My husband Steven Fortin's mistress Yolanda Delmar won the case against me.

But the key to her victory was the very evidence I had personally uncovered—evidence that had mysteriously disappeared.

It was the first defeat of my career and cost the firm a staggering 1.5 million dollars in damages.

When I found out Steven had handed those documents to her, I tried to reveal the truth, but he stopped me.

"Yola's just starting out, so she doesn't have a reputation yet. The victory was the gift I promised her. Since you're about to put your career on hold to start trying for a baby, why not let her take over as team leader?

"Yola reminds me of the younger you. If I hadn't helped you, you wouldn't be where you are now. Can't you show her some empathy?"

Steven's brazen self-righteousness made him feel like a stranger to me.

When I graduated, several high-profile firms reached out to recruit me.

Steven, while drunk, begged me to join his company, so I turned down all my other offers.

Now San Francisco's famed golden boy, he had entirely forgotten everything I did to help him build this business from scratch.

My success was built on hard-won victories, every single one earned through my merit alone.

Yolanda wasn't even in the same league.

"Don't bring this up again. If word gets out, it'll ruin Yola's reputation," Steven continued.

"It will tarnish our reputation as well, as she's one of us now."

Steven made the final call, leaving no room for me to argue.

A sudden wave of disappointment and pain swept over me.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips as I forced back the tears in my eyes.

"You planned this?" I snapped, my voice sharp. "You threw me and my career under the bus just to build Yolanda's reputation and steal the company's gratitude for her?"

Steven was a chauvinist, obsessed with playing the nice guy.

When we first got together, everyone at the office called him a pushover. With management in shambles, he couldn't keep anyone in line.

For two years, I wore myself thin, doing the work of several people to keep his dreams alive.

I had to manage his chaotic business, handle negotiations, and shoulder nearly every case.

Steven told me more than once that he owed his success to me and would always remember my contributions.

He even transferred fifty percent of the company's shares to me after we got married to show he meant every word.

Two weeks ago, our company became tied up in a major case after substandard materials on a project led to several deaths.

I spent a grueling, sleepless week dedicated to the investigation.

But on the day of the hearing, every single piece of evidence that would have exonerated the company mysteriously vanished.

I knew the truth, but without proof, my words meant nothing. I lost.

Only just now did I learn that Steven had stolen the evidence himself, deliberately ensuring I would lose the case.

He'd handed everything to Yolanda, using my defeat as her stepping stone to fame.

Suddenly, I remembered a post I'd come across online a week ago.

"I met the woman I truly love after getting married, and I want her in my company. The problem is my wife, who helped me build the business and still holds a key position. How do I manage this? Advice, friends?"

The top replies were as follows.

"You should never let a woman stand on equal footing with you. Find a way to push her out, turn her into a trophy wife who stays at home. That way, she won't get in the way of you and your true love."

"Get her pregnant. A baby will shift her entire focus, ensuring she no longer has the drive or time to monitor your affairs."

When I first stumbled across that post, my immediate thought was to jokingly mention it to Steven.

But I was buried in work, and Steven was never around, so I forgot all about it.

Now, with everything falling into place, I felt like I'd been dropped into an ice bath.

No wonder Steven suddenly suggested we try for a baby and insisted I hand over my projects so I could rest.

No wonder he'd been coming home later and later, always reeking of that cloying, sweet perfume.

It turned out I was the 'cast-off wife' being discussed in that very post.

After I lost the case, Steven announced to the entire company that everyone's salary would be cut for three months, which instantly turned all the employees against me.

But right after Yolanda's victory, he revoked the pay cut, putting her up on a pedestal for everyone to worship.

Not only did this help Yolanda cement her place in the company, but it also blocked any chance I had of returning if I ever chose to leave.

"Steven, are you sure this is what you want?"

I asked softly, though deep down, I'd already stopped expecting anything from him.

Steven's expression grew more and more impatient, as if I were the unreasonable one.

"Sabrina Latimer, when did you become so dramatic?

"Do you really think you can keep showing your face everywhere once you have a baby? I make enough money for both of us. You should just stay home and enjoy life with the kid.

"There's nothing wrong with my planning ahead for your replacement. Yola was top of her class in college—she's the perfect fit to take over the legal department. All she ever needed was the opportunity."

So, to give Yolanda that opportunity, Steven threw me under the bus.

I let out a harsh, angry scoff. I was too tired to argue anymore.

"Fine. But I want a hush fee of 1.5 million dollars. And Yolanda has to pay it to me herself."

Since Steven said Yolanda saved the company 1.5 million dollars, I was going to take every cent of it back.

Steven was stunned by my audacity.

He was about to scold me when his phone chimed with a special notification.

His face instantly softened as he typed out a quick "Okay" and hit send.

"The team's throwing a party to celebrate Yola's win. Don't bother showing up and ruining the mood—"

I cut him off. "1.5 million dollars. Or I'll show up at your little party and tell everyone the truth."

Steven's face twisted with anger. "Yola just graduated—where is she supposed to get that kind of money? Sabrina, stop being ridiculous!"

I smirked, waving my phone. "I have recordings.

"I don't care how she gets it. All I want is the 1.5 million dollars in my account."

Steven's face darkened, but he clenched his teeth and agreed.

Not long after he left, I pulled up that old post from my browser history.

The original poster had just updated it.

"My wife found out I was scheming against her. Now she wants a 1.5-million-dollar hush fee, and she insists the other woman has to pay. What should I do?"

I could practically see Steven's furrowed brow as he typed out those words.

Sure enough, there were already new replies, everyone offering their advice.

I quickly registered a new account—no profile picture, nothing—and commented under his post.

"Just give the money to your true love and have her transfer it to your wife. It's all staying in the family anyway, no real loss."

A few seconds later, my comment got a like from the poster.

"Thanks, buddy. You saved my life."

Reading that, my heart still ached.

After that, I made two phone calls.

The first was to Cedric Oxley, who'd invited me to France after graduation to start a law firm together.

Once we hung up, I immediately booked a flight to France for a month from now.

I hesitated for a long time before making the second call.

After Mom and Dad divorced and each remarried, we'd barely kept in touch.

But for the divorce, I'd need their connections.

When I found out that as long as I got Steven's signature on the divorce papers, the process could be expedited, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

In the middle of the night, the ping of a message woke me up.

When I checked my phone, I saw a text from Yolanda.

"Rina, did you upset Stevie again?

"He got drunk tonight. I tried to take him home, but he kept insisting he didn't want to go. He said he'd rather stay with me, so I had no choice but to bring him back to my place for the night.

"You're Stevie's wife, but it was just one night. Rina, I hope you don't mind."

Attached beneath her messages were two photos.

The first was a selfie of the two of them—Steven slumped against Yolanda, his face flushed and glassy-eyed from too much alcohol, while Yolanda wore a look of staged exasperation.

The second showed Steven sprawled out on a pink, girlish bed, clutching Yolanda's arm tightly in the corner of the frame.

The background in the photos looked familiar. If I was right, it was one of Steven's villas.

It was a bit of a drive from the office. After he moved into a high-rise closer to work, he rarely went back—until now, apparently, when it had become his secret hideaway for keeping a mistress.

Yolanda had messaged me on WhatsApp herself on her very first day at the firm.

Back then, all I knew was that the department had a new hire with a sweet smile, and when she asked for my contact info, I didn't think twice about giving it to her.

I never imagined that, from the very beginning, Yolanda was scheming to take my place.

When Steven left yesterday afternoon, I'd already decided how things would end between us.

So now, seeing these messages and photos, I felt an unexpected calm.

It was almost laughable.

Yolanda, a fellow attorney, had just handed me proof of Steven's betrayal.

"Stevie says he's going to make me head of the legal department. He wants to thank you for stepping aside, Rina."

Yolanda's texts dripped with smugness and provocation.

Just picturing her triumphant smirk made my stomach turn.

"Stolen things never truly become yours, Yolanda. I'm looking forward to watching you crash and burn."

After sending that reply, I blocked her on WhatsApp.

Naturally, I never saw her furious reaction, or the long string of taunting messages she typed out, only to be met with a single gray tick.

The next morning, just as I got back from my run, I found Steven brooding in the living room.

"Sabrina, we agreed on the 1.5 million dollar hush fee. You're never to mention that case again. So what's with the message you sent Yola?

"Apologize to Yola. Now."

Steven didn't bother with pleasantries—just launched straight into a reprimand.

My sleep-deprived brain took a moment to catch up. Clearly, Yolanda had tattled to Steven about my message last night.

"Oh? Did your little girlfriend tell you what I sent, but leave out how she provoked me?"

Steven bristled, face red with embarrassment. "She's not my girlfriend, Sabrina, don't start with that!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Then where did you sleep last night?"

Ever since we got married, I'd always picked out Steven's clothes.

But today, he was wearing something I'd never bought for him—not what he'd left the house in yesterday, either.

He faltered, the words dying on his lips, looking guilty.

"I was drunk last night, so I just crashed somewhere for the night. But nothing happened between me and Yola, not like you're thinking."

I glanced at the dark red lipstick mark on his neck, my gaze full of scorn.

Maybe out of guilt, Steven didn't press me about the message I'd sent Yolanda.

He dropped the whole apology demand, too.

That afternoon, the hush money—1.5 million dollars—landed in my account from Yolanda.

Steven started coming home on time every day, and his moods around me improved noticeably.

But the sweet, cloying scent of Yolanda's perfume still lingered on him, never fading.

For the next week, it felt almost like Steven had reverted to the man I'd first fallen for.

He brought home a bouquet every night, though he'd long forgotten my favorite flowers.

One evening, he even showed up with a bunch of lisianthus.

He didn't remember I was allergic until he saw the rash blooming across my arm. Only then did he toss the flowers away, looking mildly annoyed.

I was disappointed, but I didn't waste energy on pointless arguments.

Back when Steven knelt on one knee and promised me that if he ever betrayed me, I could leave him anytime I wanted.

I'd already prepared the divorce papers.

Now, all I needed was a chance to get Steven's signature.

After a week of pretending to be swayed by Steven's sweet talk and letting the whole Yolanda situation go, I finally agreed to his suggestion that I quit my job and focus on getting pregnant.

Steven was thrilled, hugging me tightly, but his eyes held no warmth—only the smug satisfaction of a plan coming together.

Just as he wanted, I began handing off my work.

To ensure nothing went wrong, he did not allow me to hand over my duties directly to Yolanda.

What he did not expect was that Yolanda would gloat right in front of me.

I ignored her bragging, treating her like a barking dog.

When I handed Steven a stack of documents to sign, I knew he'd be so eager for me to finish the handover that he wouldn't look closely. I slipped the divorce agreement in the middle of the pile.

Once I had the signed divorce papers, I sent them straight to Dad, asking him to take care of the formalities.

Even with connections, it would still take a week to get the divorce certificate.

I wrapped up my remaining work and left the company feeling lighter than ever.

With my goal accomplished, Steven dropped the act—no more pretending in front of me.

He didn't come home for three days straight, barely bothering with excuses now that I'd resigned and had no way of knowing what was happening at work.

But the car's GPS showed he was spending every night at the villa.

A week later, Dad sent me the divorce certificate. I called Steven, ready to give it to him in person.

As soon as I asked him to come home because I had something important to discuss, he let out a half-hearted sigh.

"The company just landed a new project. I'm swamped. Whatever it is, let's talk when I have time."

His lies were clumsy; now that I was out of the company, he didn't even bother to hide them.

But I clearly heard Yolanda's syrupy voice in the background.

"Stevie, I'm already wearing your 'gift.' Come unwrap it!"

Steven's breathing grew heavier.

He hurriedly replied to me, "If it's nothing urgent, I'm hanging up."

I let out a cold laugh, disgusted just imagining what was happening on the other end of the line.

But my tone was calm. "Fine. I'll leave the papers in the living room."

I hung up before he could say another word.

The next morning, I rolled my suitcase out to the curb and headed for the airport.

An hour later, my plane took off, bound for France.

San Francisco, Steven, and everything that came before would slowly fade out of my life.