Betrayed by My Husband, I Left With Everything

Our eyes met. His gaze dodged mine for just a second before he let out a quiet sigh.

"Ellie, I don't like it when you act like you can't trust me."

The suffocation rose from somewhere deep in my chest and locked my throat. I couldn't get a single word out.

Lydia Fox's call shattered the silence without warning.

"Lambert, I went and got everything freshened up down there just for you today. Pink, soft, feels amazing. You don't come over, I'm calling another male doctor to do it instead!"

Her voice was demanding, laced with a flirtatious purr.

Lambert's brow knotted. He held my gaze for a moment, then hung up and walked into his study, forcing calm into every step.

A few minutes later, he snatched his coat off the sofa.

"Ellie, believe me. It's just work."

He left without looking back.

So rushed he forgot his phone.

I stood frozen where he'd left me, as if something inside me had short-circuited.

After a long while, I picked up his phone and made myself read through every message between them.

All those blurred, half-remembered nights suddenly snapped into focus against the chat history.

No wonder he always covered my eyes when he lost control.

All that hunger, the kind that felt like he wanted to crush me into his body—none of it had been for me. Every bit of it was spent on Lydia's explicit photos.

The nausea hit so hard I barely made it to the bathroom before I was throwing up.

I threw up until my body was wrung out and empty, and when I finally stopped, what was left wasn't sadness. It was bitter, bone-deep refusal to accept it.

If it was just work, then fine. Let him work it to the end.

I took Lambert's phone, opened his account, and posted those explicit chat logs, screenshot by screenshot.

Then I changed his bio: I'm Lambert Harding. Starting today, taking unlimited appointments for women's intimate restoration. No cap.

When I was done, I sat back against the sofa and waited.

It didn't take long. Lydia called. Video.

I'd expected Lambert's fury on the other end. But when the call connected, all I saw was a dim room and a faint, rhythmic swaying on the screen.

Lambert stood in front of her. His Adam's apple worked up and down. His face was dark.

Lydia's body shook slightly.

"Mm... Lambert..."

The image pitched and swayed, and her voice turned smug.

"You like that, don't you? You've wanted this all along—that's why you came running the second I called..."

"Feels good, doesn't it? I know how to make you beg for more way better than she—"

Lambert hissed at her to shut up, but Lydia wouldn't stop, and in seconds the argument collapsed into a kiss.

"Mm... I can't take it..."

"Don't stop..."

After what felt like an eternity, Lambert pulled his hand back.

"Next time."

His voice was still unsteady, threaded with a self-satisfied smile.

"I've got something tonight. Past midnight it's my anniversary with Ellie. You know how it is—she's got me whipped."

"Seriously? Lambert, are you even a man? You can stop just like that? What, you can't even get it—"

More bickering. Then another drawn-out kiss.

I ended the call.

Something inside my chest shattered, and the pain tore through me so hard my whole body wouldn't stop shaking.

Two years ago, when I first stumbled onto the fact that Lambert had been married before, that deception, that sick, lurching uncertainty, had made me cry until I threw up. I thought that was the worst it could ever get.

Reality had one more cruelty left. There had only ever been one woman in his heart.

I was just a fool who believed she was loved.

Lambert didn't come home all night. I sat awake until morning.

At dawn, I opened the gift box, picked up the pregnancy test—two lines, positive—and gathered my documents and went to the hospital.

I'd planned to surprise him on our anniversary.

Now there was no need.