with you."
Bart's legs seemed to give out. He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. "You're destroying my life."
"No, Barthalomew. You destroyed your life the moment you decided to fuck Jennifer Drewble.
" I turned toward the door, then paused.
"Oh, and one more thing. That video your coworker is recording through the glass?
The one that's probably already uploading to social media?
That's going to make sure everyone knows exactly what you did.
Your friends. Your family. Every future employer who Googles your name. "
I glanced through the glass wall. Lyndsey was still there, phone raised, her expression gleeful.
"Enjoy your new life," I said. "You've earned it."
I walked out of that conference room with my head high, my spine straight, and my heart pounding with vicious triumph. Behind me, I heard Bart's broken sob, heard Summit's cold voice calling security.
And I felt powerful.
For the first time in years—maybe ever—I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Not the dutiful wife. Not the accommodating partner. Not the woman who made herself smaller to make her husband feel bigger.
I was Karrie fucking Parsters-Hillson, and I had just burned my cheating husband's life to the ground.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside, pressed the button for the lobby, and let myself smile.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Dinner tonight? I meant what I said. You deserve better. —Summit
I stared at the message, my pulse quickening. He'd gotten my number from company records. Bold. Presumptuous.
Absolutely perfect.
I typed back: What time?
His response came immediately: Seven. I'll send a car. Wear something that makes you feel as powerful as you looked in that conference room.
I laughed—a real, genuine laugh that felt like freedom.
Done.
The elevator descended, carrying me away from my old life and toward something new. Something that was entirely mine.
Barthalomew had thought he could have it all. The rich wife. The eager mistress. The successful career.
Instead, he'd lost everything.
And I? I was just getting started.
By the time I got home, the video was already viral.
I sat in my car in the driveway, watching my phone as the view count climbed. Lyndsey had posted it with the caption: "When the wife shows up to the office and ENDS her cheating husband. This is what karma looks like. ??"
The comments were brutal and beautiful:
"She ATE him alive omg"
"The way his boss fired him on the spot I'm SCREAMING"
"'You're better than this' SIR ARE YOU SHOOTING YOUR SHOT"
"She's taking EVERYTHING I love this for her"
"That man is going to be living in his car after this divorce"
"The mistress running out of the room like a roach when the lights come on ??"
Thousands of shares. Tens of thousands of views. By tomorrow, it would be hundreds of thousands.
Bart's face, frozen in humiliation, would be immortalized forever.
I should have felt guilty. Should have felt something other than this dark, glittering satisfaction.
I didn't.
I got out of the car, walked into my house—my house—and kissed my babies. Marlow grabbed my face with his chubby hands, and Danika giggled when I tickled her belly.
"Mama's got you," I whispered to them. "Mama's always going to protect you."
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was my lawyer.
Richard: Saw the video. I'm drafting papers now. He won't fight this. Call me tomorrow.
Then my mother-in-law.
Latisha: I just watched what my son did to you. I'm so sorry, Karrie. I'm on your side. Whatever you need.
Not my father. He'd probably seen the video too, and I could already imagine his disapproval. The Parsters family didn't air their dirty laundry in public. We handled things discreetly, quietly, with dignity.
But I was done with dignity. Done with quiet. Done with making myself smaller.
I was going to be loud. Messy. Unapologetic.
And tonight, I was going to have dinner with a man who looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.
I went upstairs, opened my closet, and pulled out a black dress I'd bought on impulse and never worn. It was elegant and devastating, the kind of dress that demanded attention.
The kind of dress that said: I know exactly what I'm worth.
At 6:55 PM, a sleek black car pulled up to my house. The driver opened the door for me, and I slid into the leather interior, my heart racing with anticipation.
My phone buzzed one last time before I silenced it.
Bart: Please. We need to talk. I'm sorry. I love you.
I deleted the message without responding.
He'd had his chance to love me. He'd chosen Jennifer instead.
Now he could live with the consequences.
The car pulled away from the curb, carrying me toward Summit, toward possibility, toward a future I was going to build on my own terms.
And I'd never felt more alive.