Woke Up to Divorce Papers

The master bedroom held nothing but a king bed.

Minimalist, yeah, but it felt more like a hotel room—cold, empty. The only thing alive in there was a vase of white roses on the nightstand. Weird thing? I had this gut feeling they used to be my favorite.

In the bathroom, the sink was stripped bare. No cleanser, no makeup wipes, not even a towel.

It was like no woman lived here at all.

So I went looking for Aiden.

I knocked on the study door.

"Come in."

Aiden sat behind his desk, computer glow bouncing off his blue-light glasses. Even at this hour, he was still in a suit—tie just barely undone.

"My stuff?" I asked. "Bathroom's empty."

He looked up, face blank. "What stuff?"

"Toiletries. Skincare."

The silence stretched until he pushed back his chair, the scrape loud. At six-two, he filled the whole room.

"How long are you gonna play this amnesia game?" Calm voice, sharp edge.

I didn't answer. Explaining was pointless.

He headed for the door. "Follow me."

I trailed him, careful to keep space between us. He stopped at the guest bath, opened a hidden cabinet.

"You left it here."

The doors swung open and my face went hot.

Past a couple bottles of skincare, the rest was... humiliating. Vibrators in every shade, whips, cuffs, lube, and a stack of graphic books—Conquest of Desire, The Ultimate Guide to Pleasure, 365 Sex Positions, The Hidden Arts of Intimacy.

In the corner, a black leather nurse outfit dangled with a card: [Surprise Night.]

"Th-These..." My voice shook.

"You bought them." He leaned on the frame, face unreadable. "Said you wanted to 'try something different.'"

My hands shook as I picked up a bottle of strawberry lube. The label read: [His favorite?]

My brain short-circuited. I glanced at him and blurted, "So... are we using it tonight?"

Instant regret. The room froze. His pupils tightened, the ice mask cracking, breath rougher.

He moved fast, pinning me to the wall.

"What did you just say?" Low. Dangerous.

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"Don't start." He pressed in, boxing me against the cabinet. "You really think this junk's gonna change my mind?"

His face hovered inches from mine, anger radiating off him.

"These pathetic tricks"—his hands caged me in, breath searing—"only make me sick."

Yet for a split second, I saw it. Want.

Then he spun away, door slamming so hard the frame rattled.

I slid down the wall, eyes locked on the cabinet.

What kind of person had I turned into? Why would I ever buy that stuff?

And if I'd actually cheated... why gamble everything?