Ninety-Nine Letters, A Thousand Lies

Aubrey Burris POV:

The chill from last night still clung to me. It wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the icy grip of betrayal. I didn't waste another second. My phone was in my hand. Dialing the number I'd found last night. It connected to a discreet law firm. One I'd researched carefully, known for handling sensitive, high-profile cases.

"Good morning, Ms. Thorne," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Aubrey Burris here. I need to activate the divorce proceedings we discussed. Immediately."

A pause on the other end. "Ms. Burris, are you certain? Just last week, you seemed… hesitant." The lawyer, Ms. Thorne, sounded surprised. And a little skeptical.

"I am beyond certain," I stated. Each word a hammer blow against the lingering fragments of my old life. "There's no turning back now. The situation has… escalated." My voice was flat. Devoid of emotion.

"Very well. We'll get the paperwork ready. What grounds are you proceeding on?" she asked. Her tone now crisp and professional.

"Adultery, emotional abuse, financial manipulation, and identity fraud," I listed calmly. The words felt like a foreign language on my tongue. Yet they were my truth.

Another pause. Longer this time. "Identity fraud, Ms. Burris? That's a significant claim."

"It is," I agreed. "And I have reason to believe Cooper Mcknight has renounced his US citizenship. I need you to verify that. And initiate a full financial audit. Of all his assets. And those of Kennedy Patel."

"Renounced his citizenship?" Ms. Thorne repeated. A new note of urgency in her voice. "That complicates matters significantly. Especially with asset division."

"I don't care about the assets," I said. "I want nothing from him. Just my name back. And justice for what he's done." The lie about not caring about the assets was a small one. A necessary one. My real focus lay elsewhere.

"Understood," she replied. "We'll begin immediately. And the international contract you mentioned? The one with the Olsen Corporation's European branch?"

"It's confirmed," I said. "I'll be leaving the country by the end of the week. I need the divorce papers filed before I go. And I need this entire process to be as quiet as possible for now. No leaks to the press."

"A tall order, given Mr. Mcknight's public profile," Ms. Thorne mused. "But we'll do our best. I'll send you the initial documents shortly. Anything else?"

"Yes," I said. My voice dropping. "I also need you to investigate Kennedy Patel's background. Her supposed family connections. Everything."

"Consider it done, Ms. Burris. We'll be in touch." Ms. Thorne's voice faded. The call ended.

I stared at the phone. My new home, the one Cooper had meticulously curated for Kennedy, felt like a museum. Full of exquisite, soulless objects. Each piece a reminder of her. A sleek, minimalist sculpture stood where my grandmother' s antique rocking chair used to be. The vibrant, eclectic artwork I loved was replaced by stark, monochromatic prints. They echoed the emptiness in my chest.

A notification chimed on my laptop. An email. It was from the Olsen Corporation. A confirmation letter for my new position. Architectural translator, European division. My escape route was solidified.

I began to pack. Not just clothes. But every small item that was undeniably mine. The worn copy of my favorite architectural history book. A small, framed photo of Jonna and me laughing on a beach. The tiny ceramic bird I' d bought on our honeymoon, before the lies became so thick.

My marriage to Cooper wasn't a partnership. It was a gilded cage. A beautifully constructed trap. He had flattered me. Wooed me. Made me believe I was the center of his world. All while using me as a shield. As a stepping stone.

My wedding ring, a diamond as big as my thumbnail, felt heavy on my finger. A symbol of a love that was never real. I pulled it off. It left a pale indentation on my skin. I unwrapped the small velvet pouch I kept in my jewelry box. Inside lay a delicate silver locket. My grandmother's. It was the only piece of jewelry that truly belonged to me. A tangible connection to my own lineage. I slipped the locket on. The cold metal against my skin felt like a promise. A promise of my own truth.

I would leave the ring. A final, silent declaration of divorce from his lies.

A soft hum from downstairs. Cooper was home. And Kennedy. The familiar sound of their laughter drifted up. I froze. My hand hovering over a half-packed box. I crept to the top of the stairs. Peeking through the banister.

Cooper stood in the newly renovated kitchen. He was holding Kennedy close. His hand stroking her hair. Her head rested against his chest. She was wearing my silk robe. The pale blue one I' d worn this morning. The one he' d bought me for Valentine' s Day last year.

"My little architect," he murmured. His voice soft. The same endearment he used to use for me. The same tone of reverence. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. His eyes, usually guarded, were soft, adoring.

My vision blurred. A suffocating wave of jealousy and pain washed over me. I remembered standing in that very kitchen. Months ago. Cooper had been making breakfast. His arms wrapped around me from behind. My head nestled against his shoulder. We'd talked about renovations. About building a life.

He had promised me forever. "Aubrey, you're the only woman for me," he' d whispered into my hair. "My future. My everything." The words, once a comfort, now echoed as a cruel mockery.

I remembered the early days of our relationship. Cooper, the driven tech CEO. Always a little rough around the edges. A self-made man from humble beginnings. He had seemed so vulnerable beneath his ambition. So in need of my quiet strength. My understanding. He had spoken of a past heartbreak. A woman who had left him broken. I had believed I was healing him. Making him whole. Filling the void.

Now I knew. The void was always hers. Kennedy' s.

I remembered when I first met Kennedy years ago. The international scholarship. My design, a soaring, sustainable urban park. Weeks of sleepless nights. Passion pouring onto the blueprints. Then Kennedy' s presentation. Her design. Identical. My world had imploded. I' d seen her then as a cunning rival. A thief. But I hadn't truly seen the depth of her malice. Or the depth of Cooper's complicity.

Cooper, then fresh out of college, working his way up. He had swooped in. "Don't let her win, Aubrey," he' d said. "Fight for what's yours." He' d consoled me. Promised to help me expose her. But he never did. He just… proposed. And I, heartbroken and vulnerable, had accepted. Believing his love was my solace. My redemption.

Kennedy had always been there. A shadow. A whisper. Sometimes a direct insult. Like the time she publicly questioned my "architectural integrity" at a industry gala, knowing full well the plagiarism scandal. Or when she'd "accidentally" spilled red wine on my white dress at a charity event. Cooper had always dismissed it. "She's just jealous, sweetheart. You're far more talented."

He had always put her first. Always. Even when I discovered my original scholarship design had somehow "disappeared" from the competition archives, permanently erasing proof of Kennedy's theft. Cooper had merely shrugged. "Some things are beyond our control, Aubrey. Let it go."

His words now felt like blows. "It' s a shame you lost that scholarship, Aubrey," he' d said once, with a strange glint in his eye. "You could have been so much more." He' d subtly undermined me. Always.

He never loved me. He never even saw me. I was just a placeholder. A convenient shield.

"Sweetheart, you're just standing there," Kennedy's voice, sickly sweet, pierced through my thoughts. "Are you feeling unwell?" She stood next to Cooper, her hand resting delicately on his arm. A look of malicious triumph in her eyes. It was no longer subtle.

Cooper turned. His eyes, cold and distant now, met mine. "Aubrey. What are you doing down here?" His tone was sharp. Accusatory.

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated in my hand. Then again. And again. A rapid-fire succession of notifications. My heart pounded. The familiar dread returned.

I glanced down at the screen. My eyes widened in horror. It was Jonna. Her face, tear-streaked and distorted, stared back at me from a blurred image. A barrage of hateful comments scrolled beneath it. And then, a link. To a website. Filled with Jonna's most private photos. From her college days. Exposed. For the entire world to see.

Cooper had done it.