After My Husband Made Me the Villain in His Game

The Global Innovation Summit was a shark tank wrapped in silk and champagne. Two weeks ago, I would have been drowning here, clutching Theodore’s arm like a life raft while he charmed investors who looked right through me. Tonight, I walked in with my head high, the heels of my stilettos clicking a sharp, solitary rhythm against the marble floor.

Beau Ross walked beside me, not leading, not pulling, just matching my stride. His presence was a steady hum of static electricity against my arm, grounding and terrifying all at once.

"Shoulders back," Beau murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "You're not the wife anymore. You're the competition."

I didn't need the reminder. I felt it in the way the room shifted. Heads turned—not to pity the cast-off Mrs. Hayes, but to appraise the woman in the crimson suit who had just secured the Kinsley contract.

Then I saw him.

Theodore stood near the bar, but the man who had ruled Hayes Corporation with an iron fist was gone. In his place was a specter. His suit hung loosely on his frame, as if he had shrunk inside it. His skin was gray, the color of old ash, and dark, bruised circles carved hollows beneath his eyes. He was vibrating with a nervous energy that made him look less like a CEO and more like an addict going through withdrawal.

He wasn't sleeping. I knew that look. For twenty years, I was the only thing that could quiet the noise in his head. Without me, he was unraveling.

"He looks like hell," Beau noted, his tone devoid of sympathy.

"He looks like a man whose game is glitching," I replied, sipping my sparkling water.

Theodore spotted me. His eyes widened, bloodshot and manic. He didn't approach with his usual swagger; he lurched toward us, cutting through a conversation between two tech moguls without a word of apology.

"Mallory." His voice was a rasp, dry and desperate. He ignored Beau entirely. "You need to come home. The house... the acoustics are wrong. It's too quiet. I can't calibrate the silence."

"I have a condo downtown, Theodore," I said, my voice cool, detached. "It's very peaceful."

He reached for me, his hand shaking. "Stop this. Veda... the game is lagging. She's demanding more micro-transactions. Transfers. She says she's pregnant—carrying a 'legacy player.' But she won't go to Dr. Evans. She's acting erratic."

I felt a cold spike of shock, followed immediately by nausea. Pregnant. "Congratulations," I said, the word tasting like bile. "Sounds like you've unlocked the family expansion pack."

"No!" He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples. "It doesn't feel right. She can't soothe me, Mallory. When I wake up screaming, she just checks her phone. She talks about 'debuffs' and 'stamina drain.' I need *you*. You're the only one who knows the protocol for my insomnia."

He tried to grab my arm, his fingers clawing at the fabric of my suit. "Come home. Tonight. I'll delete her save file if I have to. Just come back and sit with me until I sleep."

The audacity stole the air from my lungs. He didn't want a wife; he wanted a jagged little pill to knock him out. He wanted his utility back.

I stepped into his space, forcing him to look up at me. "You pushed me down a flight of stairs, Theodore. You let that woman destroy everything I loved. You cut my hair because you thought my dignity was a bug in your system."

"I was optimizing!" he pleaded, sweat beading on his forehead. "It was part of the quest line!"

"The quest is over," I hissed, leaning in close so he could see the deadness in my eyes. "There is no respawn point for us. I don't hate you, Theodore. Hate implies passion. I look at you and I feel... nothing. You are just a corrupted file I’ve deleted."

I pulled back, brushing the invisible dust from my sleeve where he had almost touched me. "Go back to your player. She's carrying your prize, isn't she? Enjoy the game."

I turned on my heel. Theodore made a sound—a choked, wounded noise—but Beau stepped between us. He didn't say a word, just cast a shadow over Theodore that froze him in place.

We walked out onto the terrace, away from the suffocating noise of the gala. The night air was crisp, cleansing. My hands were trembling, not from fear, but from the adrenaline of severing a limb that had been gangrenous for too long.

Beau handed me a manila folder he had pulled from his jacket.

"What is this?" I asked.

"The cheat codes," Beau said, his eyes hard as flint. "My investigators finished the deep dive on Veda Kennedy. She's not a gamer, Mallory. She's a debtor. She owes three million to loan sharks in Macau. The pregnancy? It's a stall tactic. She's panicking because the money transfer hasn't cleared."

I opened the file. Mugshots. Bank statements in the red. A history of conning lonely, wealthy men with elaborate fantasies.

"Theodore demanded a specific medical checkup," I whispered, realizing the leverage. "That's why she's refusing. She knows she'll be exposed."

"I've arranged a meeting with Theodore for tomorrow morning," Beau said, taking the folder back. "I'm not going to save him, Mallory. But I am going to make sure she never hurts you again."

I looked back through the glass doors. Theodore was standing alone in the middle of the crowd, staring at his phone, looking small and infinitely lost.

"Burn it down," I said softly. "Burn it all down."