I cut her off by sliding a small velvet box across the table.
She blinked, confused.
“Open it.”
She did.
Inside was my wedding band.
She frowned. “What is this?”
“Try it on.”
“What—?”
“Just do it.”
Hesitantly, she slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit. Perfectly.
Her face twisted in confusion, but I didn’t let her speak.
“You’ve always wondered why he hesitates with you,” I said, my voice calm, sharp. “You think it’s guilt. You think it’s because of me. But it’s not.”
I leaned forward. “He’s in love with you, Bianca. Not platonically. Not like a brother. Not innocently.”
Her eyes widened.
“There’s a hidden room in the estate. He kept things in there—photos of you, sketches. And also recorded videos of you that he watched every night while pleasuring himself.” I let the weight of my words settle.
She froze.
“That ring? He didn’t have it sized for me. He made it for you. You were always the one. I was the stand-in.”
Bianca went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I thought you deserved to know,” I said.
I stood and placed the signed divorce papers in front of her. “Give this to him. Tell him it’s done.”
She stared at the papers, hands shaking. “Where will you go?”