I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything

My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune. For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me." He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster. He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous. The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.

Chapters

Chapter 7

The suite at the St. Regis was opulent, decorated in shades of cream and gold, but to Victoria, it felt like a cage.

She spent the afternoon organizing her gear. The burner phone buzzed with updates from Mouse, confirming that Julia's medical files were indeed fabricated, but the source of the funding was still obscured behind layers of shell companies.

At 6:00 PM, her personal phone rang. It was Nathaniel.

"I'm downstairs," he said. His voice was tight.

"I'm coming," Victoria replied.

She checked her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a modest, navy blue dress with a high neck. Pearls. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon. It was the "Sterling Wife" costume. Perfect. Boring. Submissive.

She went down to the lobby. Nathaniel was waiting near the concierge desk. He had changed into a fresh suit, but he looked haggard.

When he saw her, he didn't compliment her. He just nodded.

"Grandfather doesn't know yet," Nathaniel said as they walked to the waiting limousine. "About the divorce. Or Julia."

"So we are lying to him?" Victoria asked.

"We are breaking it gently," Nathaniel corrected. "His health is failing. A shock could kill him."

They got into the car. Victoria slid into the back seat, then placed her large purse on the seat next to her, effectively blocking him.

"Sit in the front," she said coolly.

Nathaniel stared at her. "It's a limousine, Victoria. There's plenty of room."

"I prefer the distance," she said.

Nathaniel slammed the door. He walked around and got into the passenger seat next to the driver. The partition window was up.

The drive to the Hamptons took two hours. Victoria used the time to text a contact named "Baxter"—her code name for her handler.

V: Going into the lion's den. Sterling Manor.

B: Don't let the old witch eat you. Need an extraction team?

V: No. I can handle a dinner party.

The car slowed down as it approached the massive iron gates of Sterling Manor. The estate loomed ahead, a sprawling gothic mansion that looked beautiful and oppressive at the same time.

Victoria took a deep breath. She checked her reflection in her compact mirror. The mask was in place.

Showtime.

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