In all our years of marriage, I'd never seen her wear anything like that. Whenever we were intimate, she was cold. Perfunctory. Lying there like a starfish, claiming exhaustion from work.
I'd believed her. Blamed myself.
Who would've thought she was buying scandalous lingerie in my name—to wear for someone else?
"You're certain," I said, my voice dangerously calm, "that these gifts and this lingerie were meant for me?"
Audrey stared at me with incredulity.
"Oliver Fox, you look like a gentleman, but you're really a piece of work. What, trying to smear Tessa now? I've been friends with her for ten years. I know her character."
I let out an icy laugh. "Then she's going to disappoint you. I haven't seen a single one of these 108 gifts. And that lingerie?" I gestured to the phone. "Never seen it in my life."
"You're lying!" Audrey's voice rose to a shriek. "Who else could 'Hubby' refer to? Tessa has given you her whole heart!"
The gift list was already circulating through the crowd. Someone uploaded it online.
In an instant, the narrative cemented. I wasn't just a husband asking for divorce—I was an ungrateful parasite.