So that was it.

I remembered that day far more clearly than she ever could.

That day, I was the one holding our son, who was in anaphylactic shock from a severe allergy, begging the doctors with every fiber of my being to pull him back from the brink of death.

To think I had witnessed the very moment they met. Was I supposed to be heartbroken? Or grateful?

A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing my expression to remain calm and professional.

"Ms. Reed, do you have any other requirements for this apartment?"

Bonnie tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then suddenly flashed her wrist, revealing an exquisite vintage watch. "Oh, right. The security here has to be top-notch. Edwin gave me this watch, and it's incredibly valuable; I can't risk anything happening to it. Money is no object; Edwin has plenty of it."

At that, I almost laughed out loud.

Edwin. The ordinary programmer I had propped up with my family’s money and connections. The man who once couldn't afford rent on a one-bedroom in Brooklyn was now the CEO of a tech company worth hundreds of millions. I helped him achieve in three years what takes most people twenty.

Perhaps I had paved his path too smoothly, making him forget where he came from—and forget the person who moved heaven and earth to pave that path for him.

As for the watch, it was an antique Patek Philippe from my grandmother's estate.

On my eighteenth birthday, my grandmother gave it to me, telling me it symbolized our family's legacy. It went missing some time ago, and after a long search, I’d assumed I had carelessly misplaced it.

Now I understood. The heirloom I’d torn my hair out looking for had been stolen by him to woo his new mistress.

I closed the folder. "I understand completely, Ms. Reed. I promise you'll get a home money can't buy."

After smiling and seeing her off, I let out a cold snort and called my best friend and lawyer, Zoe.

"Edwin is cheating," I said, my calmness surprising even myself. "I want him to walk away with nothing. Not a single penny. Whatever equity I secure from his company in the divorce, half of it is yours. That's your fee. Also, get me a private investigator and a forensic accountant. I want a full audit of his books."

Zoe's efficiency was astounding. In less than twenty-four hours, the proof of Edwin's affair and his financial discrepancies landed in my encrypted inbox.

It was only a few months of data, but it was a terabyte of betrayal.

The first video was from the day our son was in the emergency room. Bonnie hadn't told the whole story.

While I was breaking down outside the trauma room where our son lay dying, Edwin was using an "urgent matter" as an excuse to take her to a hotel.

I stayed with my son all night. He only rushed back in the morning, his clothes disheveled, lying that he’d been meeting an important investor.

The second video was from our son Liam's second birthday party.

A guest had accidentally knocked over a fruit platter. Liam, who has a severe nut allergy, broke out in a horrific rash and began struggling to breathe. We rushed him to the hospital.

While I stood trembling in the hallway, Edwin snuck into an empty hospital room to fool around with Bonnie while she was on shift.

The third video was from the time I, sympathetic to the pressures of his startup, let him go on a "business trip" to Miami.

The excuse was laughably thin.

Most of the company's startup capital and connections had come from my family. How could I not know if that trip was necessary?

But I saw the exhaustion etched on his face from the baby's cries waking him every night, and my heart ached for him. So I let him go, told him to relax.

I never imagined my kindness was just a free pass for his romantic getaway with Bonnie. An undisturbed Caribbean getaway for two, sweet and indulgent, funded by the wealth that should have been ours.

My hand trembled as I held my phone, tapping on the longest video.

It was surveillance footage. A piercing cry filled the air. I recognized it instantly. It was my son, Liam.

My fingers shaking, I scrubbed through the video.

Bonnie’s sickeningly sweet voice floated through the recording. "Are you sure about this, Edwin? Using your own son to help me practice... It feels wrong. What if something happens?"

Edwin answered nonchalantly, a hint of a smile in his voice. "What's the problem? People are always saying you can't handle an allergic reaction properly. Practicing with fake data is nothing compared to a real person. If he can't even handle a little test like this, he's no son of mine. Don't worry, I'm timing it. He won't die."

In the past, I had always thought Edwin was a good father. He went from initial clumsiness to being adept at feeding and changing diapers.

Especially after he started his frequent "business trips," he seemed even more attentive and experienced with the baby, always volunteering for one-on-one time with our son.

That's why I trusted him to take our son out alone.

I never imagined he could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.

In the video, Edwin forcibly held down our sobbing son while Bonnie, a nurse, calmly fed a spoonful of peanut butter into his tiny mouth.

My son's cries grew weaker, his little face turning red as he began to gasp for air. A vise gripped my heart, so tight I couldn't breathe. I wanted to smash through the screen and kill that despicable pair with my bare hands.

To show off for his lover, to help her practice her so-called medical skills, he was willing to gamble with his own son's life.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using the sharp pain to stop myself from calling the police right then and there.

No. I would make him lose everything at the peak of his pride.

Then, in the next second, my phone rang.

I took a deep breath and answered. Bonnie's shy, sweet voice came through the phone. "Ms. Hayes, the wedding might have to be moved up. Edwin's mother has chosen a date for us. We're getting married in Napa Valley in three days. Could you please speed up the process for the house?"

Almost simultaneously, a text from Edwin lit up my screen.

"Honey, I've got an urgent, last-minute business conference. I might have to fly to California as early as tomorrow morning. You and Liam be good at home. I'll bring back presents for you both. Love you."

I looked at my phone's wallpaper—a picture of my son sleeping peacefully, his face soft and innocent—and I suddenly laughed.

My husband was getting married. As his legal wife and his "real estate consultant," how could I possibly miss it?

I took my family's private jet and flew to Napa Valley, arriving a step ahead of Edwin.

The moment I landed and turned on my phone, his message popped up. "Honey, how are you and our son? I just got off the plane."

I replied, emotionless, with a photo of Liam and me from a month ago.

He texted back almost instantly. "Our son looks great. And you look beautiful, honey. I don't even want to go to this meeting; I just want to come home to you and our boy."

I stared at the words, a cold sneer playing on my lips.

That photo was a month old. I wasn't that thin back then. My son was also much smaller than he is now.

Edwin had taken that picture himself, yet he hadn't even looked closely enough to notice anything was wrong.