"When did you book a suite here?" Nick stammered, stumbling from my push but clinging to his innocent act. "It's kind of a mess. Should we call housekeeping?"

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but I stayed silent, walking to the television and turning it on. With a few clicks, I pulled up the footage.

Within seconds, the screen filled with sounds that made his face burn with shame. The voice's owner stood frozen, his eyes wide with horror.

"No!" he screamed, scrambling to the TV and fumbling to silence it. When he couldn't, he threw himself in front of the screen, arms spread as if he could block the truth.

His face was a mask of panic, his voice quivering. "Honey, please, let me explain."

I pulled a chair over and sat down, pointing at the TV without breaking eye contact. "What's there to explain?"

"I..." He faltered, then collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry, honey. I messed up. Please forgive me just this once. I swear it was only this time."

His words were so rehearsed and polished that they cut deeper than the betrayal itself. I'd indulged him too long, letting him believe I'd always forgive him.

"Fine," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "But from now on, you do exactly as I say."

"Anything," he cried, relief flooding his face as he shuffled toward me.

His hand reached out to me, but I stood up and stepped aside, looking down at him with cold detachment. "Call Diana and tell her to come back. Don't mention I'm here."

His head jerked up, disbelief etched into his features. "What?"

"Now!" I demanded. "You'll know what to do next."

Trembling, he wiped his tears and fumbled for his phone. When the call connected, his voice steadied, slipping into the same smooth, deceptive tone he'd used to lie to me for months.

That was when I realized I'd never truly known the man I'd shared seven years with. He was a far better actor than I'd ever given him credit for.

I tapped my phone, finalizing the arrangements, and soon, the suite's door clicked open. Nick glanced at me, his eyes searching for guidance. I nodded toward the door.

As it swung open, Diana's voice cut through, sharp and eager, mingling with Nick's feigned whimpers. "Your pathetic wife gone already? Couldn't wait, could you?"

Her eyes landed on me, and she froze, her arms still around Nick. The words died in her throat. Then, in an instant, she shed her usual deference and laughed.

"Didn't peg you for this, Mrs. Doyle," she said, stepping closer with a playful smirk. "Rich people and their kinks. Nick said you were boring in bed, but this? This is your kind of thrill?"

Her triumphant grin fueled my rage. I clenched my fist and slapped her hard across the face.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Nick yelped, lunging toward her.

Diana shoved him away, her eyes blazing as she sprang up and aimed a kick at me. I sidestepped just enough to avoid serious harm and let myself fall to the floor, playing the part.

Nick's gaze flickered with a hint of guilt, but Diana yanked him onto the bed, tearing at his clothes with contempt.

"You pathetic thing!" she spat at me. "Acting all high and mighty. You deserve to lie there and watch your husband get taken."

She unbuttoned his shirt, and Nick didn't try to refuse her. Then, the suite's electronic lock clicked open. A satisfied smile curled my lips.