Happy to Take Your Leftovers

Blake's visit was brief.

I washed my face and lay down. The doctor had told me to get as much rest as possible.

Just as I was drifting off, I received a text from him.

The message was punctuated by the roar of a sports car engine—the same convertible I had bought for him.

"Sorry, Camille. Project is a bit complicated. Pulling an all-nighter. Don't wait up, get some sleep."

"I know I've been neglecting you. I'll make it up to you. We swore we were in this for life," he added.

Before I could reply, I tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail.

All sleepiness vanished.

Blake had trotted out the same tired excuses a thousand times—a project crisis, a client dinner, an urgent meeting.

I let out a cold laugh.

"Partners," I scoffed at the dark screen. "I've had enough of this sham."

Vows only matter in the moment you make them. After that, they’re just air.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed and felt a wave of relief. He hadn't come home, just as I'd expected.

I was about to make breakfast when a director from the company called.

"Camille, your husband has some nerve! Daring to skip a board meeting!"

"It's fine," I said with a small, cold laugh, and hung up.

The company was just a vehicle for him to raise capital. As long as the money kept flowing, he couldn't be bothered with the actual work.

I was about to call Blake when I glanced at Scarlett's Instagram Story from the night before.

"Someone drove through the Seattle downpour just to bring me the dessert I was craving. I know you love me most," the caption cooed.

In the photo, under dim, intimate lighting, Blake's eyes were full of adoration as he gazed at her.

I called him.

"What is it?" he grumbled, his voice thick and hoarse with sleep.

Just as I was about to speak, I heard a woman’s coquettish complaint from his end of the line.

"Blake, who is that? You're being so loud…"

In an instant, blood rushed to my head. My stomach churned with nausea.

I swallowed my words and ended the call. I slowly sat down at the dining table, my body trembling.

Blake and I had been married for years, but our intimate moments were rare.

He always claimed he had a low sex drive, that it was just how he was wired.

It turned out he just didn't desire me. With Scarlett, he was a different man.

After a few moments, my composure returned. I began methodically taking screenshots, saving every last piece of evidence from Scarlett's social media.

I compiled all the photos and videos of him lavishing her with money, making grand public declarations of love, and sent everything to Marcus.

"You love her that much?" I thought, a cold resolve hardening inside me. "Fine. I'll personally arrange for her to become the next Mrs. Sterling."