Love's Cruel Contract, His Endless Regret

Alessa POV:

For the next week, I played my part.

I was the devoted, slightly wounded wife, and Lorenzo, believing the crisis was averted, smothered me with affection. He brought me flowers, complimented my cooking, told me how much he needed me. Every lie he told added another layer of ice to my heart, another inch of steel to my spine.

While I smiled and nodded, Zara was working. An encrypted file from her landed on my personal laptop. The subject line was one word: Shepherd.

Inside was everything I needed. Public records, credit reports, and the key to it all: a link to Katia's private TikTok account.

I clicked it. The videos were a nauseating collection of a twenty-something playing dress-up with my life. There she was, preening in the familiar decor of a room at The Atherton. Posing with designer bags I knew had been bought with his money.

In one video, she flaunted a Cartier watch—my watch. The one Lorenzo gave me for our nineteenth anniversary. The caption read: A gift from a man who appreciates me.

In another, she'd filmed a clip from the hotel room, capturing a glimpse of Lorenzo's profile as he looked out the window. The comments from her giggling friends were fawning and idiotic.

But the most damning was a "story time" video. Katia, holding a champagne flute, gloated about how Lorenzo's son was "totally obsessed" with her. Then, she turned her attention to me, mocking the "dutiful, traditional wife" he was stuck with at home.

"She's probably at home organizing his sock drawer right now," Katia laughed, her laugh a cruel, high-pitched sound. "So sheltered and predictable."

A cold, precise rage filled me. It wasn't the hot, messy anger of a scorned wife. It was the focused fury of a queen planning a public execution. I downloaded everything—the videos, the photos, the comments—onto a secure, encrypted drive. There were videos of them at a Blackhawks game he'd claimed was a business meeting, at a Michelin-star restaurant that was supposed to be a client dinner. The lies were endless, and I now had proof of every single one.

That evening, Lorenzo was in his study, reviewing the guest list for the gala. I came up behind him, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, my touch light and affectionate.

"Darling," I said softly. "I was thinking. We should invite Marco's tutor, Ms. Shepherd. She's had such a wonderful influence on him."

He froze for a fraction of a second, his back rigid beneath my hands.

"I don't know, Alessa. It's a professional event."

"Oh, but it's the perfect way to thank her," I cooed, pressing the advantage. "In fact, we should invite her parents, too. And her principal, Mr. Thompson. It shows we're committed to the community, to education. It will look wonderful for you."

He was trapped. Refusing would look suspicious. Agreeing meant walking directly into my crosshairs. I felt the tension in his shoulders as he weighed his options.

Finally, he turned, forcing a tight smile.

"You're right, of course. That's a wonderful idea."

All he saw was a thoughtful, oblivious wife trying to be helpful.

I walked away with a cold smile of my own. The trap was set.

And he had just baited it himself.