The neighbor’s girl had scratched my car thirteen times with her bicycle. She always looked the part: scrubbed face, faded jeans, weeping those heartbreaking, pearly tears. Before this, I’d always melted. Always waved her off. But this time, she just looked me in the eye. “So what? It’s just a scratch,” she sneered, wiping a tear. “Someone as rich as you wouldn’t bother harassing a broke college kid over something this small, would you?” The weariness hit me like a physical blow. The emotional theater of it all—the calculated poverty—had finally curdled into disgust. “Let’s go the legal route,” I said, my voice flat. She blinked. “Original cost for repair, plus damages. I’m including the previous nine times I let slide. Total liability: three million dollars.” She froze, then her face crumpled, transitioning back to the victim in a flicker. “Three million? You’re only doing this because I’m poor, aren’t you? To bully me?” she wailed. “My boyfriend is a lawyer. I’m not afraid of you.” I truly hadn’t taken the threat seriously. Not until the day of the preliminary hearing. A striking man, immaculate in a bespoke charcoal suit, pulled her close, comforting her as she leaned into his chest. “My little crybaby,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Finally ready to announce who your boyfriend is?” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “As a reward, how about I not only win this for you, but I make sure we get the plaintiff and her lawyer sanctioned? Get you the justice you deserve.” The man speaking was my husband, Spencer Hale—the undefeated litigation shark, the top-tier attorney who, at that very moment, was supposed to be finishing up a major deal in London. … 1. “But really? She has so much money, and she’s so arrogant,” Phoebe Carter sniffled, burying her face deeper into Spencer’s lapel. “I’m just a struggling student. How can I possibly win against her?” Spencer Hale gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “You doubt everyone else, but you doubt me?” He tilted her chin up. “Your boyfriend? I’m the best litigator in the country, Phoebe. The best. I’ll make her crawl for forgiveness. How about that?” Phoebe’s tears instantly dissolved into a dazzling, childish smile. “Yes,” she cheered. “Make that old hag pay.” “Anything you want, little rebel,” Spencer laughed, kissing her again. I watched them from a distance, my gaze fixed on their entwined silhouettes. Then I lifted my phone. Spencer saw the screen light up and instinctively frowned, pulling slightly away from Phoebe. He paused for a long moment before excusing himself, stepping into a quieter corner to answer. Spencer’s voice, artificially bright and laced with practiced affection, hit my ear immediately. “Missing me already? I just left, darling.” “Where are you?” I cut straight to the chase. A fractional hesitation. Just a beat too long. “In London, of course. I text you my itinerary every day, don’t I?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve got to go. My client’s about to throw a tantrum.” I watched the smile drop from his face the moment he hung up, a chilling, instant transformation. Phoebe rushed over, her arms looping around his neck. “Who was that on the phone?” Spencer quickly pressed a kiss to her lips. “No one important. Just a nuisance. What, are you jealous?” My heart gave a heavy, leaden thump as I stood watching their tableau—two lovers oblivious to the world. I didn’t show up for the hearing. My assistant went in my place. When I got home that evening, I sat on the sofa, scrolling through old photos of Spencer and me. Seven years of birthdays, holidays, and inside jokes. My chest was utterly numb. Spencer had graduated at the top of his class and quickly rose to the elite of the legal world. Everyone always called us the perfect couple—the golden pair. I had believed it. I truly had. I let out a short, self-mocking laugh. The vibration of my phone startled me. A text message from Phoebe. “What’s the use of all that money if no one loves you, you old woman?” she gloated. “My boyfriend loves me.” Attached were a dozen intimate photos: hands intertwined, faces pressed together, goofy selfies. The final image was the court document detailing her victory. The judgment was a stinging mockery. Before I could even process a reply, Spencer’s name flashed on my screen. “Audra Sinclair, what in God’s name were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with righteous fury. “You’re nearly thirty, harassing a nineteen-year-old kid! How could you be so cruel as to demand three million dollars from a student?” I smiled, a cold, empty gesture. So he knew it was me. He knew the whole truth, yet he still used his reputation, his genius, to crush me and hand her the victory. The undefeated Spencer Hale. I hung up without speaking. Then I dialed my corporate lawyer, Mr. Alistair Cole. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Sinclair. We simply couldn’t stand up to your husband.” “It’s fine.” “I do have one more lawsuit I need your help with, Mr. Cole.” He paused. “A lawsuit? Why wouldn’t you just use Mr. Hale?” I spoke slowly, deliberately. “A divorce case.” “He’s the defendant.” 2. Spencer finally came home three days later. I gave him a brief, frigid glance, and turned to walk away. “Audra. Honey, are you still mad?” He grabbed my hand. “Look, I apologize for my tone the other day. I was too harsh.” “When I saw Phoebe, I just flashed back to my own college days. I was poor then, too. Scrounging for meal money. It was just a moment of pity.” He didn’t once mention his actual relationship with Phoebe. “We don’t need the money, Audra. Think of it as a charitable donation, an act of grace.” I kept my gaze fixed on him, unmoving. He sighed, pulling me toward the door. “Come on. As an apology, I’m taking you to pick out a new bag. Any bag you want.” I was reluctant, but I had been cooped up inside for too long. As soon as we walked into the high-end boutique, a sales associate rushed over. “Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Hale! So good to see you both!” She enthusiastically showed me the newest arrivals. Spencer beamed, pulling me closer. “Pick out whatever you like, darling. Consider it my apology for my bad temper.” The sales associate and her colleagues began whispering, their voices a sympathetic hum. “Mr. Hale is so devoted to you.” “You two are still number one on the city’s ‘Model Couples’ list.” Model couple. I let out a dry, scornful puff of air. My desire to shop evaporated. I simply grabbed a generic clutch off a shelf. Just then, Phoebe Carter burst in, a squeal escaping her lips as she flung herself onto Spencer’s arm. “Spencer! What are you doing here?” She spotted the bag in my hand. “Wow, that purse is gorgeous, Audra. Is that the new Vanderbilt?” The store associates froze, exchanging uneasy glances. I looked at Phoebe’s expression. She clearly knew I was Spencer’s wife now, but she didn’t look one bit ashamed. No, she’d probably known all along. I lowered my eyes, then extended the bag toward her. “It is nice, isn’t it? Two hundred thousand dollars. You won’t earn that working ten years of minimum wage.” Phoebe’s face immediately stiffened. Then the tears started to fall, right on cue. She said nothing, just fixed her wide, innocent eyes on Spencer, waiting. Finally, she broke into a fresh round of sobs. “It’s true, I can’t afford it,” she choked out. “But Mrs. Hale, you don’t have to look down on me like that. I’m poor. So what? Do I not deserve to live because I’m poor?” She snatched her arm away from Spencer. “I’m leaving! I’ll never show my face in front of you rich, privileged people again!” Spencer’s brow furrowed as he looked at me, all the patience he’d displayed moments before completely gone. “Who said she can’t afford it? I’ll buy it for her.” He then pulled a cheap, ten-dollar canvas tote from somewhere and threw it at me. “Here. You carry this today.” His voice was cold, laced with contempt. “Go home and think about when you became so shallow and judgmental. All you’ve ever been is a parasite, Audra, coasting on your family’s name since childhood. In ten years, Phoebe will eclipse you.” He then turned and chased after Phoebe, leaving me alone, stranded in the silent store. The sales associates stared, their pitying eyes watching me. I looked at Spencer’s retreating back, and my heart gave a sudden, sharp contraction. It was a searing, needle-like pain that radiated through my chest. I lowered my eyes to mask the flood of emotion, pulled out my phone, and took a picture of the bag’s payment receipt. Then, I walked to the window and snapped a photo of Spencer and Phoebe outside, locked in a tight embrace. “Mr. Cole,” I typed. “Adultery evidence.” 3. “Received,” Mr. Cole’s text popped up instantly. I put my phone away and sighed. A store associate nervously approached me. “Ms. Sinclair, that was the last one of those bags—and your picture with Mr. Hale… should we still display it?” I looked over at the glass shelf. There, tucked between two new bags, was a framed photo of Spencer and me, taken right after college graduation. Spencer had just started as a junior paralegal, a complete nobody. He’d saved three months of ramen-noodle money to buy me the cheapest clutch in this very store. When he gave it to me, he held me close and whispered, “I don’t have much now, Audra, but I promise you. We are going to have the brightest, most beautiful future.” That cheap clutch is still in my closet. It’s my favorite. Every time I see it, I remember that promise, that future he mapped out for us. Now he was successful, famous, and rich. That photo felt like a brutal slap across the face. “Ms. Sinclair?” the associate prompted. I looked at my younger self in the photo, smiling so innocently, never imagining this day. “Throw it out,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s irrelevant.” Irrelevant memories. Irrelevant people. I didn’t want either anymore. I turned, walked out of the store, and headed straight for the ocean. I spent three hours by the water, watching the relentless churn of the waves. Seven years—from college sweethearts to married life—tumbled through my mind. The raw, jagged pain I felt when Spencer walked away had finally settled into a dull ache. The storm had passed. I sent him a text. “Tomorrow is our seventh anniversary. I think we need to talk.” Spencer didn’t reply. But Phoebe posted a picture on her social media. It was a close-up of the designer bag Spencer had just bought her. The caption read: “The one who truly loves you will cross any obstacle to be by your side. In love, the only other woman is the one who isn’t truly loved.” A moment later, Spencer Hale had ‘liked’ the post. I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. Time to like her social media posts, but not time to reply to his wife. It didn't matter. I no longer cared. My phone buzzed again, this time a video call. Phoebe. “Hey, Audra! Guess where I am?” Her tone was chirpy, manic. “You know, it’s true you rich people have it all. Even your dog eats better than me. An animal gets to live in a mansion. How is that fair?” In the video, she was in my living room, my dog, Gus, clutched tightly in her arms. I had raised Gus from a puppy; he was family. He was frantic, struggling in her grip. “What are you doing? Let him go!” I shouted. Gus was fiercely protective of me. He thrashed harder, perhaps hearing my distress. Phoebe squeezed his head tighter, and Gus instinctively bit her hand. Phoebe’s face, which had been smiling in her moment of triumph, twisted into something dark and ugly. “You little bastard!” “The old woman bullies me, and now her mutt attacks me, too?” Phoebe, still wearing the ridiculously expensive heels Spencer bought her, violently kicked Gus’s small body. I screamed, dropping my phone, scrambling to pick it up as I started to run. “Don’t touch him!” The ten-minute drive from the beach to the house took me five. I was still too late. I shoved the door open. Gus was lying on the marble floor. His eyes were wide with a film of tears, and he let out the smallest, weakest whimper—the sound he made only when he was in excruciating pain. My heart shattered. “Phoebe! Get away from him! Get away!” Phoebe looked up and smiled. “Oh, hi, Audra. You’re back. Your house is amazing, but your dog is so naughty.” She looked down at Gus, her eyes turning cold and malevolent. “You came back for this dog, didn’t you? Just wait. I’ll send him down to you.” A primal, suffocating dread closed in on me. “No—!” 4. I was still on the first floor, but it was too late. Phoebe was standing on the upstairs landing, and in front of my horrified eyes, she flung Gus over the railing. Thud. My companion, my little fur-family, the only unconditional love I’d known for years, hit the ground and went still. I let out a shriek of absolute devastation. “Gus!” I watched his eyes. They glazed over, fading away. His tiny paw was extended towards me, as if he needed one last hug. He was too far. I couldn't reach him. And then, he slowly closed his eyes. A massive, overwhelming wave of pain and pure, white-hot hatred washed over me. Phoebe looked from Gus’s body to my broken face and started laughing. “Dead? Good, he deserved it. Why should an animal live better than me? I didn’t mean to kill him, but that bite—" I scrambled up the stairs like a madwoman, my hand raised, ready to strike her. “Who told you to touch him? Who gave you the right to be here?” The palm of my hand never made contact. A powerful force grabbed my wrist and stopped me dead. Spencer’s eyes, normally composed, were shadowed and dark. In seven years, I had never seen him look at me with such cold fury. For another woman. “Audra Sinclair, what the hell are you doing?” I grit my teeth, pointing a trembling finger at Gus’s motionless body below. “Who let this woman into my home? She just killed my dog!” Phoebe, naturally, was weeping against Spencer’s chest. She shook her head violently. “I’m sorry, Spencer! The dog just went crazy and bit me, and then it jumped off the balcony itself!” She pulled back her sleeve, revealing the superficial bite mark. Spencer’s eyes hardened. He violently flung my arm away. I lost my balance and crashed hard to the floor. “This is what you call a loyal pet? If anything happens to Phoebe, I swear, you will regret it.” A corner of the coat rack dug into my stomach. The pain was so sharp I couldn’t speak. Spencer didn’t even glance at me. He was focused solely on examining Phoebe’s hand. “Are you okay?” Phoebe shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Spencer. I was just looking around this huge house—it’s so big—and then Audra’s dog just lunged at me. I—I…” She dissolved into sobs, and Spencer swept her up into his arms. I gripped the hem of his trousers, fighting the churning sickness in my stomach, clinging to one last sliver of hope. Maybe Gus could still be saved. “The hospital. Spencer, please. Take Gus to the hospital. Now.” He didn't look down at me. His voice was calm, a desolate, cold whisper. “It’s just an animal. It’s dead. It got what it deserved.” I watched their backs disappear, and the tears finally came. They weren’t for Spencer. They were for my Gus. And for the seven years of my life I had given to this man. Cradled in Spencer’s arms, Phoebe looked over his shoulder. She caught my eye, a smug, victorious smile on her face. Then, she mouthed two silent words at me. Other woman. The one who isn’t truly loved. 5. I woke up in the hospital on the third day. My assistant, pale and exhausted, was sitting by my bedside. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. “Boss—” Two full days. Spencer hadn’t come to the hospital. Not once. I closed my eyes, then opened them. My voice was raspy. “Call the police. File a report.” “Yes, Ms. Sinclair.” Not long after the police left, Spencer walked into my room. His face was grim, his eyes burning with irritation. His opening line was a demand. “Phoebe hasn’t even graduated. You called the police? What about her future?” I looked at him, my expression blank. “The moment she killed my dog, she decided her future. I want her to face the consequences for what she did.” Spencer glared at me. “I can’t believe you’ve become this person. You rich people are all heartless. But you can’t touch Phoebe while I’m here.” He stood taller, the undefeated lawyer. “You know my power, Audra. With me on her side, no case is unwinnable. I won’t let her lose.” Then, he turned and left. One day later, I received the notice. Spencer, on behalf of Phoebe, was suing me for willfully allowing my aggressive pet to injure her. Against any other attorney, the case was laughably weak. But this was Spencer Hale. His record of zero losses was the gold standard of the industry. People used to envy me for having such a brilliant husband. It never occurred to me that he would use that brilliance to destroy me. The verdict came down a week later. I lost. Thoroughly. The court ruled that I owed Phoebe one million dollars for emotional distress, medical expenses, and pain and suffering. Furthermore, for allowing a pet to maliciously injure a person, I could face a fifteen-day jail sentence if the plaintiff declined to drop the charge. I stared at the ruling. I had already convinced myself I was done with him, but still, my heart gave an involuntary, painful wrench. I never thought Spencer would be this cruel. He was so terrified of a negative impact on her future that he didn't care about destroying mine. Fine. Spencer Hale. I never want to be associated with you again. I called Mr. Cole, forwarding the last, damning pieces of evidence of Spencer’s infidelity. ... Spencer smiled when Mr. Cole showed up at his office. “Audra finally realized she was wrong, didn’t she? This whole thing was just to teach her a lesson. I would never let her actually go to jail.” He checked his watch. “Tell her I’m coming home tonight. All the previous drama—” Mr. Cole interrupted him. “Mr. Hale, this is from Ms. Sinclair. I suggest you look at it.” Spencer’s smile widened. “Did she get me a surprise? Audra is always so predictable. If she’d just been more cooperative sooner…” His voice trailed off as he fanned the papers. He looked down at the documents on the floor, the color draining from his face.
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