Renovation Gone Very Wrong

If you catch your husband cheating before kids come into the picture, count yourself lucky.

No baggage. Just dump the loser and go.

To lock down proof of Daxton's affair and make the divorce airtight, I moved into the half-finished house. Slept right there, surrounded by dust and concrete.

Meanwhile, Daxton kept calling, voice dripping with fake warmth:

"Babe, still working hard? Don't forget to take care of yourself, okay? I worry about you."

"What time is it in your city? Dark there yet? It's still light here."

"When you coming back, babe? I miss you so much."

Every word made me wanna puke up last night's leftovers.

While he played the doting husband, Mona—drunk on power—strolled into the house with a posse of glammed-up girls.

"Check it out! This is gonna be me and Daxton's future home!"

Wiring covered the floor, tools everywhere—but that didn't stop them. They strutted through in stilettos, chatting like they owned the place.

"Mona, you're killing it. Daxton's totally obsessed with you."

"His wife's never around. Serves her right, getting swapped out. You guys've been together what, two years?"

"If she knew he was picturing you on their wedding day, she'd probably drop dead."

Mona curled her lip, full sneer. "That old hag? She's just some grunt worker. No clue how to treat a man. No taste, dresses like a farmhand, and looks rough."

I crouched in the corner, recording every word.

Mona kept going. "She actually wanted to stick some ugly industrial metal lights in here. Who does that? Chunks of iron on the wall?"

She pointed at the chandelier now hanging in the center of the room, smug as ever.

"Good thing I swapped it for this beauty. Who knows how she would've trashed the place. Oh—and this chandelier? A hundred grand."

I couldn't help but laugh.

I'd spent six, maybe seven years saving up to buy this place in full. Paid for every inch of the reno myself.

Daxton barely owned a sliver—Mona owned nothing. And now the side chick was out here bragging like the deed had her name on it? Wild.

"Whoa, $100,000? I've never even seen a hundred-grand light before."

"Mona, turn it on! We wanna see the sparkle!"

"Yeah, flip the switch!"

The head electrician rushed over, looking panicked. "No can do. It's on a temp line. Totally unstable—turning it on now's asking for trouble."

Mona's smile dropped. She snapped, "It cost a hundred grand. What danger? I'm the lead designer. I said turn it on!"

Then she spun and yanked me over like a rag doll.

Shoved me right under the chandelier.

"You! Stand right there," she sneered, smile dripping venom. "Didn't wanna follow orders? Thought you could mouth off? Since you're the supervisor, go on—stand there and tell me which angle the lighting looks best from."