I smiled as Victor took everything—the house, cars, money, even my silence. His mistress laughed. I leaned in. “Thank you.” He frowned. “Why?” I glanced at the cameras. “For taking everything poisoned.” By midnight, his empire began to burn.
Celeste smirked. “Some women just don’t know how to keep a man.”
I met her gaze, remembering the late-night calls, the missing money, the fake companies, the passwords Victor stopped hiding because he thought pain made me blind.
Three years earlier, I had left forensic accounting to help him build his “clean energy empire.” To the world, I was just the supportive wife. He never mentioned that I designed the systems his investors trusted—or that I kept copies of everything.
Men like Victor love admiration, not accountability.
He turned, enjoying his victory. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Maybe teach accounting. Something simple.”
Celeste slipped her arm through his. “Come on, darling. Let’s celebrate.”
I nodded. “Enjoy it.”
Victor stepped closer, lowering his voice. “That ‘thank you’ sounded strange.”
“Did it?”
He searched my face for panic—but found nothing. That irritated him.
“You lost, Maya.”
I glanced past him—toward the cameras, the reporters, and the black car across the street where two federal agents were waiting.
“No,” I said quietly. “I was set free.”
Celeste’s smile faltered for just a moment.
Then she pulled him away.
And I watched my ex-husband walk straight toward the first locked door of his new life.
