«I haven’t liked you since our first night!» — my husband announced during our anniversary celebration….

That’ll cost you, he said. Money’s not a problem, I replied. This isn’t just about divorce.

This is about exposure. I want the world to see what he really is. Miles raised an eyebrow.

And what’s your end goal, Victoria? I stirred my coffee once, twice, and smiled for the first time in two days. A celebration he’ll never forget. It only took Miles three days.

Three days to pull apart the illusion I had spent a decade believing in. He sent the files over in a sleek leather binder. No digital copies, no emails.

He knew what he was doing. I opened it in my study, the soft jazz playing in the background suddenly too cheerful, too fake. The first page was a photo.

Daniel, 10 years younger, standing outside a failing tech startup in Brooklyn. Beside him, a foreclosure, notice taped to the door. That was three months before our wedding.

The next page showed a timeline. His business collapsed in the spring of that year. Two weeks later, he started dating me.

I flipped to the next section. Phone records, bank statements, social media screenshots. Daniel hadn’t just fallen in love with me, he had targeted me.

My family name, Langford, opened doors in Manhattan most people didn’t even know existed. We didn’t just attend the Met Gala, we funded part of it. And Daniel knew that.

He didn’t pursue me for love. He pursued me for legacy. He introduced himself at a gallery opening my father sponsored, pretending it was a coincidence.

He researched my interests, mimic my values, inserted himself into every space I occupied. Every move was calculated. By the time he proposed, the Langford board was already considering him for a junior position.

He played the long game, and I had been the grand prize. One page in the file showed a note Daniel had written to his former college roommate. Marrying Victoria isn’t just a win, it’s security.

Once her father steps down, I’ll be in a position to steer the company. She’s too soft to notice. I stared at that sentence until the letters blurred.

She’s too soft to notice. He’d been wrong about a lot of things, but that that was his biggest mistake. I closed the binder slowly, my hands cold.

It wasn’t just betrayal. It was invasion. He had studied me like a blueprint, designed a role, played it flawlessly, but now the script was mine to write.

I called miles back the same evening. I need a favor, I said. I want you to help me film something.

He hesitated. What kind of something? I looked out the window, where the city pulsed beneath me like a sleeping beast. A wedding video, I said.

Only this time it won’t be a lie. The next week, I told Daniel I had an idea. Let’s make a video for Chloe, I said sweetly, brushing my fingers across his sleeve at dinner, for our 10-year anniversary.

Something she can watch when she’s older. He raised an eyebrow. A documentary? Something like that, I said.

Us talking about love, about family, about how we made it this far. He grinned, arrogant as ever. Finally embracing the public image? Exactly, I whispered.

Exactly. He never noticed the camera angles were too professional. He never questioned the sound guy’s background in courtroom surveillance.

And he definitely never noticed that Chloe wasn’t home anymore. I had already moved her to my mother’s estate in Connecticut. Far from the storm I was about to unleash.

The morning of the anniversary, I stood in front of the mirror in my dressing room at the plaza and practiced my smile. Not the soft one I used at charity luncheons. Not the proud one I reserved for Chloe’s school plays.

This was different. This was the smile of a woman who had finally stopped apologizing for being too patient, too trusting, too blind. The smile of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

I touched up my lipstick and smoothed my gown. The stylist hovered nearby, fussing over the hem. You look radiant, she said.

I nodded, not really hearing her. Somewhere beneath us, the ballroom was being prepared. Gold-trimmed name cards.

Lavender and white peonies. The Langford crest carved into an ice sculpture. Everything Daniel ever wanted.

Everything he believed was still his. When I stepped into the hall, Daniel was already there, sipping champagne with Ashley. Of course he brought her.

I had insisted. She’s part of your team, I had said innocently. It’s only fair.

Ashley wore a red satin dress, too tight for the occasion. She clung to his arm like a trophy. They looked rehearsed, like they had practiced their betrayal…