Chapter 1 Strangers After Ten Years of Marriage

The scent of red wine on the dining table hit me—not the rich grape aroma I expected, but a metallic iron tang, like old blood.

Today’s my tenth wedding anniversary with Raymond Hale.

On the table sits a diamond ring he gave me—three times bigger than the one from a decade ago.

Raymond puts down his phone, a satisfied smile on his face like he just nailed a tough project. “Honey, you like it? I spent ages on the design.”

That smile, to me, feels like thin plastic—fake, ready to tear any second.

I force a smile back. “It’s gorgeous. But hey—why’d you change your phone lock screen?”

Raymond freezes for a split second, his hand tightening around the phone without thinking. “Oh, that? The university’s doing this anti-fraud thing. They said we should switch lock screens regular.”

“Is that right?” I stand up and head for the study.

I know his lock screen hadn’t changed in ten years—it’s always been that photo of us from our first day in the lab.

Now it’s gone. And with what I found this morning? My heart turned to stone.

I try his new password on his laptop—a mix of my birthday and Emma Carter’s. Bingo, it works.

Raymond’s the golden boy of biomedical research, the youngest associate dean the university’s ever had. In public, he’s this humble, respected professor. People call us the “perfect couple,” but I know it’s all just a mask.

Buried deep in his files, I find an encrypted folder labeled “Plan .”

I punch in his usual decryption key, and it opens right up.

First thing I see? A list of huge asset transfers.

Three properties in my name, plus tens of millions from our joint account—all drained little by little.

Where’d it go? A tiny offshore trust fund. Beneficiaries? Raymond’s mom… and Emma.

Emma. His lab assistant. Barely twenty. The girl I once helped mentor—now, clearly, more than that.

My hands ball into fists, nails digging into my palms, but I don’t feel a thing. My anger isn’t hot—it’s frozen solid. I don’t cry or scream. Instead, I slip on my reading glasses and go through the numbers like I’m reviewing lab data—calm, methodical.

This isn’t just cheating.

This isn’t just a marriage falling apart.

This is a planned financial crime—against me.

I open the next file a draft email to Emma, subject line “Rebirth.”

[Emma, just one more week. Once that old woman signs, we’ll take the money and start fresh in Europe. ]

“Old woman.”

I stare at those words, eerily calm. Not a tear, not a flinch. I stand up fast, then sit right back down.

I’m gonna get even. Not with tears or fights, but by tearing down his little empire—slow, cold, and thorough.

I snap photos of every document, then wipe every trace of me being here.

Raymond pushes open the study door, holding two wineglasses. His voice is smooth, like a knife wrapped in honey “Honey, what’re you looking at? You seem so serious.”

I look up with a smile so perfect it might as well be programmed.

“Just thinking—after ten years, maybe we should use a more secure lock screen, y’know?”

Raymond relaxes, coming over to hug me from behind. That embrace? It’s the dirtiest trap I’ve ever felt.

“Darling, you worry too much. I love you. We don’t keep secrets.”

Staring at his fake face, I think, ‘After ten years of marriage, I have to sneak around like a thief to find his lies. And what I found? A three-million-dollar con.’

I slip a voice recorder into my shirt pocket without him noticing.

As he kisses my hair, I think, ‘That “honey” of his? Worth tens of millions bucks.’

I copy all the evidence onto a USB drive and tuck it into my go-to reagent kit.

My revenge plan isn’t just starting—it’s already rolling.