The Compliant Wife’s Secret Revenge

My husband Julian Caldwell's mistress, Hailey, was making demands again.

He slammed a separation agreement in front of me. "Sign it. This is just a formality, to appease her family for now."

I clutched the hem of my dress, gave a slight nod, and signed. No resistance, no questions.

As I turned to leave, one of his men sneered, "Aria is way too compliant. I bet if you asked her to attend the family meeting to announce the separation, she'd go."

Julian lit a cigar, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Wanna bet?"

To them, I was nothing more than a silent accessory. The girl who would tremble her way through a family meeting but still do exactly as she was told.

Trading one piece of paper for another—a marriage contract for a separation agreement.

I stared at my phone.

The encrypted message I had received earlier: Why don't you just marry me?

I replied: Okay.

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1

A reply appeared almost instantly: ?

I turned off my phone.

The laughter in the room droned on.

"It's a deal then! If Aria is really that obedient, next month's arms shipment is on me!"

"Count me in. Three months of intel," Julian said.

"Done and done!"

Another round of boisterous laughter echoed behind me.

I bolted out the door.

The moment I burst into the sunlight, the tears broke free.

Julian was head over heels for Hailey—a Principessa from a rival family. He'd bought her a lavish mansion in Veridia City, showered her with jewelry from every designer imaginable, and spoiled her rotten.

Yet, she wouldn't even grant him the slightest touch—no intimate hugs, no lingering kisses.

She paraded around like a queen in haute couture gowns, chin held high, as if to declare, "I am not some mistress to be hidden in the shadows."

And Julian? He ate it right up.

This was the third act of his pathetic little drama.

Act One? I was his captive painter. Back then, I didn't even know Hailey existed. I was clinging to him like a devoted, blissful fool, constantly showing him my new sketches.

He posted a social media update. I was glued to my phone screen—waiting, refreshing.

Nothing.

The catch? He’d set the post’s visibility to "Hailey only."

Act Two? Out of nowhere, he destroyed my paintings. Locked me alone in my studio right before my most important gallery preview, leaving me to sob my heart out.

He sent her a photo: See? It's no use. She just can't live without me.

And now? The final act—separation.

My phone buzzed.

Seriously?

Are you serious, Aria Corbin?

I wiped my face, managed a smile, and typed: Yes.

That afternoon, Julian actually drove me to the family lawyer.

He was in an unusually good mood the entire way. "Where should we go for our anniversary trip?"

Three years of marriage. We had grown up together.

"How about Sorafino? Haven't you wanted to paint the sunrise from the sea cliffs there since you were, what, seven?"

He hopped out first, opened the car door for me, and even unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Tsk. Were you crying?" He frowned, wiping under my eye. "I told you, it's just an act. That little wildcat—I'm just waiting for her to lose her patience."

Then something slipped out of his pocket.

A key card to a luxury hotel.

He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose, not even bothering to invent a plausible lie.

He led me inside as if nothing had happened.

It was over quickly.

My selective mutism makes speaking to strangers impossible, but a simple nod was all the confirmation they needed.

The lawyer asked, "Do both parties consent to this separation agreement?"

Julian: "Yes."

Me: Nod.

The lawyer confirmed again.

Julian: "That's right."

Me: Nod.

Signatures.

Stamps.

"The agreement has been filed," the lawyer said. "If there are no objections after one month, the family's marriage alliance will be officially dissolved."

Julian snatched the copy of the document like a trophy.

He didn't even wait until we were out of the building to snap a picture and send it.

Ding.

I received a notification. Of course—it was from Hailey.

A screenshot: the separation agreement. His message: Happy now? Get yourself clean and wait for me tonight.

I clicked on her profile.

Block.

Immediately after, another notification—a flight confirmation for a private jet.