The Contraceptive Bill in My Husband's Name

The next morning, I'd just arrived at the office when Felicity's encrypted email came through.

"Everything you asked for is in here. Take a look. This Serena woman really is something."

I clicked on the attachment. It was screenshots of Serena's public social media account.

Her newest post was a close-up of a drawing pen, the Gardelo pen that had disappeared.

The photo was carefully taken, with soft lighting, and an original architecture design book lay open beside it. The caption read, "Mr. Z said my spark deserves the best pen."

I clicked on the next post, and it was a selfie of her with the "Z" necklace.

Serena had put on makeup and tilted her head slightly to show the slender curve of her neck and the necklace. The caption read, "Mr. Z said I'm the only inspiration behind his designs."

The only inspiration.

I looked at those words and laughed in disbelief.

Despite that, I scrolled further.

In one photo, my living room was clearly shown in the background. Serena held my cat in her arms and smiled sweetly. "I got to pet the cat at Mr. Z's house. It feels so healing!"

In another, she sat in my car with my favorite diffuser in her hand. "The scent in Mr. Z's car smells so good. He says it's what helps him relax the most."

Every photo and every caption carried the same undertone. She was clearly staking a claim.

I closed the photos and opened another folder.

It was the information Felicity had dug up on Serena.

Serena came from an ordinary family and graduated from an ordinary university. Her résumé was plain. Getting an internship at a top-tier design firm like ours should have been nearly impossible.

The only highlight was a university competition where she'd submitted a city landscape proposal and won first place.

That detail stayed with me.

I kept scrolling, and when I reached the last photo, my entire body stiffened.

In the photo, Serena stood with a printed design sketch in her hands, smiling with satisfaction. The title at the top of the sketch read, "Norwell Project."

I'd spent three full months on that. It was the core design proposal I'd prepared for our company's most important bid of the year.

It was also the most crucial project of my career.

I shot to my feet and went straight into the lounge inside my office, where my personal, encrypted computer was kept.

I turned on the screen and got the password prompt.

I tried my birthday. It was wrong.

I tried our wedding anniversary. It was wrong.

I tried every important date, and every one of them was wrong.

I stared at the password field as my mind buzzed. Then, a thought surfaced unbidden.

Felicity's file included Serena's birthday.

My hand shook slightly as I typed it in.

"Welcome."

The computer unlocked.

Zachary had changed the password to my personal computer to his mistress' birthday.

The humiliation hit so hard that it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

I bit down on my lip and opened the file manager. The desktop was clean and orderly, and I spotted the Norwell Project folder at a glance.

I clicked on it. The last modified date was yesterday.

I clicked on the recycle bin next.

Inside lay my original Norwell Project blueprint, the first version, layered with the encryption I'd set. The deletion date was also yesterday.

I returned to the desktop and opened the revised version.

The core design was almost identical to mine, but several key load-bearing structures and design highlights had been adjusted just enough to skirt around my patent while keeping the essence of the proposal intact.

The signature line showed the name "Serena Lance".

Zachary wasn't just cheating me and betraying what we had. He was stealing my work, my career, and our company's future to pave the road for his mistress.

I had to brace myself against the desk to keep myself from collapsing.

It turned out that betrayal didn't stop at breaking trust. It could also strip me of everything that I had built with my own hands.