Welcome to cheating all the time.

I am lady truth.

This affair goes wild.

Let's get started.

When Jackson discovered his wife's affair, he could have confronted them immediately.

Instead, he spent months orchestrating their complete destruction while pretending to know nothing.

After his wife, Willow and her CEO lover Roman, drunkenly called him a joke during their affair in Reno, this its specialist used his skills to gather evidence that would send one to federal prison and leave the other serving drinks in the very city where their affair began.

What started as a betrayal in their marital bed ended with Roman behind bars for embezzlement and Willow penniless, while Jackson rebuilt his life with someone who actually deserved his love.

This is the story of how a man they dismissed as boring became the architect of their downfall, proving that sometimes the best revenge isn't just living well, it's making sure your enemies can't.

Before we begin, let me know where your tuning in from down in the comments.

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The Las Vegas sun beat down mercilessly that June afternoon in twenty twelve, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirage.

As I pulled into our driveway on Desert Rose Lane, our two story stucco house stood proudly against the backdrop of red rock mountains, its terra cotta roof tiles glowing like embers in the heat.

Ten years of marriage, and I still felt that little surge of pride seeing our home, the American dream carved out of desert sand and sweat.

Hey, Babe, your home.

Arily Willow's voice floated from the kitchen as I stepped inside, the blessed ac washing over me like salvation.

She appeared in the doorway, all five foot seven of her, wearing that yellow sun dress I'd bought her last anniversary.

Her auburn hair was pulled back in a messy bonn, a few strands framing her heart shaped face.

At thirty four, my wife still turned heads wherever she went.

Something she was acutely aware of.

Client canceled, I said, setting my laptop bag on the marble counter.

Wheat spurged on last year.

Thought I'd surprise you for just a second, maybe less.

Something flickered across her green eyes fear annoyance.

But then she smiled that thousand wat smile that had knocked me sideways at a tech conference all those years ago.

Perfect timing.

I was just making sangria for Ruby's Thing tonight.

Ruby's Thing my sister's monthly dinner party, where she tested new recipes on us guinea pigs before adding them to her restaurant menu.

Willow usually found excuses to skip them.

You're actually coming.

I couldn't hide my surprise.

Of course, why wouldn't I.

She turned back to the cutting board, slicing oranges with practiced precision.

Besides, Roman might stop by.

Ruby invited some potential investors.

Roman Blackwood, her boss at Blackwood Enterprises, where she'd worked her way up from junior marketing associate to senior manager in just three years, the man who transformed their marketing department into a dynamic powerhouse, according to the company newsletter.

Willow had proudly shown me last month.

That's great, I said, though something in my gut twisted like a knife.

The thing about perfect delusions is they require perfect lighting.

Change the angle, adjust the shadows, and Suddenly you see all the cracks you'd been blind to before.

Three weeks earlier, Willow had started working late, not just once or twice every Tuesday and Thursday, like clockwork, a big campaign for the win account, she'd explained, pecking my cheek as she grabbed her keys at seven p m.

Sharp.

Then came the new purchases.

A coach purse here laubout in heels.

Their year end bonus, She'd said, twirling in front of our bedroom mirror.

But Blackwood Enterprises didn't give midyear bonuses.

I knew, because I'd set up their peril system two years ago.

And the phone calls, God, the phone calls.

Just last night, I'd woken at two a m.

To find her side of the bed empty.

Through the crack under the bathroom door, I could hear her whispering, her voice soft and intimate in a way it hadn't been with me in months.

Who was that, I'd asked when she slipped back under the covers.

Layelah, she's having man troubles again, Layelah Foster, her supposed best friend, who I'd met exactly twice in the past year.

Funny how Layelah's man troubles always seemed to strike after midnight.

The Sangrea pitcher clinked as Willow set it in the fridge.

You should shower before we go.

You smell like that server room.

I did smell like the server room, a mixture of electronics and industrial cooling that clung to you like a second skin.

It was the smell of honest work, of solving problems and building something from nothing.

But lately, when Willow wrinkled her nose at it, I felt like I was somehow failing her Jackson.

She was staring at me.

Head tilted you okay, yeah, just tired.

Well, perk up to night's important.

Romans considering opening a West Coast office, and he values my input on location scouting.

Roman values her input.

Roman thinks she has potential Roman Roman Roman.

I headed upstairs to our master bedroom, pausing at the doorway.

The California King bed we bought together, sat, perfectly made, throw pillows arranged just so.

The walls were painted accessible beige, Willow's choice.

Naturally, everything in this room was her choice, from the mirrored closet doors to the abstract art that supposedly opened up the space.

When had I stopped having opinions about our life.

My phone buzzed Thomas Mitchell, my colleague and probably the only real friend I had left still on for tomorrow's security audit.

YEA nine zero zero a M sharp cool bt W.

I saw your wife's car at the Balaguo Valet last Tuesday.

Fancy meeting.

My throat went dry.

Last Tuesday, Willow had been at a team building workshop in Henderson, or so she'd said.

Must have been some one else's car.

Maybe same license plate, though Willow one pretty distinctive.

I stared at the message until the words blurred.

There.

It was the first crack in the perfect delusion, spreading like a spiderweb across glass.

The shower water scalded my skin, but I barely felt it.

My mind was racing connecting dots.

I'd been deliberately ignoring the new lingerie hidden in her drawer, the gym membership she never used but paid for real religiously, the way she'd started sleeping on her side, facing away from me, like my presence was something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

Jackson, we're going to be late.

Willow's voice cut through my thoughts.

I shut off the water and stared at myself in the fogged mirror.

Thirty six years old, reasonably fit despite the desk job, still had most of my hair, even if it was going silver at the Temple's.

I wasn't George Clooney, but I wasn't exactly Quasimoto either, So when had my wife started looking at me like I was something stuck to her shoe.

Ruby's house in Summerlin was packed when we arrived.

The smell of her famous carnitas filled the air, mixing with laughter and the clink of glasses.

My sister had inherited our mother's gift for hospitality and our father's business sense, a combination that had made Desert Rose Gantina one of Vegas's hottest restaurants.

Jackie Ruby engulfed meat in a hug, using my childhood nickname and Willow, you actually made it.

If Willow caught the slight edge in Ruby's voice, she didn't show it, wouldn't miss it for the world.

That's when I saw him.

Roman Blackwood stood near the Firepase Holding court with a group of investors.

Six foot two, salt and pepper beard, trimmed to perfection, wearing a tom Ford suit that probably cost more than I made in a month.

He looked like he'd stepped out of a men's magazine, the kind that taught you how to order whiskey and seduce women in foreign languages.

His eyes found Willow immediately.

The look that passed between them lasted maybe two seconds, but it might as well have been a neon sign raw, hungry, intimate, the kind of look that comes after, not before Roman.

Willow's voice pitched higher, girlish, almost I didn't know you were here yet yet not I didn't know you'd be here, but yet, like his presence was inevitable, just a matter of timing.

He crossed the room in three strides, his hand finding the small of her back with practiced ease, Willow stunning as always, She blushed.

My wife, who hadn't blushed at my compliments in two years, turned pink as a teenager at her boss's words.

And you must be Jackson.

Roman extended his hand, getting my name wrong with what felt like deliberate casualness.

Jackson, I corrected, gripping his hand harder than necessary.

Of course, Willows mentioned you, His tone suggested she hadn't mentioned much.

Something with computers, network security, I'm a senior consultant at Secure Net Solutions.

The single syllable carried so much dismissal it might as well have been a door slamming important work.

I'm sure.

Then he turned back to Willow, and I ceased to exist.

They talked about the wind campaign, about market penetration and brand visibility, their heads bent and close together.

Every few sentences, Roman would touch her her arm, her shoulder, the back of her hand, small touches that looked professional but felt anything but you.

Seeing this, Rubia appeared at my elbow, pressing a beer into my hand.

Seeing what, she gave me the look she perfected when we were kids, the one that said, don't bullshit me, Jackie.

How long has this been going on?

I don't know what you're talking about, but I did no deep down in that primitive part of your brain that recognizes danger before your conscious mind catches up.

I knew my wife was sleeping with her boss.

The perfect delusion was shattering, and I was standing in the wreckage, holding a beer and pretending everything was fine.

Across the room, Willow laughed at something Roman said, her hand briefly touching his chest.

The gesture was so natural so comfortable.

It spoke of muscle memory.

How many times had she touched him like that?

And how many hotel rooms, empty offices, borrowed beds.

The beer turned to acid in my stomach.

This was how it started, Not with screaming matches or dramatic confrontations, but with a laugh that used to be mine, a touch that had found a new home, and the quiet realization that I had already lost something I thought was mine to keep.

The perfect delusion was over.

Now came the hard part, deciding what to do with the ugly truth underneath.

The week after Ruby's party, I became a detective in my own marriage.

It started small.

I'd check Willow's location on Find my iPhone while she was supposedly at work, watching the little dot that represented my wife move around the city.

Most days, she was exactly where she said she'd be.

The gleaming black would Enterprise's tower on Las Vegas Boulevard, but Thursdays were different.

Every Thursday, at two p m.

That dot would travel to the Four Seasons, where it would remain stationed for exactly two hours before returning to the office.

Long lunch meetings, she'd explain over dinner, picking at her salad.

Roman likes to wind and dined potential clients.

Roman always Roman.

Thomas helped me install monitoring software on our home network.

Nothing illegal, just tracking Internet traffic on devices connected to our WiFi.

It was Thursday night and Willow was in the shower after another late meeting.

The program ran its diagnostic lines of code scrolling across my laptop screen like digital tea leaves.

Find anything interesting, Thomas asked over the phone.

I'd put him on speaker while I worked.

She's got a second email account, Willow Rose eighty five at gmail dot com.

Could be nothing.

Everyone has multiple emails these days, Yeah, except this one only exchanges messages with one address, Robert Blackwood at private dot com.

Silence on the other end, Then Jack's man, I'm sorry, don't be sorry yet.

I haven't read them, but I would later.

After Willow fell asleep wearing the new lap parl lingerie she thought I hadn't noticed.

I sat in my home office with a bottle of Jameson and opened Pandora's box.

From RB Blackwood at private dot com to Willow Rose eighty five at gmail dot com, subject last night, can't stop thinking about you in that red dress or out of it?

When can I see you again?

Jay is working late Thursday, usual place?

Jay?

That was me reduced to an initial, an obstacle to work around.

From Willow Rose eight five at gmail dot com to RB dot Blackwood at private dot com.

Sub victory last night Thursday works.

God, I need you this morning, he tried to be romantic.

Made breakfast.

I wanted to scream, how did I waste ten years yours?

The jamison burned less than those words.

Friday morning came like a hangover, harsh and unforgiving.

Willow hummed in the kitchen, making coffee in the espresso machine.

She'd insisted we needed dollar five hundred for coffee that tasted like burnt ambition.

Sleep well, she asked, not looking up from her phone like a baby.

You were up late.

I heard you in your office.

Security breach at a client's site had to remote in.

She made a sympathetic noise, but her fingers never stopped moving across her screen, texting him, probably making plans to fuck in whatever hotel room he'd booked for their next rendezvous.

I might go shopping tomorrow, she said.

Nordstrom's having a sale.

We just paid off your credit card.

Her fingers paused, it's my money to Jackson, I work.

I know you work.

You never let me forget it.

The words came out sharper than intended.

Willow looked up, really looked at me for the first time in weeks.

What's that supposed to mean?

Nothing?

Buy whatever you want?

She studied me, those green eyes narrowing slightly.

For a moment, I thought she might push, might actually engage in a real conversation.

But then her phone buzzed and I lost her again.

I have to go early meeting.

She grabbed her Michael Core's bag, another recent purchase, and headed for the door.

Don't wait up tonight team dinner.

After she left, I called in sick to work.

Mike, my supervisor, sounded concerned.

You never take sick days.

Everything okay, just need a mental health day.

Fair enough, see you Monday.

I spent the morning following digital breadcrumbs.

Willow's credit card statements showed charges at places she'd never mentioned.

The Chandlier bar at the Cosmopolitan, dinner at Le Cirque, dollar one thousand charge et agent provocateur.

That definitely wasn't for my benefit, but it was the parking garage receipts that really told the story.

The Mandarin Oriental Area four seasons all time, stamped during her supposed client meetings or team building exercises.

My phone rang Zane Cooper, my best friend since college and a private investigator who specialized in cheating spouses.

Funny how life prepares you for moments you never see coming.

Jack's still on for poker next week?

Actually, see, I need to talk to you professionally.

The pause told me hein understood immediately.

Shit, willow ye, how sure are you about ninety percent?

You want the other ten?

Did I?

Once you had proof, there was no going back, no more pretending, no mar Maybe it's all in my head, just the cold, hard truth and whatever came after.

Yeah, I need to know.

Email me what you have.

I'll take care of the rest.

That afternoon, I drove to Ruby's restaurant.

The lunch rush was winding down and she was behind the bar, polishing glasses with the focused intensity she brought to everything.

Jackie, She smiled, but it faded when she saw my face.

Oh no, what did she do?

Why do you assume she did something?

Because you look like someone shot your dog and we haven't had a dog since Buster died in zero three, I laughed.

Despite everything, Ruby always could do that, find the funny in the funeral.

I think she's having an affair with Roman.

It wasn't a question.

You knew.

She set down the glass carefully.

I suspected the way they were at my party, Jackie, I'm so sorry.

Don't be sorry yet.

Maybe I'm wrong.

You're never wrong about patterns.

It's what makes you good at your job, seeing connections other people miss.

She was right.

I'd built a career on recognizing when systems were compromised, when firewalls had been breached, But somehow I'd missed the breach in my own home.

What are you going to do?

I don't know.

Gather evidence, figure out my options.

Ruby reached across the bar and squeezed my hand.

Whatever you need, I'm here, money, alibi, help, hiding a body.

Jesus, Ruby, I'm just saying that bitch hurts my baby brother.

She's going to need a new face.

That night, Willow came home at eleven p m.

Smelling like wine and men's cologne, not my cologne, something expensive and woody, with notes of Bergamott and entitlement.

How was the team dinner, I asked from the couch, not looking up from my laptop.

Fine, boring, You know how these things are.

Where do you go that new place in town square revo?

I checked Ryos reservation system an hour ago.

No booking under Blackwood enterprises, no large party reservations at all.

Sounds nice.

She was already heading upstairs, shedding clothes as she went.

I'm exhausted, going to shower and crash.

The shower ran for twenty minutes.

When she finally came to bed, she stayed on her side, a continent of cold sheets between us.

I lay there in the dark, listening to her breathe, wondering when she'd become a stranger.

My phone vibrated on the night's end, email from Zaane, got what you need?

Can you meet tomorrow?

Bring whiskey, You're going to need it.

The first crack had become a cannon, and tomorrow I'd find out just how deep it went.

Saturday morning arrived, wrapped in desert heat and dread.

Willow left early for her shopping trip, kissing my cheek with lips that felt like a stranger's.

The moment her car disappeared around the corner, I was in mine heading to Zaane's office in a strip mall off Sahara.

Zane Cooper looked like a cop hood gun private and never looked back.

Thick shoulders, permanent five zero zero shadow eyes that had seen too much of humanity's worst impulses.

His office reflected that sensibility, functional furniture, not nonsense decor, and a bottle of bullet bourbon in the bottom drawer for cases like mine.

You sure you want to see this?

He had a Manila folder on his desk, thick with photographs and documents.

Just show me.

He poured two glasses of bourbon at ten a m.

Because some conversations required liquid courage, and opened the folder.

The first photo knocked the wind out of me.

Willow and Roman at the Pepper Mill Resort in Reno, standing at the check in desk.

She was laughing, her hand on his chest while he signed the register.

The Times damp showed Tuesday two forty seven p m.

When she was supposedly at a marketing conference in Henderson.

There's more.

Photo after photo a sly shoe of betrayal.

Willow and Roman at dinner, her foot clearly rubbing against his leg under the table, the two of them by the pool, her in a bikini.

I'd never seen his hands on her waist.

Entering a hotel room together, the door closing behind them.

How long my voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from somewhere else.

Based on the evidence.

At least three months, maybe longer three months, twelve weeks, ninety days of lies, each one a small death of the marriage I thought we had.

There's something else.

Zane pulled out a different set of documents.

I did some digging on Roman Blackwood.

Guy's got a pattern.

This is his third workplace affair that I could document.

His ex wife, Genevieve, divorced him two years ago for the same thing, fucking his assistant.

Does Willow know?

Does it matter?

She's not his first mistress Jack's, she won't be his last.

I stared at the photos until they blurred.

Part of me had hoped I was wrong, that my paranoia was just that paranoia.

But here was the truth, in glossy eight x ten clarity.

My wife was fucking her boss, and I was the last to know.

What else.

Credit check shows she opened accounts.

You don't know about three credit cards, total debt around fifteen grand all charges are hotels, restaurants, lingerie stores.

She's also been moving money from your joint savings.

Small amounts, but it adds up about twenty grand so far, dullar twenty thousand.

She's planning something, Jacks.

This isn't just an affair.

She's setting up an exit strategy.

The bourbon turned to battery acid in my stomach.

While I'd been trying to save our marriage, she'd been planning its demolition.

My phone rang Willow's ringtone perfect by Ed Sheeran because the universe had a sick sense of humor.

Hey babe, her voice was bright, casual.

I'm at Nordstrom.

They have amazing deals.

Mind if I splurge a little.

I looked at the photo of her and Roman entering the hotel room.

Go ahead, live short, You're the best, love you.

The lie came so easily to her.

Three words that used to mean everything now just noise to fill the silence.

I need everything, I told Zayane after she hung up, every photo, every receipt, every piece of evidence, and I need you to keep watching them.

You're going to divorce her.

I'm going to destroy them both.

Zayne raised his glass.

Now you're talking.

I spent the rest of the day at Thomas's apartment setting up what he called surveillance architecture.

Nothing illegal, just comprehensive monitoring of all our shared devices and accounts.

You could just confront her, Thomas suggested, fingers flying across his keyboard, with what pictures she'll cry, say it was a mistake, Promise to end it.

Maybe she will for a month or two.

Then they'll be right back at it, except now they'll be more careful.

So what's the plan.

I'm going to let them think they are safe, let them get comfortable, sloppy.

Then when they least expect it, I made a throat cutting gesture.

Damn, Jacks, didn't know you had it in you.

Neither did I.

But betrayal has a way of revealing parts of yourself you didn't know existed.

That night, I was setting the table for dinner when my phone rang unknown number, But something made me answer Hello, breathing then slurred.

Is this is this Jackson?

Who is this?

The husband?

A man's laugh, ugly and drunk, The poor bastard whose wife I'm fucking?

My blood turned to ice Roman Bingo give the man a prize, though, really, what prize could compare to Willow Christ the things that woman can do with her mouth.

Why are you calling me?

Because I'm drunk and she's in the shower, and I thought you should know what a joke you are.

A joke, that's what she calls you.

Her joke of a husband says, you're about as exciting as watching paint dry.

No ambition, no passion, just some ighty drone who thinks missionary position is adventurous.

Each word was a nail in the coffin of my marriage.

Still there, joke, man, I'm here good because I want you to understand something.

She's mine now, has been for months.

Every Thursday, when she tells you she's working late, she's in my bed ev'ry business trip where fucking in hotels you could never afford.

She's already picked out her engagement ring, just waiting for the right time to leave your pathetic ass?

Is that right?

That your ass?

It is?

So do yourself a favor.

Let her go.

Make it easy, because one way or another, she's gone.

The only question is whether you keep some dignity or lose everything?

Are you done?

Am I what I asked?

If you're done?

Because I want to make sure you remember this conversation, every word of it.

What's that supposed to mean?

You'll find out?

I hung up.

My hands were shaking, but not from fear or sadness.

This was rage, pure and crystallized.

Willow came home an hour later, shopping, bags in hand, lies on her lips.

I watched her perform the pantomime of marriage, showing me her purchases, asking about my day, pretending to care about the answers.

You okay, she asked, over dinner.

You seem quiet just thinking about work.

You work too hard.

Maybe we should take a vacation somewhere romantic rekindle things rekindle like our marriage was a camp fire that just needed another log, not a house that had already burned to the foundation.

Where were you thinking?

I don't know, Reno's nice this time of year, I almost laughed.

She wanted to take me to the city where she'd been fucking Roman, probably to the same hotel, maybe even the same room.

The cruelty of it was almost impressive.

Reno sounds perfect, she smiled, reached across the table to squeeze my hand.

Her touch felt like betrayal itself, warm and poisonous.

Later, as she slept beside me, I lay awake planning.

Roman thought I was a joke.

Willow thought I was oblivious.

They both thought they'd won.

They had no idea what was coming.

The bitter truth was out now, festering in the open air of my consciousness.

But truth without action is just pain without purpose.

And I was done being purposeless.

Tomorrow I'd start building my revenge, break by careful brick.

They wanted to play games, fine, but I d be the one writing the rules.

Sunday arrived with all the warmth of a Morgue freezer.

I woke to find Willow's side of the bed empty.

The sheets coled through the bedroom window.

I could see her in the back yard, phone pressed to her ear, pacing the length of our pool.

Even from here, I could read her body language, the way she twirled her hair when she was happy, the little bounce in her step she was talking to him.

I made coffee and watched my wife plan her escape from our marriage ten years together, and she moved through our spacelike she was already gone, her mind furnished with new rooms, new possibilities that didn't include me.

When she came inside, her face was flushed with excitement.

Good morning, to bright, to cheerful for someone who'd been up since dawn morning.

Important call, just mom.

She's thinking about visiting next month.

Her mother lived in Boston and hadn't visited in two years.

The lies came so easily now she didn't even blink.

That's nice.

Tell her we'd love to have her.

Wee.

The word hung between us like a blade.

Yeah, why is there a problem?

No, no problem, But she wouldn't meet my eyes.

I'm going to hit the gym another lie.

Her jim bag hadn't moved from the closet in three weeks, but I knew where she was really going.

Roman had a penthouse gym in his building, saying had followed her there twice already.

After she left, I sat in my home office, staring at our wedding photo Vegas Chapel, both of us laughing at the Elvis impersonator who'd married us.

We've been so young, so convinced that love conquered all.

My phone buzzed E mail from Sadie Chen, the divorce attorney Zayane had recommended.

Mister mailer, I've reviewed the materials you sent.

You have grounds for an default divorce based on adultery.

Nevada's community property laws typically favor fifty slash fifty asset division, but the financial deception and dissipation of marital assets could work in your favor.

We should meet soon to discuss strategy.

Best Sadie chen esque strategy like this was a war.

Maybe it was Ruby called while I was reviewing bank statements, Sunday dinner.

You're coming.

I don't think, not a request, baby brother.

You need to eat and you need family.

Family.

The word felt like a life raft in a storm.

Ruby's house smelled like home, green chili stew on the stove, fresh tortillas on the griddle.

She took one look at me and pulled me into a hug.

You look like hell.

Thanks really needed to hear that.

When's the last time you ate actual food?

I couldn't remember.

The past few days were a blur of bourbon and betrayal.

Sit she commanded, pushing me toward the kitchen table.

Talk So I did.

I told her everything, the emails, the photos, Roman's drunk phone call.

With each word, Ruby's face grew darker.

That fucking bitch, Ruby, no Jackie, no defending her.

She's been lying to your face for months, stealing your money, planning to leave you for that sleeves.

She doesn't deserve your protection.

I'm not protecting her.

I'm just processing, processed faster.

You need to act before she cleans you out completely.

I'm working on it.

Work harder, she said.

A bowl of stew in front of me and eat.

You're going to need your strength for what's coming.

The stew was perfect, spicy enough to wake me up, warm enough to comfort.

For the first time in days, I felt human.

What would Dad have done, i asked, Ruby smiled sadly, Dad would have burned it all down and salted the earth.

But Dad also died of a heart attack at fifty two, so maybe don't follow his playbook exactly.

And Mom.

Mom would have been smarter.

She would have gathered her evidence, protected her assets, and made sure everyone knew exactly what kind of person they were dealing with.

Ruby squeezed my hand, be like Mom.

That evening, I came home to find Willow cooking dinner.

Another performance in our marriage theater handles on the table, wine chilling her wearing the black dress.

I'd complimented once three years ago.

What's the occasion?

No, occasion.

Just thought we should have a nice dinner together.

We haven't can acted lately.

Connect it like we were Wi Fi routers that just needed resetting.

Smells good, your favorite lamb chops with rosemary.

It wasn't my favorite, hadn't been for years.

But correcting her would mean admitting we'd become strangers, and neither of us was ready for that conversation.

During dinner, she kept refilling my wine glass, leaning forward to show cleavage that was usually reserved for girls nights that I now knew were anything but Jackson.

We need to talk about our future.

Here it comes.

What about it?

I've been thinking maybe we're in a rut.

Maybe we need to shake things up, Shake things up how well?

She bit her lip, a gesture that used to drive me wild, but now just looked calculated.

What if we sold the house, started fresh, somewhere new.

This house is our home, but is it really?

It's just walls and a roof.

We could get something better.

Split the profits each have a fresh start.

Split the profits each have a fresh start.

She wasn't even trying to be subtle and amore.

You want to separate?

No, God, No, I just think maybe sometime a part would help us appreciate what we have.

What we have as if we had anything left besides shared debt and broken promises.

I'll think about it.

She reached across the table, grabbed my hand.

Her wedding ring caught the candle light.

The ring I'd saved six months to buy back when I thought forever meant something.

I do love you.

You know.

The lie was so breathaking in its audacity that I almost admired it.

She loved me the way a parasite loves its host, grateful for the sustenance, but eager to move onto a healthier body.

I know.

After dinner, she suggested we watch a movie, curled up against me on the couch like we used to.

But her phone kept buzzing, and each time she'd tense, fighting the urge to check it.

Just answer it.

I finally said, it's nothing important, Willow, just answer the damn phone.

She looked at me strangely, but grabbed her phone.

Glancing at the screen, her face went pale.

I I need to take this work emergency.

She practically ran to the bedroom through the ceiling.

I could hear her pacing, voice raised, but words indistinct.

Ten minutes later, she came back down, fully dressed.

I have to go to the office at nine zero zero on Sunday night serve for crash marketing database.

If we don't fix it tonight, we'll lose everything.

The irony of her excuse using my expertise against me almost made me laugh.

Blackwood Enterprises backed up their databases every six hours.

I knew because I designed their back up system.

Be careful, I said.

She kissed my cheek, grabbed her keys, and left.

I waited exactly five minutes before calling Zayne.

She just left, said work emergency.

I'm on it.

An hour later, he texted me a photo Willow's car in Roman's driveway, the lights in his bedroom window casting shadows of two figures embracing.

That was it, the last straw on the camel's back, the final insult to injury.

She tried to seduce me, to manipulate me into agreeing to sell our house, and the moment that failed, she'd run straight to him.

I walked through our house, my house, taking inventory.

The furniture we'd picked out together now just props in her performance.

The photos on the walls, documenting a love story that had become a horror show.

The bed we'd shared now contaminated by her lies.

In my office, I opened the safe where we kept our important documents, marriage certificate, house deed, insurance policies, all the paperwork of a shared life.

I photographed everything, then locked it back up.

Tomorrow I'd change the combination.

Tomorrow, I'd move our savings.

Tomorrow, I'd stop being the victim in this story.

My phone rang Willow, Hey, babe, it's taking longer than expected.

Don't wait up.

Problems with the restoration.

Yeah, it's a mess.

Romans here too, trying to help Romans there.

At least that part wasn't a lie.

Good luck with it, Thanks, love you.

Yeah.

I hung up and poured myself three fingers of bourbon.

Outside Las Vegas glittered in the distance, all those lights promising fortune and ruin in equal measure.

Somewhere in that Neon wilderness, my wife was in another man's bed, planning a future that didn't include me.

But she'd miscalculated.

She thought I was weak, assive, a joke she was about to learn otherwise.

I raised my glass to the empty room.

Here's to the last straw and to what comes next.

The bourbon burned going down, but not as much as the truth.

Part one was over the perfect life, the trusting husband, the salvageable marriage.

All of it was dead.

Part two would be different.

Part two would be mine, and of part turned the unraveling.

Monday morning came wrapped in desert heat and determination.

The house felt different now, not like a home, but a war room where I'd planned the destruction of two people who thought they'd already won.

I sat at my kitchen table with three lapops, open, legal pads scattered around me, and enough coffee to fuel a small army.

Ruby had stopped by with breakfast, burritos and moral support.

You look like a man possessed, she said, watching me type code into one of the screens.

I'm a man with a mission.

Just don't do anything that will land you in jail.

Orange isn't your color, I looked up from the screen.

Everything I'm doing is perfectly legal.

Morally questionable, may be, but legal.

The first order of business was financial protection, Following Sadie Walsh's advice, I'd switched lawyers after finding out my first choice had a conflict of interest.

I'd already moved half our savings to a new account, but that was just the beginning.

I need you to hold some things for me, I told Ruby.

Sliding a folder across the table, she opened it, eyes widening.

Jesus, Jackie.

These are stock certificates, bonds.

This is serious money.

It's all legally mine, purchased before the marriage or with my inheritance from Grandba.

But if Willow gets wind of what's coming, she might try to tie everything up in court.

I need it somewhere safe.

My safe deposit box is your safe deposit box.

She tucked the folder into her bag.

What else do you need?

Time?

And maybe an alibi for next weekend?

What's next weekend?

The weekend Willow and Roman think I'll be in Los Angeles for a tech conference.

Ruby's smile was sharp as a blade, and where will you actually be?

Right here waiting for them to walk into their own trap.

After Ruby left, Thomas came over with a box of electronic equipment that looked like it belonged in a spy movie.

Hidden cameras, he explained, pulling out devices no bigger than buttons, audio recorders that can pick up a whisper from twenty ft, and this beauty.

He held up what looked like a regular USB drive.

We'll copy everything from any computer it's plugged into.

Is this legal in your own home?

Absolutely?

Recording someone without their consent in your own property is perfectly legal in Nevada, specially if you have reason to suspect criminal activity.

What criminal activity?

Theft?

For one, you said, Willow has been moving money around, right, that's theft of marital assets.

Plus if Romans been using company resources for his affair company, phone company, credit card, that's embezzlement.

We spent the afternoon installing the cameras, one in the bedroom hidden in the smoke detector, another in the living room tucked inside a picture frame.

The kitchen, the hallway, even the garage.

Every inch of my house would be under surveillance.

You sure about this, Thomas asked, as we tested the feeds on my lapop.

They brought this war to my doorstep.

I'm just making sure I win it.

That evening, Zane called with an update.

Your boy Romans got problems bigger than just his dick, he said, without preamble.

I've been digging into his finances, the man's leverage to his eyeballs at penthouse, second mortgage, the Maserati, least his whole life as a house of cards.

How's he paying for all the hotels and dinners with Willow Company credit card?

I got photos of him using it at the pepper Mill.

That's fraud, my friend.

Can you prove it already?

Did?

Got copies of his expense reports where he claimed it was client entertainment.

Except the clients he listed they don't exist.

The pieces were falling into place.

Roman thought he was untouchable because he was c e O.

But he'd gotten sloppy, arrogant, and that would be his downfall.

I called Vincent Torres that night.

We'd never met, but I knew his reputation, Roman's biggest rival, a man who'd been trying to take down Blackwood Enterprises for years.

Mister Torres, my name is Well, let's just say I'm someone with information you might find interesting about Roman Blackwood.

There was a pause.

I'm listening.

I have evidence of financial fraud embezzlement enough to destroy him.

Why come to me?

Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and because you have the connections to make sure this information gets to the right people.

What do you want in return?

Nothing?

Just the satisfaction of watching him burn.

Vincent laughed low and appreciative.

I like you, whoever you are.

Send me what you have, If it's legitimate, I'll make sure it gets where it needs to go.

Tuesday I had another meeting with Sadie Walsh.

Her office was all leather and mahogany, designed to intimidate.

But I wasn't the one who should be scared.

The divorce papers are ready, she said, sliding a stack across her desk.

At Aldary is grounds with evidence attached, financial fraud, dissipation of marital assets.

I've also included a restraining order preventing her from disposing of any property until the divorce is final.

When do we file, that's up to you, but I recommend waiting until you have absolutely everything documented.

Once we file, she'll lawyer up and things will get ugly fast.

Things are already ugly.

She just doesn't know it yet.

Sadie smiled, shark like, mister Miller, Remind me never to piss you off.

Wednesday brought an unexpected ally.

I was at a coffee shop reviewing the surveillance footage from my home camera's on my laptop when someone sat down across from me.

You must be Jackson, I looked up to see you, an elegant woman in her forties, blonde hair pulled back in a chinyon, wearing a soup that probably cost more than my mortgage payment.

I'm Genevieve Blackwood, Roman's ex wife.

My hand instinctively moved to close my laptop, but she held up a manicured hand.

Relax.

I'm not here to cause trouble.

Quite the opposite.

Actually, how did you find me?

Your pri investigator, mister Cooper isn't as private as he thinks.

But don't worry.

I'm on your side.

Why because Roman destroyed my life too, because he cheated with my best friend, my assistant, and god knows who else.

Because when I divorced him, he had assets and left me with nothing but debt and humiliation.

She pulled out an envelope thick with papers.

These are emails, texts, photos from when we were married, evidence of his affairs, his financial crimes, his patterns.

I've been holding onto them for years, waiting for the right moment to use them.

Why now, because I heard about your situation, and because Roman needs to finally face consequences for his actions.

I took the envelope, feeling its weight.

What do you want in return?

Just the satisfaction of watching him fall?

And maybe she smiled, cold and beautiful, a front row seat when it happens.

Thursday was reconnaissance.

Willow had her standing client dinner aka her weekly fuck session with Roman.

I watched on my phone as my home camera showed her getting ready, choosing lingerie i'd never seen before, spraying perfume.

I didn't buy her.

She left at six p m, kissing my cheek and lying about working late.

I followed at a distance, watching her car navigate to Roman's penthouse.

She used a key to enter, He'd given her a key.

The casualness of it, the domesticity, hurt more than I expected, But Paine was just fuel.

Now.

Every betrayal, every lie, was another log on the fire that would eventually consume them both.

Back home, I sat in my office, my war room, and looked at the wall where I'd pinned everything, photos, receipts, e mails, a timeline of their affair.

It looked like something from a detective movie, and maybe that's what I'd become, a detective, hunting the truth and architect building their destruction.

My phone buzzed text from Layelah Foster Willow supposed best friend who'd secretly been feeding me information.

She's planning to ask you for a divorce next month.

Roman promised to marry her.

She's already picked out her ring.

I texted back, let her plan.

She has no idea.

What's coming?

Are you sure about this?

They called me a joke.

Let's see who's laughing when this is over.

I spent the rest of the night refining the plan, every angle covered, every possibility accounted for.

In chess, the key to winning isn't just thinking one move ahead.

It's thinking ten moves ahead, anticipating every possible response, and having a counter ready.

Willow thought she was playing checkers.

She had no idea I'd already won the game.

Friday morning, I called in sick to work again.

Jack'son Is everything okay?

Mike asked, This isn't like you family emergency.

I'll be back Monday.

Take all the time you need.

I would, because by Monday, my entire life would be different.

I spent the day making final preparations.

The cameras were all functioning, The evidence was backed up in multiple locations, cloud storage, USB drives, even printed copies in a safe deposit box.

Sadie had the divorce papers ready to file at a moment's notice.

And then there was the coup de gras, the trap that would catch them red handed.

I sent Willow a text, baby got great news, company sending me to that LA conference after all, leaving Saturday morning back Monday night.

We'll miss you.

Her response was immediate, Oh, honey, that's wonderful.

You deserve this opportunity.

Don't worry about me.

I'll find ways to keep busy.

I'll bet you will, I thought.

Next, I had Leyelah plant the seed.

She called Willow, chatting about nothing, then casually mention I heard there's this amazing new restaurant opening Saturday night.

We should go.

Oh I can't Saturday, Willow replied, and Layelah could hear the smile in her voice.

I have plans.

The trap was set, the bait was taken.

Now all I had to do was wait.

That night, Willow came home late, smelling like expensive cologne and sex.

She slipped into bed beside me, careful not to wake me, but I wasn't asleep.

I lay there in the dark, feeling her presence like a stranger in my bed, and counted down the hours until everything would change.

The architect had finished his blueprint, the demolition was about to begin.

Saturday morning arrived like a promise of violence wrapped in sunshine.

I kissed Willow good bye at seven a m.

Luggage in hand, wearing my best traveler clothes.

Have a safe light, she said, barely looking up from her phone, already texting him.

Probably I'll miss you.

I lied me too, she lied back.

I drove around the block, parked at Thomas's house, and changed into dark clothes.

By seven hundred thirty, I was back in my home office, watching the surveillance feeds on my laptop.

The house was empty except for Willow, who was already in the shower getting ready for her day of freedom.

Thomas arrived at eight with more equipment.

These are motion sensors, he explained, placing tiny devices at key points.

They'll alert your phone whenever someone enters a room.

And this, he held up what looked like a phone, is a burner.

Use it for any calls you need to make to day.

Your regular phone needs to stay off or they'll know you're not in LA.

You think of everything.

That's why you pay me the big bucks.

I don't pay you anything.

That's why you owe me big bucks.

By nine, A M.

Willow had left, supposedly to go shopping with her sister.

Her sister lived in Portland and hadn't visited in two years, but I didn't call her on it, let her dig her own grave.

I use the empty house to do one final sweep in her dresser under the lingerie I'd never seen her wear.

I found more evidence, receipts from hotels, restaurants, jewelry stores, a credit card statement for a card I didn't know existed, with Roman's name as the primary account holder.

But the real treasure was in her jewelry box, a diamond bracelet with an inscription on the back to my future wife, Love for future wife.

The presumption of it, the arrogance made my blood boil.

I photographed everything, then put it back exactly as I'd found it, saying called at noon there at the wind lunch at tableau.

He's got his hand so far up her skirt.

I'm surprised it's not coming out her mouth, charming.

Get photos already done.

You want the play by play, just the highlights.

They're planning your divorce.

She's worried.

About the house.

Wants to make sure she gets it.

He's promising to buy her a bigger one.

Oh and get this.

She called you, and I quote sweet but boring, said being with you was like fucking a cardboard cutout.

Each word was a nail.

But I was beyond pain.

Now this was just information, data to be processed and used.

Keep following them, Roger that Vincent Torres called at two p m.

The information you sent is explosive, he said, without preamble.

Roman's been embezzling for years millions.

How did you get this?

Does it matter not to me?

But the se C will want to know your source.

Tell them a concerned citizen.

That's all they need to know.

This will destroy him, that's the idea.

Remind me never to get on your bad side, mister Torres.

You haven't seen my bad side.

This is me being nice, he laughed.

I'm starting to like you more and more.

By four p m.

Everything was in place.

The cameras were recording, the motion sensors were armed.

I had eyes on every inch of my house, and then, like clockwork, they arrived.

I watched on my lapop as Willow's car pulled into the driveway.

She got out, looked around nervously, then went to the passenger side.

Roman emerged, cocky as ever, grabbing her ass as they walked to the front door.

My front door, my house.

The audacity of it made my hands shake.

They entered, and immediately Willow did a quick calling out, honey Jackson, just to be sure.

When she was satisfied the house was empty, she practically jumped into Roman's arms.

Finally, she said, her voice clear through the hidden microphones, I'm so tired of sneaking around.

Just a few more weeks, Roman promised, his hands already pulling at her clothes.

Once your divorce is final, we can be together officially.

What about your father?

Won't you object to you marrying a divorcee?

Fuck my father.

Besides, once he sees what you can do for the company's image, young, beautiful, smart, he'll come around.

They moved to the living room, where Roman opened a bottle of my wine at two thousand five, Shadow margooks I'd been saving for our anniversary, to our future.

He toasted to freedom, she replied.

They drank, they laughed, they poured at each other like teenagers, and I documented every second of it.

Thomas texted, this is hard to watch man, I replied, it's almost over.

At six p m.

They ordered Chinese food with my credit card from the accou count Willow had access to the delivery guy brought it to my door, which Roman answered, like he owned the place.

They ate in my dining room, planning their future with my money in my house, while I watched from my office upstairs, invisible as a ghost.

When should I ask for the divorce, Willow asked, picking at her low man next month.

Tell him you're not happy that you've grown apart.

Keep it simple, don't mention me at all.

What if he fights it?

He won't.

The man's got no spine.

Probably cry a little, then give you whatever you want, just to make it go away.

No spine.

The irony of it almost made me laugh.

By eight p m, they'd moved operations to the bedroom, My bedroom, my bed.

The surveillance system captured it all in high definition.

Not the act itself.

I had no interest in watching that, but the before and after, the casual intimacy, the easy famil faciliarity that spoke of countless encounters.

I love you, Willow told him, as they lay tangled in my sheets.

Love you too, baby, Soon we won't have the hide an amore.

I can't wait.

I'm so tired of pretending with him, acting like I care about his boring job, his boring family, his boring life.

Well, you won't have the much longer.

They stayed in bed until ten.

Then Roman got up to leave.

I should go, don't want to risk him coming home early.

He won't.

He's probably already asleep in his hotel room, dreaming about firewalls or whatever nerds dream about.

They both laughed.

The sound of it echoing through my house was the last straw, but I held steady.

The trap wasn't ready to spring yet.

Roman left at one thousand thirty.

Willow immediately stripped the bed, washing the sheets to remove any evidence.

She was thorough.

I'd give her that vacuum, the carpet, wiped down surfaces, even sprayed ere freshener to mask his cologne.

By midnight, she was asleep in our bed, satisfied that her secret was safe.

I sat in Thomas's guest room, reviewing all the footage, all the audio, hours of evidence, undeniable and damning.

I backed it up to three different cloud services.

E mailed COPPI is to Sadie even mailed a U S B drive to Ruby just to be safe.

The gathering was complete.

Every word, every touch, every lie had been documented.

Sunday morning, I returned home at ten a m.

Making noise as I entered, so Willow would hear me coming.

Honey, you're back early.

She ran to greet me, throwing her arms around my neck.

I missed you too much, I said, hugging her back and trying not to vomit.

How was Alay enlightning learned a lot about security vulnerabilities.

The irony flew right over her head.

Well, I'm glad you're home.

I was so lonely without you.

I bet you were.

We spent Sunday in domestic pretense, grocery shopping, washing cars, watching Netflix.

She curled against me on the couch, playing the devoted wife while texting on her phone.

I knew who she was texting.

I'd cloned her phone two weeks ago.

Miss you already, miss you too, can't wait for next weekend.

He'll be working late Friday.

Come over, wouldn't miss it.

I sat there, her head on my shoulder, reading her text to her lover on my cloned phone app and marveled at the depth of her deception, but she had no idea she was swimming with a shark who'd already smelled blood.

That night, as she slept beside me, I made final preparations.

The divorce papers were ready, the evidence was compiled, the financial documents were secured.

One more week, one more week of pretending, of gathering the last pieces of evidence, of letting them get comfortable in their arrogance, and then I would strike.

The evidence was gathered, the weapons were loaded.

Now it was time to aim.

Monday's dawn broke with the kind of clarity that only comes before a storm.

I sat in my office at Secure Net, pretending to work while orchestrating the final phase of my plan.

The first call came at nine a m.

Mister Miller, this is Beatrice Wells from Blackwood Enterprises HR.

My pulse quickened.

I'd been hoping to connect with someone inside Roman's company, but I hadn't expected them to come to me.

How can I help you, Miss Wells?

I think the question is how I can help you?

Could we meet privately?

We arranged to meet at a small cafe in Henderson, far from prying eyes.

Beatrice was exactly what you'd expect from a corporate HR director, polished, professional and completely fed up with Romans bullshit.

I I know about the affair, she said, without preamble.

I've known for weeks how security footage from our parking garage.

Your wife and mister Blackwood aren't as discreet as they think.

Plus I've had three different female employees come to me with harassment complaints about him, and you haven't done anything.

Her jaw tightened.

He's the CEO, his father is chairman of the board.

My hands are tied, officially and unofficially.

She slid a folder across the table.

Unofficially, I've been documenting everything, every complaint, every inappropriate expense, every violation of company policy.

I was waiting for the right moment to act.

I opened the folder.

It was a treasure trove of e mails, complaints, security footage, time stamps.

Why give this to me because you're going to do what I can't.

You're going to burn him to the ground, and when you do, I'll make sure the board knows exactly why it happened.

We shook hands, allies and destruction.

Tuesday brought another unexpected visitor.

I was leaving the gym when a woman approached me in the parking lot, mid thirties, attractive in a hard edged way, with eyes that had seen too much Jackson Miller.

My hand moved instinctively toward my phone, ready to call for help.

Relax.

She said, I'm Layelah Foster.

We need to talk.

Your Willow's friend was past tense.

Your wife's a real piece of work.

You know that we sat in her car air conditioning blasting against the morning heat.

I've been friends with Willow for five years, Layelah began, or at least I thought we were friends.

Turns out I was just convenient cover for her affairs affairs plural.

Roman's not her first honey, He's just the first one, rich enough to make her consider leaving you.

The hits kept coming.

There was dereck from her Jim that lasted about three months, Marcus from accounting.

Before that, she'd tell ye she was with me, then go fuck them instead.

Why are you telling me this because I'm tired of being used, Because infidelity destroyed my parent's marriage.

Because your wife had the audacity to cry on my shoulder about how confused she was while planning to rob you blind.

She pulled out her phone, scrolled through messages.

Look at these texts planning your divorce, discussing how to hide assets, debating whether to claim abuse to get a better settlement.

Abuse.

She was going to say, you were emotionally abusive, controlling, Maybe throw in some physical stuff if needed.

My blood turned to ice.

That would destroy not just my finances, but my reputation, my career, everything.

I'll testify.

Layelah said, whatever you need.

That bitch deserves everything coming to her Wednesday was for finance maneuvering.

I met with my accountant, a nervous man named Harold, who had been handling my finances since I started working.

I need to restructure everything, I told him legally, but quickly may I ask why divorce?

His face fell.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Don't be Just help me protect what's mine.

We spent three hours moving money, restructuring investments, making everything as divorce proof as legally possible.

By the time we were done, Willow would be lucky to get the furniture.

That afternoon, I got a call from an unknown number.

Mister Miller, this is Arthur Blackwood, Roman's father, the chairman of the board.

My hand tightened on the phone.

Mister Blackwood, I understand you have some concerns about my son.

How did he know had someone leaked information?

I might?

Would you be willing to meet?

I think we might have mutual interests.

We met at his golf club, a palatial place where membership costs more than most people's annual salary.

Arthur Blackwood was everything his son pretended to be, genuinely powerful, genuinely wealthy, genuinely intimidating.

I know about the affair, he said, watching me over his scotch.

I've known about Roman's proclivities for years, and you've done nothing.

He's my son.

I kept hoping he'd grow out of it, but this latest situation with the embezzlement to fund his lifestyle, that I cannot ignore.

You know about the embezzlement, mister Miller, I know everything that happens in my company.

I've been gathering my own evidence, waiting for the right moment to act.

Your situation provides that moment.

What do you want from me?

Coordination?

You handle the personal side, the affair, the divorce.

I'll handle the professional side, the board, the authorities.

Together we ensure Roman faces conso quences for all his actions.

Why would you do that to your own son?

Arthur's face was stone, because he's become a liability, and in business, you cut liabilities loose before they sink the whole ship.

Cold, brutal, but useful.

Thursday brought the final piece of the puzzle.

Genevieve Blackwood called, wanting to meet again.

I've been thinking, she said, over coffee.

Just destroying Roman isn't enough.

We need to make sure he can never do this again.

What did you have in mind?

I still have contacts at several companies where he might try to get work, board members, CEOs, people who trust my judgment.

One word from me and he's blacklisted from every major corporation in Nevada.

That seems harsh, she laughed, bitterly harsh.

Do you know what he did to me?

Beyond the cheating?

He gaslet me for years, made me think I was crazy for suspecting him, turned our friends against me, cleaned out our accounts.

Before the divorce, I ended up in therapy for two years, convinced I was worthless.

Her pain was familiar, a mirror of my own.

So yes, she continued, I want him destroyed completely, and your little wife too.

While we're at it.

Willow's not important, She's just collateral damage.

Don't underestimate her.

Women like that are dangerous.

They use their looks and charm to destroy lives, then move on to the next victim.

She needs to learn there are consequences.

By Thursday night, I had an army Beatrice with her air power, Layelah with her inside knowledge, Arthur with his corporate influence, Genevieve with her connections.

Each one had their own reasons for wanting blood, but they all looked to me to coordinate the attack.

I sat in my office that night, looking at the chess board.

I'd set up black peace representing Roman and Willow white pieces for my allies.

The game was almost over, but the final moves had to be perfect.

My phone buzzed text from Willow working late again tonight.

Don't wait up.

I checked the tracking app on her phone.

She was at Roman's penthouse again.

I texted back, no problem, sweet dreams.

Then I sent another text.

This went to my group of allies Tomorrow night be ready.

Friday arrived with electric anticipation.

I went through the motions of normalcy, work, lunch, pretending everything was fine, but underneath I was counting down the hours.

At five p m.

Willow came home to get ready for her girl's night.

She kissed my cheek, lied about where she was going, and left with a spring in her step.

As soon as her car turned the corner, I sprang into action.

Cameras checked and recording, audio equipment tested.

Everything backed up to multiple locations.

Then I scent the texts that would start the avalanche.

Now, Beatrice would be calling an emergency board meeting for Monday morning.

Arthur would be contacting the SEC with evidence of embezzlement.

Genevieve would be reaching out to her media contacts with a juicy story about a CEO serial infidelity.

Layelah would be posting select screenshots of Willow's texts on social media, carefully edited to protect my identity but destroy hers.

The bombs were armed, all that was left was to light the fuse.

At nine p m.

I got the call I'd been waiting for.

They just arrived at your house, Zane reported, both of them.

They look pretty drunk.

Perfect remember wait for my signal.

You got it, boss.

I watched on my lapop as Willow and Roman stumbled into my house, groping each other, laughing at some private doke.

They had no idea they were walking into their own funeral.

God, I can't wait until we don't have to sneak around anymore.

Willow slurd, pulling Roman toward the bedroom.

Soon, Baby, your loser husband won't know what hit him.

Loser husband, I smiled grimly.

We'll see about that.

They made it to the bedroom, clothes flying everywhere.

I didn't watch what came next.

I had no interest in the pornography of my marriage's death, but I listened, listened to them plan my destruction while they defiled my bed.

We should just kill him, Roman joked, drunkenly.

Make it look like an accident.

Willow laughed.

Don't tempt me, but the divorce will hurt him more.

Take his money, his house, his dignity, leave him with nothing.

You're evil.

I love it.

You haven't seen evil yet, No, I thought you haven't.

At eleven p m, after they'd exhausted themselves and were lying in post goidal Bliss, I sent the final text to Sadie.

File the papers.

Now in California, divorce papers can be filed electronically twenty four slash seven by one thousand one hundred fifteen, Willow was officially being sued for divorce on grounds of adultery, with all evidence attached.

By one thousand, one hundred thirty, Roman's board had received an emergency email with attachments showing his embezzlement.

By one thousand, one hundred forty five, three major news outlets had received anonymous tips about a CEO scandal.

By midnight, their worlds were ending.

They just didn't know it yet.

I sat in my car outside my own house, watching the lights in the bedroom window and felt something I hadn't experienced in months.

Peace.

The allies were in position, the evidence was deployed, the trap was about to spring.

All that was left was to watch them burn.

Saturday morning, two a m.

I sat in my car, engine off, watching my house from down the street.

The bedroom light had been off for an hour.

They were asleep in my bed, satisfied and secure in their decession.

Time to end this.

I pulled out the burner phone Thomas I had given me and dialed Phoenix Police.

I'd like to report a break in in progress at forty seven Desert Rose Lane.

I think I saw two people breaking into my neighbor's house.

Please hurry then I called Zane, it's time.

Bring every one.

Within minutes, two police cruisers pulled up to my house, lights flashing but sirens off.

I met them in the driveway, playing the concerned homeowner who had just returned from a trip.

Officers, Thank god you're here.

I just got back from LA and saw lights on.

My wife supposed to be at her sister's.

They went to the door.

I unlocked it, let them infer first we could hear voices from upstairs, Willow's laugh, Roman's deep murmur.

Stay here, sir, one officer said, hand on his weapon.

They went upstairs.

I followed and away, saying, and Thomas behind me, both recording on their phones.

The officers pushed open the bedroom door.

Police, nobody move.

The screams were satisfying Willow's shriek of terror, Roman's startled shout.

The lights flicked on, revealing them in all their naked glory, scrambling for sheets.

What the fuck?

Roman yelled, This is private property, sir.

We received a report of a break in, the officer said professionally.

Then he looked at me, sir, do you know these people?

I stepped forward, letting them see me for the first time.

The woman is my wife, though, man, I have no idea who he is or why he's in my bed.

Willow's face went from red to white in seconds.

Jackson, But you're in la surprise, honey.

Flight got canceled.

Roman tried to bluster.

This is ridiculous.

I'm c EVO of Blackwood Enterprises.

You can't actually, the second officer interrupted, We have a warrant for your arrest, mister Blackwood, fraud, embezzlement and theft of corporate assets.

Arthur's timing was impeccable.

He must have called in favors to get that warrant issued so quickly.

This is insane.

Roman stood up forgetting he was naked.

You can't arrest me, sir, Please put on some clothes.

Willow was crying now, clutching a sheet to her chest.

Jackson, please let me explain.

Explain what how you've been fucking your boss in our bed, How you've been stealing money from our accounts to fund your affair.

How you were planning to divorce me and take everything?

How did you How did I know?

I pulled out my fee, showed her the surveillance footage of them entering the house hours earlier.

I know everything, Willow, every lie, every deception, every time you came home smelling like him and told me you loved me.

She broke down completely, sobbing into the sheets that probably still smelled like their sex.

But I wasn't done.

The trap had more teeth.

Oh and Roman.

I turned to him as he pulled on his pants.

That embezzlement you've been doing.

The SEC knows about it.

The board knows about it.

Hell, by morning, everyone will know about it.

His face went gray.

You don't understand.

I'll destroy you.

I have lawyers.

Your lawyers are about to be very busy keeping you out of federal prison.

That's when the others arrived.

Ruby first, her face a mask of fury as she looked at Willow.

You pathetic bitch, She spat, He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him.

Then Beatrice Wells, holding a folder, mister Blackwood, this is your official termination notice from Blackwood Enterprises.

The board held an emergency vote an hour ago.

You're fired effective immediately.

You can't do that.

My father, your father, cast the deciding vote, Beatrice said coldly.

Arthur himself walked in then, looking at his son with disgust.

You're done, Roman, I've protected you for the last time.

But the cou de gras came from Genevieve, who entered with a smile sharp as winter.

Hullo, darling, she said to Roman, Remember me the wife you cheated on, the one you left with nothing.

Well, I've been busy.

Every major company in Nevada now knows what you are.

You'll never work in this state again.

Roman looked around wildly, like a trapped animal.

This is conspiracy.

I'll sue all of you with what money?

I asked.

Your accounts have been frozen pending the federal investigation.

Your car's being repossessed as we speak.

Your penthouse is about to be foreclosed on.

You're broke, Roman.

He lunged at me then, but the police were faster, taking him down hard an assault to the charges, one officer said, cuffing him.

As they dragged Roman out, he screamed threats and obscenities.

But I wasn't listening.

I was watching Willow, still huddled on the bed, mascare streaming down her face, get dressed.

I told her, you have five minutes to pack what's yours and get out.

Where will I go?

Not my problem, Ennamoor Jackson, Please, I love you.

The laugh that came out of me was harsh, bitter love.

You don't know what love is.

Love is trust, love is loyalty.

Love is not fucking another man in our bed while planning to rob me blind.

Layelah stepped forward, then holding Willow's phone, Oh and sweety, all those texts about Jackson being boring, about how you were just using him there all over social media.

Now, good luck finding another man to leech off.

Willow looked at her supposed best friend in horror.

Layelah, you I what told the truth?

Yeah?

I did, because unlike you, I actually have a conscience.

Five minutes, I repeated.

Then I'm calling the police back to remove you for trespassing.

She dressed frantically, sobbing the whole time, throwing random clothes into a bag.

Everyone watched in silence, bearing witness to her humiliation.

My car, she started, is in my name, you can walk.

This is cruel.

Cruel, Ruby stepped forward.

Cruel.

Is what you did to my brother?

This is justice.

Willow looked around the room one more time at all the faces staring at her with contempt.

Then she ran barefoot carrying her shoes and her bag out into the night.

We heard her calling someone from the front yard, begging for a ride.

Finally, a car pulled up, probably in Eber, and she was gone.

The house felt different, immediately, cleaner, like a poison had been extracted, well, Sane said, breaking the silence.

That was fucking epic.

Everyone started talking at once, comparing notes, sharing what they knew.

But I walked to the bedroom window, looking out at the spot where Willow's car used to park.

Thomas came up beside me.

You okay, I will be what now Now?

Now I changed the locks, burn the sheets and start over.

And them Romans going to prison.

Willow's going to learn what it's like to have nothing.

They'll destroy each other, blaming one another for their downfall.

And you.

I turned from the window, looked at the people who'd stood by me, Ruby, Sane, Thomas, even Genevieve and Beatrice, strangers who'd become allies in warfare.

I'm going to be fine, better than fine, I'm going to be free.

The trap had worked perfectly, The predators had become prey, and for the first time in months, I could breathe.

The sun was coming up painting the desert in shades of gold and pink in new day and new beginning.

I pulled out my phone, deleted Willow's number and smiled.

The joke was over and I'd had the last laugh and of part two, the betrayal.

Monday morning, after the confrontation arrived with the weight of consequences, I woke up in my empty house, truly mine now, and for the first time in months, I didn't feel that, not in my stomach.

Willow was gone, Roman was in custody.

The truth was out, but the war wasn't over.

It had just begun.

My phone had been ringing NonStop since Saturday night.

Reporters, mutual friends, Willow's family, everyone wanted to know what happened.

I let them all go to voicemail.

The only call I answered was from Sadie Walsh Jackson.

We need to meet.

The divorce papers were filed Saturday night, but Willows hired Bradley Stone.

Bradley Stone, Vegas's most ruthless divorce attorney, known for turning cheating spouses into victims.

How's she affording him?

That's what worries me.

Someone's bankrolling her.

We need to be prepared for a fight.

I met Sadie at her office an hour later.

She had newspapers spread across her desk.

The story had already hit the local news.

Ce Tho arrested in love triangle scandal, screamed the headline.

This is good for us, Sadie said, public opinion matters in Nevada divorces.

What's our strategy, aggressive truth.

We have evidence of adultery, financial deception, and conspiracy to defraud God.

But Stone will try to paint you as abusive, controlling, maybe even claim you set them up.

Let him try.

There was a knock on the door.

Sadie's assistant entered with a thick envelope.

This just arrived by courier.

Sadie opened it, her face darkening as she read Willow's counter filing.

She's claiming emotional abuse, financial control, and she paused.

She says you threatened her with violence.

That's a lie, I know.

But she has a witness, someone named Derrick Morrison, who claims he heard you threaten her at a restaurant last month.

Derrick Morrison, I had never heard the name.

This is Roman's doing, I said, he's orchestrating this from jail.

Then we need to prove it.

I called Zane from Sadie's office.

I need you to find out everything about Derrick Morrison on it.

Oh and Jacks, you might want to check the news.

Roman's bail hearing is this afternoon.

The house was a circus, news vans, photographers, curious onlookers.

Everyone wanted a piece of the scandal.

I sat in the back row, baseball cap pulled low, watching as they brought Roman in.

He looked smaller in the orange jumpsuit.

The swagger was gone, replaced by something desperate.

His lawyer, a slick looking man in dollar one thousand suit, argued for bail.

My client is a pillar of the community, your honor, These charges are based on a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding.

The prosecutor interrupted, We have evidence of embezzlement spanning three years over dollar four million, four million.

Even I hadn't known it was that much.

The judge, a stern woman in her sixties, looked over her glasses at Roman.

Mister Blackwood, you're charged with embezzlement, fraud and conspiracy.

Given the flight risk and the severity of the charges, bail is set at dollar two million.

Roman's face went white, even with his assets two million cash was impossible.

As they led him away, our eyes met the hatred.

There was pure, undiluted.

He mouthed something that looked like you're dead.

I smiled and waved.

Outside the court house, Beatrice Wells was waiting, mister Miller.

I thought you should know.

The board meeting was this morning.

They voted to pursue full prosecution and recover all stolen funds.

There also investigating anyone who might have helped him, including Willow, especially Willow.

She signed off on several suspicious expense reports.

This was better than I'd hoped.

Not only was Roman going down, but he was taking Willow with him.

That afternoon, I got a call from an unknown number.

Mister Miller, this is Patricia Harrison from Channel eight News.

We'd like to interview you about I hung up.

Then my phone rang again, different number, same request.

The vultures were circling.

Ruby showed up at my house with thie food and a bottle of bourbon.

Figured you could use both, she said, letting herself in.

We sat on my back pado the desert cooling.

As evening approached.

How are you holding up, she asked, I'm I don't know relieved, angry, empty, all normal.

You just blew up your entire life.

It needed blowing up, Yeah it did.

She took a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle.

Willow called me to day.

I nearly choked on my pad tie what crying, begging me to talk to you said it was all a mistake, that Roman manipulated her, that she loves you.

What did you say?

I told her to go fuck herself in Spanish, then English, then hung up.

I laughed, really laughed for the first time in months.

She's desperate, Ruby continued.

Word is Roman's not taking her calls from jail, and without his money, she can't maintain the lifestyle.

She's staying in some roach motel on the wrong side of town.

Part of me felt a twinge of something, not sympathy exactly, but something close.

Then I remembered her calling me a joke, planning to rob me blind, fucking another man in our bed, the feeling past.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I kept replaying everything in my mind, every lie, every deception, every moment I should have seen the truth.

At three a m.

My phone buzzed text from an unknown number.

You ruined everything, You destroyed my life.

Beil, make you pay.

Willow had to be another text.

Roman has friends, powerful friends.

Watch your back.

I screenshot the messages and forwarded them to Sadie.

If Willow wanted to threaten me, she was giving me more ammunition for the divorce.

Tuesday brought new revelations.

Sayne called with information about Derrick Morrison.

He doesn't exist, Sayne said.

The address Willow's lawyer provided.

It's a vacant lot.

The social security number belonged to a guy who died three years ago.

So they fabricated a witness.

Looks like it.

And here's the interesting part.

I traced the paper work.

It was notarized by some one in Roman's lawyer's office there coordinating from jail.

Definitely, Roman might be behind bars, but he's still pulling strings.

This was perfect.

Not only was Willow lying, but she was committing fraud to do it.

Sadie would have a field day with this.

Wednesday, Arthur Blackwood reached out, mister Miller, I'd like to meet.

There are matters we need to discuss regarding my son and your wife.

We met at his golf club in daylight.

I could see the toll this had taken on him.

He looked older, Grayer defeated.

I owe you an apology, he began.

I knew Roman had problems.

I should have acted sooner.

Why didn't you pride stupidity hope that he'd change.

He stared into his scotch.

I've been reviewing the company books.

Your wife wasn't just having an affair with him, she was helping him steal.

My blood ran cold.

What she had access to marketing budgets, she'd approve inflated invoses.

Roman would pocket the difference.

They split the money.

How much?

From what we can tell, about six hundred thousand just from her department, six hundred thousand.

While I was working sixty hour weeks, she was stealing with her boyfriend.

We're pressing charges.

Arthur continued.

I wanted you to know before it becomes public.

One tomorrow, the FBI will arrest her in the morning.

The FBHI this had escalated beyond anything i'd imagined.

Mister Miller, I know this is difficult, but she made her choices just as Roman made his.

That night, I did something I hadn't done in years.

I prayed not for forgiveness or peace, but for strength to see this through to watch the people who'd betrayed me face justice.

Thursday morning, six a m.

My phone rang Sadie turn on the news.

The footage was grainy but clear.

F b I agents leading Willow out of her motel in handcuffs.

She was in pajamas, no make up, hair a mess.

She looked broken.

Willow Miller, former marketing manager at Blackwood Enterprises, was arrested this morning on charges of embezzlement and conspiracy to commit fraud.

The reporter said this arrest is connected to the ongoing investigation of former CEO Roman Blackwood.

My phone exploded with calls and texts.

I ignored them all and made coffee.

An hour later, Layelah Foster called Jackson.

I just saw the news.

I I had no idea she was stealing too, neither did I.

I have something you should know.

Willow called me yesterday before the arrest.

She was trying to get me to lie for her to say you were abusive.

She offered me money how much ten thousand, said she'd have it once the divorce was final.

She expected to get money from me to pay you to lie about me.

Yeah.

I recorded the call.

If you need it, send it to my lawyer.

The hits kept coming.

By noon, three more of Willow's supposed witnesses had recanted, admying she'd offered them money to lie.

Her case was falling apart.

Roman's lawyer tried damage control, claiming his client was being framed, that I'd orchestrated everything, but the evidence was overwhelming emails, financial records, security footage.

That afternoon, I I've got a call from Mike at work, Jacks.

I know you're dealing with a lot, but we have a situation.

Someone's been trying to hack our servers.

They're specifically targeting your accounts.

Roman's friends could be We've locked everything down, but you should know someone's gunning for you.

Let them come.

I thought I'd survived the worst betrayal imaginable.

Whatever else they threw at me, I could handle.

Friday brought the divorce hearing.

The court room was smaller than I'd expected, more intimate.

Willow sat across from me, flanked by Bradley Stone and two associates.

She'd managed bail, probably the last of her savings, and wore a conservative black suit that couldn't hide how much weight she'd lost.

She kept trying to catch my eye, but I focused on Sadie your honor.

Stone began, my client has been the victim of an elaborate frame up, mister Miller, consumed by jealousy orchestra counselor.

The judge interrupted, I've reviewed the evidence.

Unless you have proof of this frame up, I suggest you focus on facts.

Stone falded without his fake witnesses, he had nothing.

Sadie stood your honor.

We have evidence of adultery, financial fraud, and attempted witness tampering by missus Miller.

We're asking for immediate dissolution of marriage with full forfeiture of marital assets due to fraud.

The judge reviewed the documents, the photos, the emails, the FBI charges missus Miller.

The judge said, do you have anything to say?

Willow stood shaking your honor?

I I made mistakes, but I loved my husband.

I still do.

This whole thing got out of control, out of control.

The judge's voice was ice, you committed adultery, stole money, and tried to frame your husband for abuse.

These aren't mistakes, missus Miller.

There crimes.

The gavel came down like thunder.

Divorce granted all marital assets.

Awarded to mister Miller.

Missus.

Miller is ordered to pay restitution for any marital funds used in the commission of her crimes.

Willow collapsed into her chair, sobbing.

As we left the court house.

She grabbed my arm.

Jackson, Please, you have to know.

I never meant don't touch me.

I loved you.

I just got confused.

You called me a joke.

You were planning to rob me and marry him.

I was drunk.

I didn't mean yes, you did every word.

I pulled free and walked away, her cries echoing behind me in the parking lot.

Bradley Stone approached.

You know this isn't over.

Roman has resources.

Roman's going to federal prison, and if you keep threatening me, you'll be disbarred for witness intimidation.

He backed off, but his eyes promised this wasn't done.

That evening, I sat in my empty house, divorce papers in hand, ten years of marriage reduced to a court document.

Ruby and Zay came over with piezza and beer.

Thomas brought his lapop and we watched movies, carefully avoiding anything romantic.

You did it, Zayne said, you got them both.

It's not over.

Roman's trial is next month.

Let tomorrow.

Worry about tomorrow.

Ruby said, tonight, you're free.

Free.

The word felt foreign, but good.

My phone buzzed another unknown number.

I almost didn't answer.

Then recognize the area code Federal Detention Center.

You think you've won.

Roman's voice was raw, desperate.

I'll destroy you even from in here.

Al.

I hung up and blocked the number.

Let him rage in his cage.

I had a life to rebuild.

Three weeks after the divorce, Roman's federal trial began.

The court house was packed media, investors who'd lost money, former employees.

Everyone wanted to see the mighty Roman black would fall.

I sat in the gallery, notebook in hand.

Not for revenge, annamore, but foreclosure.

Roman entered in shackles, orange jumpsuit, hanging off his frame.

Prison had not been kind.

The man who'd fucked my wife in my bed, who'd called me a joke, now looked like a ghost of himself.

The prosecutor, a bulldog named Jennifer Martinez, laid out the case methodically, financial records, forged documents, witness testimony.

The evidence was a tsunami.

Mister Blackwood systematically stole dollar four point three million over three years She stated he used his position a CEO to manipulate accounts, create shell companies, and defraud investors.

Roman's lawyer tried to mount a defense, claiming his clubs was a scapegoat that others were responsible, but every attempt fell flat.

Then they called Willow to testify.

She entered in a gray pantsuit, walking like she was heading to her execution.

She'd been offered a plea deal to testify against Roman, get reduced charges.

State your name for the record, Willow Miller.

Her voice was barely a whisper, Miss Miller, What was your relationship with the defendant?

We were involved romantically, and did mister black would ever discuss financial irregularities with you?

Willow's eyes darted to Roman.

He stared at her with such venom that she physically recoiled.

Yes, he he showed me how to inflate marketing invises.

Said it was a victimless crime, that the company could afford it, and you participated in this scheme.

Yes.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

I'm not proud of it.

Roman exploded, you lying bitch, this was your idea.

You came to me, mister Blackwood.

The judge hammered his gavel.

One more outburst and you'll be removed.

The questioning continued for two hours.

Willow detailed every crime, every stolen dollar, every lie.

With each word, she drove another nail into Roman's coffin and her own.

When she finished, she looked at me.

Our eyes met across the court room.

I saw regret, pain, maybe even love.

I felt nothing.

During lunch break, Vincent Torres found me outside enjoying the show, he asked, lighting a cigarette.

It's not about enjoyment and amore.

No, the man who destroyed your marriage is getting destroyed.

Seems like poetic justice maybe, but it doesn't undo anything.

Vincent studied me.

You know, when I helped you, I expected you to be celebrating, but you look miserable.

Winning doesn't always feel like winning, no, he agreed.

Sometimes it just feels like everyone lost.

The afternoon brought more witnesses.

Employees.

Roman had threatened, investors, He'd lied to women, he'd harassed.

The pattern was clear.

Roman Blackwood was a predator in every sense.

Arthur Blackwood testified last the old man could barely look at his son as he detailed finding the evidence, the shame of realizing what Roman had become.

I failed as a father, he said quietly.

I gave him everything except consequences.

This is my fault as much as his Roman watched his father with something between rage and desperation.

When Arthur stepped down, Roman called out, Dad, please, Arthur kept walking.

The jury deliberated for less than three hours.

On the count of embezzlement in the first degree.

We find the defendant guilty.

On the count of wire fraud.

We find the defendant guilty on the count of conspiracy to commit fraud.

We find the defendant guilty guilty on all seventeen counts.

Roman collapsed in his chair.

His lawyer requested immediate sentencing rather than wait.

The judge obliged, mister Blackwood, you betrayed the trust of your employees, your investors, and your family.

You showed no remorse, no accountability.

I sentence you to fifteen years in federal prison with no possibility of parole for ten fifteen years.

Roman would be over fifty when he got out.

As they led him away, he turned to me one last time, no words, just a look that promised this wasn't over.

But it was for him, at least Outside the court house, reporters swarmed.

I pushed through them to my car, ignoring their questions.

In the rear view mirror, I saw Willow being escorted to a police van.

Her trial was next week.

That night, Arthur Blackwood called, It's done.

He said, simply, how are you holding up a long pause?

I lost my son years ago.

Today just made it official.

I am sorry, don't be.

You did what I should have done.

You held him accountable.

After we hung up, I sat in my dark living room, thinking about fathers and sons, husbands and wives, the lies we tell ourselves about the people we love.

Monday brought Willow's trial smaller, quieter, but no less devastating.

She pled guilty to avoid a longer sentence.

The judge, the same one from our divorce, was not sympathetic, miss Miller.

You've lost your marriage, your career, your reputation.

Some might say that's punishment enough, but the law demands more.

Three years.

She got three years in minimum security.

As they led her away, she didn't look at me.

Maybe that was mercy.

A week later, I was packing up the house, too many memories, time for a fresh start, when someone knocked.

It was Willow's mother, Grace.

She looked like she'd aged a decade in the past month.

Missus Thompson, Grace is fine.

She held out an envelope.

Willow asked me to give you this I don't want.

Please just take it.

You don't have to read it.

I took the envelope.

Grace studied me.

She destroyed everything, didn't she my daughter?

I raised her better than this.

People make choices, yes they do.

She turned to leave, then stopped.

For what it's worth, Jackson, you were the best thing that ever happened to her.

She just didn't realize it until it was too late.

After she left, I held the envelope for a long time.

Finally curiosity won Jackson.

I know you'll never forgive me.

I don't deserve forgiveness, but I need you to know that the woman who loved you was real.

The woman who betrayed you was real too.

I'm both and I'm sorry.

Roman.

Promise me the world, excitement, wealth, importance, things I thought I wanted, but they were just prettier cages.

You offered me genuine love, stability, partnership.

I threw it away for an illusion.

I'm not asking for anything.

I just wanted you to know that calling you a joke was the biggest lie I ever told.

You were never the joke, Jackson, I was.

I burned the letter in the kitchen sink, watching the paper curl and blacken.

The next day I signed the papers to sell the house, new job offer in San Francisco, fresh start, no memories.

Thomas helped me pack my office, carefully wrapping my computers and equipment.

You sure about this, he asked, Vegas is poison for me now everwhere I look, I see them.

San Francisco's expensive.

I can afford it.

Ironically, the divorce made me rich.

It was true.

Between the settlements, selling the house and the restitution payments, I had more money than I'd ever dreamed of.

Blood money, but money none the less.

Zane threw me a going away party at Ruby's restaurant, small, just clothes, friends and family.

No one mentioned Willow or Roman.

We pretended the last year hadn't happened, but it had.

The evidence was in the gray streaking through my hair, the lines around my eyes, the way I flinched when couples showed affection.

You find someone new, Ruby said, hugging me goodbye.

Someone who deserves you.

May be not, maybe definitely You're a catch, little brother, A damaged catch, aren't we all?

My last night in Vegas, I drove past all the landmarks of my marriage, the chapel where we'd wed, the restaurant of our first date, the park where I'd posed.

Then I drove past Roman's empty penthouse, foreclosed and dark, past the motel where Willow had hidden after I kicked her out, Past the court house where it all ended.

Finally, I parked at Red Rock Canyon, our old hiking spot.

The desert was beautiful in the moonlight, harsh and honest.

I thought about the man i'd been trusting, naive, blind.

That man was dead, killed by betrayal, and resurrected as someone harder, smarter, less willing to believe in love.

Maybe that was the real tragedy, not that I'd lost Willow, but that I'd lost the ability to trust completely.

My phone buzzed e mail from the Federal prison system.

Roman had tried to add me to his visitor list.

I deleted it without reading and blocked the sender.

Some bridges weren't worth rebuilding, Some people weren't worth forgiving.

As I drove back to my empty house one last time, I passed the Peppermill Resort sign advertising their reno location where it had all started to unravel.

Tomorrow, I'd leave Vegas forever, leave the ashes of my marriage, the ghosts of betrayal, the man I used to be.

But tonight I'd sleep in my empty house one last time, surrounded by boxes and memories, and try to imagine a future where I could trust again.

Six months later, San Francisco was everything Vegas wasn't.

Cold, foggy, filled with strangers who minded their own business, perfect for disappearing.

My new company, Secure Net Solutions two point zero Comma, was thriving.

Turns out, being the guy who exposed the Blackwood scandal was great for business.

Companies wanted the person who could find any secret, expose any lie.

I'd become successful on the bones of my former life.

The call came on a Tuesday, Jackson, It's Beatrice Way.

I hadn't heard from anyone connected to that life in months.

Beatrice, how are you?

I'm well.

I'm calling because there's been an incident.

My blood chilled.

Roman.

No, he's still in federal prison.

It's Willow.

What about her?

She was attacked in prison.

She's in the hospital.

The world tilted.

Despite everything, the thought of Willow hurt.

How bad bad her mother thought, you should know.

I hung up and stared at the San Francisco Bay from my office window.

Willow wasn't my problem, anamore, She'd made her choices, but I bought a plane ticket anyway.

The hospital in Vegus smelled the same as every hospital, disinfectant and despair.

Grace Thompson sat in the waiting room, looking older, grayer Jackson.

You came, How is she stable?

Broken ribs, eternal bleeding.

Another inmate found out about the money she stole, decided to teach her a lesson?

Can I can I see her?

Grace studied me.

Why, good question?

Why was I here?

I don't know?

That's honest.

At least she stood Room three hundred fourteen.

She's sedated, but maybe it'll help.

Willow looks small in the hospital bed.

Bruise as covered her face, her arms.

Her hair, once lustrous auburn, was dull and short, prison gray.

I sat in the visitor's chair, not sure what I was doing there.

Her eyes fluttered open, focused on me, dreaming.

She whispered, No, you came, Your mom called.

She tried to laugh, winced in pain, still saving me even now I'm not saving anything.

I just needed to see, to see me broken, to see you human.

We sat in silence.

The monitors beeped outside.

Vegas lived and breathed and gambled, oblivious to our small tragedy.

Roman wrote me, she said, finally, from prison, said this was my fault, that I should have kept my mouth shut.

Roman's a bastard.

Yeah, but he was my bastard for a while.

She closed her eyes.

God, I was so stupid.

We both were.

No, you were just in love.

I was stupid.

A nurse came in, checked vitals, left, Willow dozed.

I should have left, but didn't.

When she woke again, she seemed more lucid.

How San Francisco cold?

You hate the cold.

I hate a lot of things.

Now, she flinched.

I did that to you, We did it to each other.

No, Jackson, you loved me, really loved me, and I threw it away for what excitement?

Money?

Dick the vulgarity surprised me.

Prison had changed her.

Why, I asked the question I'd never gotten to ask.

Really, Why she fought for a long time because you loved me exactly as I was and Roman promised to make me into something more.

I thought I wanted to be more.

Turns out I just wanted to be loved the way you loved me, but I didn't realize it until it was gone.

That's convenient, it's the truth.

Pathetic but true.

We lapsed into silence again.

Are you happy, she asked in San Francisco.

I'm successful.

That's not what I asked.

No, I'm not happy, but I'm not unhappy either.

I just am.

That's worse than unhappy.

Maybe her hand moved slightly on the bed, not reaching for me, just moving.

The wedding ring was gone, of course, pale band of skin where it used to be.

I should go, I said, yeah, take care of yourself, Willow, you too, Jackson.

I stood to leave.

Jackson, I turned, thank you for coming, for not gloating.

I don't have anything to gloat about.

We both lost, No, she said quietly, you survived.

That's winning.

I left Vegas that night and never went back.

Three months later I got word that Willow had been released early for good behavior.

She'd moved to Portland, was working as a waitress.

Quiet life, no social media, no contact with anyone from her old life.

Roman I heard had been transferred to maximum security after attacking another inmate.

Fifteen years was looking like twenty.

Arthur Black would send me a Christmas card, just signed thank you, AB with a check for dollar fifty thousand consultation fee written in the memo.

I donated it to a women's shelter.

Life moved on.

I dated occasionally nice women, kind women, women who would never dream of betraying anyone, but I kept them at arm's length, never quite letting them in.

You're emotionally unavailable, one said, as she broke up with me.

I know you're still in love with your ex wife.

No, I'm not then what I'm in love with who I was when I loved her, and that persons dead.

She left, and I was relieved.

Work became everything, sixteen hour days, seven day weeks, building security systems that no one could breach, protecting others from the betrayals I had suffered.

Thomas visited occasionally, worried about me, You're becoming a hermit.

Jack's I'm focused Your hiding, maybe, but hiding felt safer than risking another willow, another Roman, another betrayal that would finish what they'd started.

One night, working late I found an old photo on my cloud storage our wedding day, both of us laughing at something the eldest impersonator had said.

We looked so young, so convinced that love conquered all.

I stared at it for a long time, then deleted it, the last piece of evidence that we'd ever been happy.

A year after the divorce, I got another letter, not from Willow, this time from Roman Jackson.

You destroyed my life, but I want you to know something.

I would have gotten the way with it if not for you.

The money, the company, your wife, all of it would have been mine.

But you had to play hero, had to be the wronged husband seeking justice.

Well, congratulations you one.

I'm rotting in here while you're out there living your life.

But here's the thing about winning.

It doesn't erase what happened.

Your wife still fucked me, still shows me, still called you a joke.

You can destroy me, but you can't destroy that truth.

Enjoy your victory, Roman.

I burned this letter too, but the words stuck like tar.

He was right about one thing.

Winning didn't erase the betrayal.

Nothing could.

Two years later, the coffee shop in Paulo, Alto was nothing special, just a place to grab caffeine between meetings.

I wasn't paying attention when I bumped into someone sending their laptop bag.

Flying shit.

I'm sorry, no worries, I wasn't.

We both stopped.

Recognition dawned slowly.

Jackson Marilyn Hayes.

We'd worked together briefly years ago, before Vegas, before everything.

Marilyn Hi.

She looked good, professional blazer, confident, smile, eyes that had seen their share of pain but hadn't gone dark.

What are you doing here, she asked?

I live here now?

You speaking at Stanford Corporate Psychology Seminar.

Right, you went into that after after my divorce.

Yeah.

We stood awkwardly, two damaged people recognizing something familiar in each other.

Coff I offered to apologize for the collision.

Sure, We sat by the window, talked about safe things, work, the weather, the tech industry.

Then somehow the conversation turned real.

I heard about what happened, she said, quietly.

With your ex it made the tech blogs.

Ye, not my finest hour.

Are you kidding?

You exposed a massive fraud.

You're a hero.

I'm not.

I just got angry and lucky.

Anger can be useful.

It got me through my divorce.

What happened, if you don't mind?

Caught him with my sister at our daughter's birthday party.

Jesus, yeah, but that was five years ago, ancient history.

Now does it get easier?

She considered, no, but you get stronger.

There's a difference.

We talked for two hours.

She was smart, funny, had a darkness that matched mine, but hadn't consumed her.

I should go, she said, finally, but would you like to have dinner some time?

Not a date, just two survivors comparing notes.

I'd like that.

Dinner turned into dinners plural, then lunches, then weakened hikes, where we talked about everything except our exes.

Three months in, she kissed me, soft, tentative, nothing like the desperate passion I'd had with Willow.

Is this ok?

She asked, I don't know.

That's honest.

I'm pretty broken, Marilyn, so am I Maybe we can be broken together.

We took it slow, glacially slow.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to reveal some horrible secret, to betray me.

She never did.

Six months in, she stayed the night.

We didn't have sex, just held each other.

I hadn't realized how starved I was for innocent touch.

Tell me about her, Marilyn said, in the dark, who Willow?

Tell me about when it was good?

So I did, told her about the woman I'd fallen in love with before Roman, before the lies.

She sounds wonderful, she was.

I'm sorry she hurt you me too, but I'm not sorry it led you here me neither.

We made love for the first time as the sun came up.

Slow, careful, lie key.

We were both made of glass.

After she traced the lines on my face.

You look like you've been through a war.

I half did you win?

I survived.

That's winning.

The second time Willow had said those words to me, I hadn't believed them, but hearing them from Marilyn, maybe they were true.

A year into dating Marilyn, I got a call from Ruby.

You sitting down?

What's wrong?

Nothing wrong?

Just Willow's dead.

The world stopped.

What how?

Car accident Portland, drunk driver hit her.

I sat on my office floor, phone pressed to my ear, trying to process.

Jackson.

You there, Yeah, I'm here.

The funeral's Thursday.

You don't have to come, I know, but I went.

The service was small, her family, a few friends from Portland, no one from her vaguus life except me.

She was buried under her maiden name, like our marriage had never happened.

Grace found me after thank you for coming.

I'm sorry for your loss.

She never stopped loving you, you know, even after everything.

Please don't I'm not trying to hurt you.

I just thought you should know she died loving you.

I flew home that night.

Marilyn was waiting.

How was it sad?

Do you want to talk about it?

No?

Yes, I don't know.

She held me while I cried, Not for the willow who'd betrayed me, but for the one i'd married, the one who'd loved bad horror movies and good Chinese food, the one who'd held my hand through my father's funeral.

That willow deserved tears.

Six months later, Roman died in prison, stabbed by another inmate over a gambling debt.

The news barely made a ripple, just another dead criminal.

Arthur Blackwood called me.

It's over.

He said, yeah, do you feel anything?

Relief?

Maybe?

Or just empty?

I know the feeling.

We never spoke again.

Life went on.

Marilyn and I moved in together, not marriage neither of us was ready for that, but something real, something honest.

My company grew.

I hired good people, paid them well, built, something I could be proud of.

Occasionally I dream about Willow, not the betrayal, but the good times, waking up next to her on lazy Sundays, her laugh when I tell a particularly bad joke.

You okay, Marilyn would ask, finding me on the balcony at three A m ye, just ghosts.

They fade.

Eventually she was right.

The dreams came less frequently, the anger softened into something like pity.

One day, cleaning out old files, I found the photo I thought i'd deleted our wedding day.

We looked so happy.

I didn't delete it this time.

Instead, I put it in a box marked passed, and stored it in the closet, not to hold on to, but not to forget either, because forgetting would mean it had all been for nothing.

The last time I thought about it all was on what would have been our twentieth anniversary.

I was in a meeting when the date hit me, June fifteenth.

I excused myself, went to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror, the man looking back wasn't the joke Roman had accused me of being.

Wasn't the fool Willow had played.

Wasn't the hero some people claimed, Just a man who'd love, been betrayed and survived.

That night, Marilyn made dinner.

We ate on our balcony, watching the sunset over the bay.

What are you thinking about?

She asked?

How different life is from what we plan, better or worse.

I looked at her, this woman who'd never asked me to forget my past, just to not let it define my future.

Different but good.

I'll take good me too.

We sat in comfortable silence as the sunset and the city lights began to twinkle.

Somewhere Willow was dead and buried, Somewhere Roman was to somewhere The man I used to be was gone.

But here now I was alive, scarred but healing, broken but rebuilding.

The joke, it turned out, wasn't on any one.

It was just life, messy, painful, beautiful life, and despite everything, I was grateful to still be living it.

My phone buzzed work email about new client, a new project, a new challenge.

I deleted it.

Work could wait until tomorrow.

Tonight I had dinner with a woman who loved me carefully.

Tonight I had peace.

Tonight I had one not because I destroyed my enemies, but because I survived them, And sometimes that's the best revenge of all the end.

I married Marilyn on a Thursday, small ceremony, just family and close friends.

No Elvis impersonator, no veguus chapel, just truth and promises we knew we could keep.

Ruby was my best woman, she cried through thee entire ceremony.

I'm just so happy you found your way back, she said, back to what to believing love could be real.

Thomas was there, successful now with his own company.

Zane brought his new boyfriend.

Even Beatrice Wells came, having become a friend through the years.

No ghosts, no shadows, just people who'd prove it and themselves real.

That night in our hotel room, Marilyn asked, any regrets about marrying you?

None?

How about everything else?

I thought about it, about Willow Roman, the years of pain and recovery, know it all led here.

That's very zen of you.

That's very therapy of me.

Lots and lots of therapy.

She laughed.

God I loved her laugh, not more than I loved Willow was different, older, wiser, earned through its own pain.

I love you, I said, I love you too, all of you, even the broken parts, especially the broken parts, especially those we made love like people who knew what loss meant, what betrayal cost, what trust was worth, Careful and grateful and real.

Later, unable to sleep, I stood on the balcony, looking out at the city lights.

Somewhere in Portland, grass grew over Willow's grave.

Somewhere in Nevada, Roman's ashes had been scattered by a father who'd never recovered.

Somewhere in time, a younger me was falling in love for the first time, oblivious to what was coming.

I wished I could warn him, tell him to see the signs, to protect himself, to run.

But then he'd never become me.

Never learn that you could survive betrayal, Never discover that trust could be rebuilt, even if it looked different the second time around.

Never know that being called a joke by some one you loved wasn't the end of the world.

It was just the end of that world, And sometimes the next world was worth the pain of losing the first come back to bed, Marilyn called, I did, and for the first time in years, I slept without dreams.

While Jackson's revenge was satisfying to watch, I can't help but feel that his elaborate scheme shows he never truly moved on.

Real strength would have been walking away without looking back.

The fact that he needed to destroy them completely before finding peace proves that sometimes the joke wins, even when they lose another wild one.

I'm lady Truth, thanks for listening, and I'll see you guys next time.

Padda an a, an a and an a pot on another on the mother on another another