01 After exposing Debbie's emotional affair online, the court ordered me to post a video apology every day for fifteen consecutive days. "I should not have publicized your explicit chat logs with Mr. Gary without blurring his name." "I should not have secretly recorded your suggestive voice notes with Mr. Gary and shared them publicly." To show my utter sincerity, I included their uncensored photos and full legal names in every post. Furious and humiliated by the public exposure, Debbie picked a massive fight with me after every single upload. By the time the thirteenth video went live, I tagged her assistant, Gary, to offer a solemn, targeted apology. Although she stormed out of the house in a rage, she surprisingly did not throw her usual tantrum afterward. I was naive enough to think she had finally recognized her wrongs and decided to save our marriage. The next day, I spent hours cooking her favorite meal and drove to her office to surprise her. The moment I pushed the heavy office door open, a suffocating wave of heavy breathing and whispered moans hit me. Debbie was pinning her flustered assistant to the couch, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as he tried to pull away. "Since he already thinks we are doing it, we might as well go all the way, otherwise we are losing out, aren't we?" She caught sight of my bloodshot, tear-filled eyes and let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Who else can you blame, Tristan? You forced my hand." I stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer betrayal. Debbie was defiled, and with her, our seven-year marriage lay in ruins. The glass container slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The hot soup I had spent all night simmering splashed over my bare ankles, the searing pain making me break into a cold sweat. "Why did you make me watch this?" My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. She had specifically demanded that I bring her lunch today, all just to orchestrate this cruel spectacle. Debbie only smirked at my accusation, refusing to shift from her suggestive position over Gary. "You already dragged our names through the mud online. If we do not make it real, Gary here would have suffered all that slander for nothing." He was the one suffering? In our seven years of marriage, her text replies to me never exceeded a single word. Yet, she could send endless, soft-voiced audio recordings to Gary, reading him bedtime stories. When I was burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, she was on the phone giggling, telling Gary how adorable his new silk pajamas looked. When I was bleeding out after a car accident, she claimed she was too busy to sign my emergency consent form, only for me to find out she had rushed across town to tend to Gary's sick puppy, a delay that nearly cost me my right leg. The tension in the office grew suffocatingly thick. Debbie finally, reluctantly, let Gary stand up. She reached over to adjust his belt before tossing a used wrapper into the wastebasket. "Yesterday, you tagged his name under the company's official public page and called him all those disgusting things. Did you really think I would let that slide?" I stared at the dark red mark on her collarbone, my heart hammering in my chest. "What do you want from me?" Debbie casually picked up a pair of discarded underwear from the sofa and threw them directly at my chest. "I want you to wash his clothes right here, and apologize to Gary while you do it." With a quick flick of her wrist, she opened the blinds facing the main office floor. Dozens of employees immediately gathered outside the glass wall, whispering and pointing at the drama unfolding inside. The fabric brushed against my bare arm, and a wave of intense nausea hit me, making my stomach churn. Debbie scoffed, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "You think this is dirty? When those thugs took ninety-nine private photos of you, you were a hundred times filthier than this." I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking up at her in absolute shock. Years ago, when kidnappers took those compromising photos of me, Debbie had nearly lost her life trying to hunt them down and retrieve the film. She had held my shivering, suicidal body back then, whispering over and over, "You are not dirty, Tristan. My sweet Tristan is not dirty at all." The exact same person, using the exact same mouth, was now ripping my old wounds open with words that made it hard to breathe. Staring at the bucket of soapy water she had her assistant bring in, I swallowed my remaining pride and knelt on the floor, rubbing the fabric together. Outside the glass, the spectators watched with looks of morbid curiosity and disgust. Driven to the edge by Debbie's relentless mocking, I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera straight at her and Gary. "I formally apologize to Mr. Gary. I should not have barged in while he was sleeping with my wife in her office, ruining their fun." With a sharp bang, Debbie kicked the bucket over, sending soapy water splashing across the floor, before grabbing my phone and throwing it against the wall. "Tristan, are you ever going to stop!" Soaked from head to toe, I sat on the wet floor as Debbie's fury flared. "Is this your idea of an apology? Fine. You brought this on yourself!" She marched over to her desk, yanked open a bottom drawer, and threw a massive stack of glossy papers into the air. A single photo fluttered down, landing right beside my knee. My heart stopped. It was one of the intimate photos from my kidnapping, the very ones she had sworn to me she had burned years ago. Outside the office, the employees scrambled to pick them up, their eyes scanning the explicit images with greedy, mocking curiosity. I lunged forward, tearing the photos on the floor to shreds, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Debbie, you are an absolute monster!" For a split second, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, turning to her security guards. "Take him home. He clearly needs to calm down." They dragged me away and locked me in the dark basement of our house, plunging me into a panic. Years ago, on my way to the International Steinway Competition, I had been intercepted and locked away in a dark room. It was in that windowless room that those monsters took those ninety-nine humiliating photos, triggering the severe claustrophobia that had plagued me ever since. I clawed desperately at the heavy basement door, my nails tearing and bleeding as I screamed until my voice turned to gravel. Finally, the door swung open, and Debbie stood there, her face dark with anger. "I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but you still posted that video!" On her phone screen, the final apology video was trending online, the very clip of me exposing their office tryst. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn't posted it, that I hadn't even had the chance to press upload before the phone was snatched away. But before I could speak, she slammed the door shut again, letting out a cold sneer. "I am going to make you pay for this." Minutes later, muffled groans and the creaking of weight filtered through the door, accompanied by the chaotic, jarring sounds of piano keys being struck in rhythmic succession. That piano was the last remaining heirloom of my parents, left to me before their tragic accident. On the eve of the grand competition, they had flown in from Europe just to watch me perform. But that very night, they received copies of those horrific photos from an anonymous sender, and in their panic-stricken rush to find me, their car spun out of control. I missed the competition I had trained my whole life for, and lost the two most important people in the world. And now, their sacred legacy was being used as a crude prop for Debbie and Gary's twisted games. Gary's breathy voice carried through the thin walls. "He is right in the basement, Debbie. What if he posts another video about this? It would be so embarrassing." "Let him," Debbie gasped. "Doesn't knowing he is listening make it so much more thrilling?" The discordant, pounding notes of the piano battered my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, the intense psychological trauma causing my stomach to heave as I dry-heaved repeatedly in the dark. The noise outside went on for hours. Finally, a notification buzzed on my phone, containing an old video link. It was the broadcast of that fateful piano competition years ago. On the screen, Gary stood on the grand stage, tears shining in his eyes as he held the golden trophy. "If my main competitor had not suffered an unfortunate incident right before the finals, I doubt I would be standing here today." He blew a kiss to the camera. "I owe everything to my wonderful sponsor. She promised me she would secure the first-place spot for me, and she kept her word!" Every drop of blood in my veins ran cold. My sole rival in that competition had been Gary. When the kidnappers threatened me, they had warned, "If you dare step onto that stage, these photos go viral." They were working for him. And the sponsor he spoke of was none other than Debbie. Before I could convince myself it was a coincidence, the camera panned to the VIP seats, revealing Debbie's adoring, proud face. The phone felt like a hot coal in my palm, and I dropped it, shaking uncontrollably. When I was taken, Debbie had arrived with the police seemingly out of nowhere, saving me from those thugs in a flurry of violence and blood. I had spent years worshiping her as my guardian angel, believing our deep bond was the only reason she had found me so quickly. Now, the pieces fell into place. That was why she had those photos. That was why they were never destroyed. The savior who had pulled me from the abyss was the very person who had pushed me into it. Unable to bear the crushing weight of the truth, my vision faded, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of a hospital room greeted me. Debbie was sitting by my bedside, dark circles underscoring her tired eyes. Seeing that I lay quiet, without screaming or crying, she assumed I had finally been tamed. But she was in for a bitter disappointment. "The kidnapping, the photos, the threats... it was all you, wasn't it?" I asked, my voice flat, every word carved from ice. Debbie's eyes flickered, but there was no trace of remorse on her face. Instead, her expression hardened. "Have you been digging into my past?" "So you really used that old story to threaten Gary and drive him to a breakdown?" Gary suddenly burst into the room, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed dramatically. "Everyone online is saying my trophy was bought, and that I am responsible for your parents' deaths! I didn't know anything about the kidnapping, Tristan, I swear I didn't!" He shrank back, looking at me with theatrical terror. Seeing her lover in distress, Debbie panicked. When she turned to me, her voice was soft, but her words were lethal. "Tristan, just release a statement. Tell the public you traded your body to the competition judges, got cold feet, and missed the finals, which led to your parents' fatal accident. Today is the anniversary of their passing anyway. It is the perfect time to go to their graves and beg for their forgiveness." I stared at her, my mind reeling. When my parents died and I had stood on the ledge of our apartment building ready to jump, she was the one who had pulled me back. "Your parents would want you to live, Tristan. I promise I will take care of you for the rest of my life." It turned out her definition of a lifetime was incredibly short. A cold, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. "Never. Debbie, let's get a divorce." Her chest rose and fell as she struggled for breath, her jaw tightening. "Is our seven-year marriage so worthless to you that you would throw it away over a minor dispute?" Gary rushed forward, his eyes red and theatrical. "Please, Tristan, do not divorce her because of me. If you do not care about her feelings, I do! If it makes you happy, I will take the blame for your parents' deaths, even if the public tears me to pieces!" He played the martyr perfectly, making me look like the heartless villain. Debbie immediately began to soothe him, then pulled up a live camera feed on her phone, showing a group of burly men holding shovels, standing directly in front of my parents' graves. "You do not want a divorce, Tristan. You are just trying to destroy Gary's life," she said coldly. "If you do not post the statement, your parents' resting place will be razed to the ground." My pupils dilated in sheer terror. On screen, a heavy metal shovel slammed into the marble headstone, shattering my parents' porcelain portraits into a web of cracks. My mind fractured. Forgetting all remaining dignity, I threw myself from the bed onto the floor, screaming in despair. "Stop! Tell them to stop! I will do whatever you want!" The tension left Debbie's brow, and she smiled with her usual artificial warmth. "I knew you would make the right choice, Tristan." She helped me off the floor and into her car, a convoy of reporters trailing closely behind us as we drove to the cemetery. At the cemetery, a barrage of flashing cameras blinded me, dragging me back into the nightmare of my past humiliation. I curled into myself, unable to look at my parents' ruined headstone, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Like a hollow puppet, I read the script they had prepared for me. "I willingly took those intimate photos to generate publicity for the competition. My own greed and foolishness led to the distraction that caused my parents' fatal accident..." Debbie stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed, while Gary stood nearby, his winner's medal catching the light as a smirk played at the edge of his lips. The moment I finished reading, the gathered crowd surged forward, shouting insults. "Disgusting pig, trying to frame others for your own filth!" "The photos are already circulating online anyway, he got exactly what he wanted!" "Who knew the CEO's husband was such a cheap tramp? Did you see the photos? He actually has a six-pack!" They began taping copies of my private photos onto my parents' shattered tombstone, spitting on the ground in disgust. I lunged forward to tear them down, but Debbie's security guards pinned my arms behind my back. Debbie hesitated for a brief second, but chose to stand her ground. "It is just a few promotional videos for the media, Tristan. We can clean the headstone once they leave. I have already tolerated enough of your outbursts. As my husband, you should try to maintain some basic dignity." With that, she stepped away to answer a ringing phone. The second she was out of earshot, Gary's mask slipped, exposing his true, sinister nature. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, "I have seen every single one of those photos, Tristan. Debbie and I actually use them to get in the mood. It is a shame your parents didn't appreciate the art. When they were driving to your venue, I kindly texted them the images to enjoy. I guess they panicked, lost control, and slammed right into that semi-truck." His mocking face twisted in front of me. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, I raised my hand to strike his face, but before my palm could connect, Debbie rushed back and shoved me hard to the ground. "Tristan, how dare you! Gary has done nothing but try to keep the peace, and you are acting like a lunatic!" I lay in the dirt, gasping for air. "He killed my parents! He sent them the photos!" Debbie froze, but before she could process my words, Gary let out a theatrical gasp of pain. "My chest... Tristan hit me so hard..." Without another glance in my direction, she wrapped her arm around him and helped him walk away. The moment their luxury sedan cleared the cemetery gates, the hired thugs returned with their shovels, systematically pulverizing my parents' headstone into gravel. I dragged myself forward, throwing my body over the ruins to shield them from the heavy iron tools. "Please, stop! I beg you!" A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking me back into the dirt, the impact leaving me gasping for air. The more I struggled, the harder they pinned me down, forcing me to watch as my parents' graves were reduced to dust, their portraits scattered and trampled. And today was the anniversary of their deaths. They pried open the concrete vault, dragging my parents' urns out of the earth and pouring the gray ashes onto the ground. One of them grabbed a handful and shoved it toward my mouth. "Gary's orders. You eat this, or you don't leave here alive." The dry dust filled my nostrils and mouth, choking me as I thrashed wildly against their grip, tears of blood leaking from my eyes. "No! Stop! Give them back to me!" A heavy stone collided with the back of my skull. A cold trickle of blood ran down my neck, and the world faded to black. Back in the city, after confirming Gary didn't have a single scratch on his body, a strange, suffocating anxiety began to gnaw at Debbie. Ignoring his complaints, she grabbed her car keys and drove back to the cemetery as fast as her vehicle could go. But the moment she stepped through the iron gates, the scene before her drained every drop of color from her face.
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