"But if she refuses to know her place?"
"Then I'll make sure Lorraine ends up with nothing."
I stared at that familiar face on my screen.
A chill seeped through me, settling deep in my bones.
The man I'd shared a bed with for years—the moment I caught him cheating, his first instinct wasn't fear. Wasn't remorse.
It was demanding that I clear his mistress's name.
So he wanted me to legitimize his mistress—and then tolerate her existence.
I laughed. Actually laughed.
But Roger wasn't wrong about one thing.
I really couldn't stand a single grain of sand in my eye.
So when my friend sent over Judy's file—and received the videos and photos I'd forwarded—she called me, already laughing.
"I have to say, Roger found himself a real idiot!"
"We didn't even need to go digging for evidence. She gift-wrapped it and handed it right to us!"
My friend's laughter rang through the phone.
"Those videos alone are enough to bury Roger. And then there's your marital assets."
"Also," she asked, "when your parents backed his startup, didn't he sign a promissory note?"
He had.
Roger had insisted on writing that note. He'd made me film the entire thing—said it was to give my family peace of mind.