Husband's Obsession Unleashed

The fluorescent lights of the conference room buzzed overhead as I stared at the contract terms for what felt like the hundredth time. Eight hundred million dollars. The biggest deal Russell Industries had ever landed, and it was finally within reach.

I glanced at my watch—2:17 AM. My eyes burned from exhaustion, but I couldn't stop now. Not when we were so close.

"The liability clause needs to be tighter," I murmured, making another notation in the margin. "And the payment terms should favor us more in quarter three."

My team had gone home hours ago, but I stayed, refining every detail. This contract would transform Russell Industries from a promising startup into a major player. And it was my negotiation skills that had brought us here.

"Ember?" The night security guard poked his head in. "Building's almost empty. You should get some rest."

I smiled tightly. "Just finishing up, Mike. Promise."

By 4:30 AM, I had everything perfect. I sent the final draft to our legal team with trembling fingers, then drove home in the pre-dawn darkness, my mind racing with possibilities for the company's future.

Forest's car was in the driveway when I arrived. He was home, but the house was silent. I found him asleep in our bed, not even stirring when I slipped under the covers beside him.

"Forest," I whispered, touching his shoulder. "The Westbrook contract is done. We got everything we wanted."

He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled away from me.

I lay awake until morning light filtered through the curtains, rehearsing how I would tell him about the victory in detail. How this contract would change everything for us.

But when I mentioned it over breakfast, he barely looked up from his phone.

"That's great, Ember. You always come through."

No excitement. No questions about the specifics. Just a dismissive nod before returning to whatever—or whoever—had captured his attention on that screen.

---

The celebration dinner at Meridian Restaurant was in full swing. Crystal glasses clinked, investors laughed, and I smoothed down my navy dress, feeling oddly detached from the festivities.

Forest stood at the head of the room, commanding attention as always.

"Tonight, we celebrate not just a contract, but a new era for Russell Industries," he announced, his voice carrying across the hushed room. "Our success with the Westbrook deal proves that we're ready for the big leagues."

I waited for him to mention my name. To acknowledge the sleepless nights, the strategic thinking, the relationships I'd carefully cultivated with the Westbrook team.

Instead, he continued, "I want to thank my team for their support during this challenging time."

My team. Not me specifically.

After the speech, Forest approached me with a small envelope.

"I got you something," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Inside was a certificate for a massage therapy training program.

"What is this?" I asked, confusion washing over me.

"You've always said you wanted to learn something practical," he replied, his tone condescending. "This way, when the stress of corporate life gets too much, you can help people relax. It's a useful skill."

I stared at him, unable to process what was happening. After securing an $800 million contract, this was my reward? A massage therapy course?

"I don't understand," I said quietly.

"Don't you see?" Forest's voice dropped lower. "This is perfect for you. You've never been the academic type like Callie. This is something you can actually use."

---

Later that night, I sat at our home office desk, reviewing our family finances as I often did before bed. Forest had left his laptop open—unusual for him.

A notification popped up: "Transfer completed: $5,000,000 to Callie Russell."

My heart stopped. Five million dollars? To Callie? For what?

I clicked on the transaction details: "Study abroad program."

Callie was twenty-six years old. She hadn't been in school for years.

Something compelled me to look further. Forest's phone lay on the desk beside his computer, unlocked.

I shouldn't have looked. But I did.

The text message thread between them was open:

Forest: "Can't wait to see you tonight. Ember will be working late again."

Callie: "I miss you already. Send more pictures?"

Attached were photos that made my stomach turn—intimate shots of Callie in lingerie, with Forest's hand visible in some of them.

My hands shook as I scrolled through months of messages. Plans made while I was working. Secrets shared that should have been ours alone.

Without thinking, I took screenshots of everything—the transfer confirmation, the texts, the photos.

Then I opened our family group chat and uploaded them all.

"Since you're so proud of your relationship with your 'sister,'" I typed, "I thought everyone should see it."

I hit send and waited for the storm to begin.