Chapter 5
Sara almost refused to meet him. The idea of sitting across from a stranger and admitting that her husband had cheated before the honeymoon sheets had even cooled made her skin prickle with fresh humiliation.
She could still smell Brayden’s cologne in the suite.
His wedding band had left a faint indentation on the pillow beside hers.
Outside, the resort kept pretending this was paradise.
She wanted to lock the door, crawl under the white duvet, and let Abbie destroy everyone on her behalf.
But Brayden had counted on that. Girls like her don’t make scenes. Brooklyn’s voice kept replaying, soft and amused, like a pearl-handled knife sliding between ribs.
Sara changed into a pale blue sundress with thin straps and a square neckline. She brushed her hair until it shone, dabbed concealer beneath her eyes, and added pearl studs because they made her feel like herself. Not strong exactly. Not yet. But assembled.
Abbie watched from the vanity. “You don’t have to look perfect to discuss your husband being a sewer rat.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Sara met her eyes in the mirror. “No. But I’m working on it.”
Abbie’s expression gentled. “Good enough.”
Dominic had suggested the quieter lounge connected to his cousin’s wedding block, away from Brayden’s influencer crowd and the Archmont family’s remaining guests.
The room opened onto a shaded courtyard with white couches, low palms, and a fountain that sounded loud enough to keep conversations private.
He stood when they entered. Sara noticed that immediately. Brayden stood when cameras were watching. Dominic stood because she had walked into the room.
“Mrs. Ellis,” he said, then paused as if he saw the way the name hit her. “Sara.”
Her throat tightened. “Sara is better.”
“Then Sara.”
He gestured to the couch but didn’t sit until she did. Abbie took the chair closest to Sara, angled like a guard dog in designer sandals.
Dominic’s laptop rested closed on the table. His phone was face down. No recording. No curious glances. No hunger for the scandal.
“Abbie said you might be able to help us understand some posts,” Sara said.
“I can try.” Dominic’s voice was calm. “You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to show me.”
Abbie leaned forward. “We want to show you everything.”
Sara gave her a look.
“What?” Abbie said. “I’m the rage department.”
Dominic’s mouth twitched, but his gaze stayed on Sara.
“DoubleBooked looks at public information and user-submitted screenshots. Tags, timestamps, deleted captions if someone saved them, location overlaps, patterns like that. It doesn’t hack accounts.
It doesn’t pull private data. It just organizes what people usually miss when they’re too close to the situation. ”
Too close. Sara folded her hands in her lap. The ring flashed.
“Why even build something like that?” she asked.
Dominic was quiet for a moment. Not evasive. Choosing honesty without making it dramatic.
“In college, my fiancée cheated on me with someone in our friend group. Everyone knew before I did.” His expression didn’t change much, but something in his voice roughened.
“People kept telling me there were signs. Posts. Tags. Jokes I didn’t understand.
I hated the idea that my life had become obvious to everyone but me. ”
Sara looked down at her ring again.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“So am I.” His eyes met hers. “For what it’s worth, loving someone who made promises they don’t keep doesn’t make you stupid.”
Sara looked away fast.
Abbie made a small sound, half approval, half threat. “Dominic. Keep saying things like that, and we might start to like you.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I think.”
Sara shook her head, and opened her phone.
The first screenshot was Brooklyn in the hoodie.
Dominic looked at it without comment. The second was the pool story.
The third, the villa reflection. He didn’t react in any obvious way, but his jaw tightened once when Sara played the saved clip, and Brayden’s reflected body appeared in the glass.
Abbie sent him the welcome party photos, the brunch tags, the deleted story, and the champagne photo from two weeks before.
Dominic uploaded everything into DoubleBooked with quick, efficient movements.
He explained only what mattered, no jargon, no performance.
Public timestamps. Tagged locations. Matching accessories.
Posts that had been deleted after Sara viewed them.
Guest lists cross-referenced with resort event times.
Receipts, arranged into a story. Sara watched her marriage turn into a beautifully curated lie.
“There,” Abbie said, pointing at the screen. “That’s Brayden’s watch.”
Dominic enlarged the champagne photo. A woman’s hand wrapped around a glass. A man’s wrist appeared at the edge of the frame, his fingers resting on a white tablecloth. The watch was silver with a blue face.
Sara knew that watch. She had given it to Brayden after his first major brand milestone. He’d cried when he opened it, then posted an unboxing reel before dinner.
The caption on Brooklyn’s old post read: Some men look better in blue.
It had been posted two weeks before the wedding.
Sara stared until the room blurred. Not the honeymoon.
Not a mistake. Not overwhelmed groom behavior or too much champagne or one terrible morning after the vows.
Two weeks before the wedding, Brooklyn had been with him, close enough to photograph his wrist over champagne.
Close enough to post a private little trophy and trust no one would understand it.
Sara pushed the phone away. Abbie’s hand covered hers instantly. Dominic closed the laptop halfway, giving her the mercy of not looking at the evidence while she tried not to fall apart in front of him.
“I need a minute,” Sara said.
“Take two,” Dominic replied.
No one spoke. Through the courtyard doors, Sara could hear music from another wedding party. Laughter. Glasses clinking. The pretty, ordinary sounds of people celebrating love. Yesterday, those sounds had belonged to her. Now they belonged to someone else. Her phone lit up on the table.
Brayden: Babe, seriously. Where are you? We have the shoot in an hour.
A second message appeared.
Brayden: Don’t make this weird.
Sara stared at the screen. Then she picked up the phone and typed with hands that were steady now.
I won’t.
Abbie’s smile sharpened.
Dominic said nothing, but when Sara looked at him, she saw it clearly. Admiration.
Since Brooklyn’s hoodie, Sara had felt like the foolish bride everyone else had tricked. Now she felt like the only person in the room who finally knew where the knife was buried and how to pull it out.