Wife Exposes Husband's Cheating Livestream

The screen of my phone cast a harsh blue glow across the dark sheets of the bed.

I refreshed the browser.

"The Midnight Kiss" held the number one spot on the trending list. Forty-two million views. It was barely two in the morning.

I scrolled down to the top comment.

*I cried when she smiled and said Happy New Year.*

A notification popped up at the top of the screen. Damon, again. Thirty missed calls. Forty-seven text messages. I swiped them away without reading a single word.

I stood and walked into the walk-in closet. I pulled my silver carry-on from the top shelf and opened it on the island counter.

My hands didn't shake. My eyes remained completely dry.

I tossed in my passport. I grabbed the external hard drive containing my master files. I folded the three endorsement contracts I had signed yesterday, tucking them into the front pocket. Finally, I unclasped my mother’s gold pendant from my neck and dropped it into a velvet pouch.

"Wren, please!" Damon’s voice came muffled through the heavy oak door. His fists pounded a relentless rhythm against the wood. "Open the door! We can fix this."

I grabbed two cashmere sweaters and shoved them into the suitcase.

"It’s not what you think!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "That was Cressida Lin. She’s my agency’s new client. I had too much scotch at the mixer, Wren. I don't even know how it happened. I swear to you!"

"She threw herself at me," Damon continued, his tone desperate. "I tried to push her away. You have to believe me. Wren, say something!"

I paused, staring at the zipper of my bag.

Cressida Lin. So that was the name of the stranger who'd had her legs wrapped around my husband.

He'd just handed it to me himself, panicking, not even realizing the internet had already pulled her face from the stream and tagged her in under an hour. Or maybe he was just that drunk.

"Wren, talk to me!" Damon pleaded, his tone dropping from frantic to a pathetic whine. "I love you. You know I love you."

I grabbed the metal tab and pulled it all the way to the end. The sharp zip sliced through his apologies.

I gripped the handle of my luggage and unlocked the bedroom door.

Damon practically fell forward as the door swung inward. He lunged, his fingers grasping for my left wrist.

I shifted my weight, stepping back just enough that his hand caught empty air.

"Don't touch me," I said.

I didn't look at his face. I didn't need to see the red-rimmed eyes or the panic setting into his jaw. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, walking into the living room.

Cressida Lin sat perched on the edge of my white sectional sofa. She had her arms wrapped around her chest. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, and she stared at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Wren, where are you going?" Damon asked, scrambling to his feet to follow me. "You can't leave. The press is already gathering downstairs in the lobby. We need a unified front."

I stopped directly in front of the coffee table.

"A unified front?" I asked.

"We release a statement," he said quickly, stepping into my peripheral vision. "We say it was a misunderstanding. A stunt. A promotional teaser for a new project. Something. Anything!"

"A promotional teaser for infidelity?" I asked.

"We can spin it!" Damon insisted, reaching for my arm again. "My PR team is already drafting a press release. Just stay here. Don't walk out that door."

I turned my head and looked down at Cressida. She flinched.

"Cressida," I said, my voice perfectly even.

She slowly raised her head. Mascara stained her cheeks.

"I hope the new representation contract was worth the public debut," I told her. "Make sure you ask Damon for the premium package. You've earned it. Happy New Year."

Cressida let out a sharp sob and buried her face in her hands.

"Wren, stop!" Damon yelled. "You're humiliating her!"

I gripped my suitcase handle tighter. "I haven't done a thing. You both managed that entirely on your own."

I turned toward the private elevator. I pressed the button for the underground garage.

"You walk out those doors, and we lose everything!" Damon shouted, stepping in front of the elevator panel. "The sponsors will drop us. The whole empire goes up in smoke."

"Move, Damon."

"I made a mistake!" he roared.

"Move."

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. I pushed past his shoulder, rolling my bag into the steel cabin, and hit the button for the basement.

Damon slammed his hand against the closing doors, but they clamped shut, sealing him on the other side.

The garage was freezing. Concrete pillars stretched out into the shadows.

I walked toward my black SUV, the wheels of my luggage rumbling against the pavement.

"Wren! Wait!"

I stopped by the trunk. Maren came sprinting out of the stairwell, her phone clutched to her chest. Her eyes were red, and she was panting heavily.

"Maren," I said. "Go home. Get some sleep."

"How can I sleep?" she cried, closing the distance between us. "My phone hasn't stopped ringing for two hours. The PR agencies are losing their minds. The New Year’s brand deals..." She choked on a sob. "Are they all ruined? Did we just lose every single contract?"

I popped the trunk and hoisted my suitcase inside. The heavy thud echoed off the concrete walls.

"No," I said.

Maren wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. "What do you mean, no? The 'Power Couple' image is dead, Wren. They paid for the perfect marriage."

I closed the trunk and turned to face her.

"They paid for attention, Maren," I said. "And right now, we have all of it."

She stared at me, her mouth slightly open. "So... what do I tell the sponsors?"

"Tell them all current contracts are void," I instructed, pulling my car keys from my pocket. "From today on, every single brand deal gets repriced."

"Repriced?" Maren whispered. "Wren, they're going to demand refunds. They sponsored a happily married couple."

"They sponsored a narrative," I corrected her, opening the driver's side door. "The narrative just evolved. My value just changed. I'm no longer half of a perfect couple. I'm the woman who smiled while her world burned. That’s a survivor story, Maren. Women buy survivor stories."

Maren stopped crying. She stared at me, the gears turning in her head.

"Cancel my morning meetings," I told her. "I'll call you at noon."

I slid into the leather seat and pulled the door shut.

I pressed the ignition button. The engine roared to life.

The digital clock on the dashboard read 4:17 AM.

I picked up my phone from the passenger seat and checked the screen one last time.

The livestream clip had just crossed ninety million views.

I shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the parking space. As I drove up the ramp toward the exit, I caught sight of the penthouse windows in my rearview mirror.

A solitary figure stood silhouetted against the glass, staring down at the street. Damon.

I didn't look up.

I pressed my foot onto the gas pedal, the tires gripping the asphalt as I sped into the dark city streets. The empire wasn't gone. It was just mine now. But building the next chapter required a stop I hadn't planned on making.