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My husband just told me we're broke. Then I saw HER—on TikTok, live-streaming to flex. Some thirst trap in a limited-edition Dior, showing off a whole wall of designer bags. "My sugar daddy faked going broke, making his wife live in some dump." "Now ALL these babies are mine. Gonna give a few away to my fans!" My eyes locked onto the bag in her hand. I owned that exact bag—the ONLY one like it in the world. Because I designed it myself! I stared at her face—a cheaper knockoff of mine—and at this sh!thole roach motel around me. I froze. "Oh, sorry, I've gotta go." "Sugar daddy's coming back. Told me to get all cleaned up and spread my legs—says he's gonna fvck me till sunrise~" The livestream cut off. At the same moment, a text from Asher lit up my screen: [Sorry babe, creditors tracked me down. Won't be home till morning.] Wait— So that's MY broke husband's side chick flexing MY Chanel on livestream?! Perfect. Dead husbands pay better than broke ones anyway. Can't wait to be a rich widow! I stared at that message, lost in thought. So that influencer's sugar daddy was Asher? And the bankRuptcy... was fake too? I clicked into her profile and saw she'd just posted: [A tender moment before things get wild.] The photo showed a shirtless man in an apron, cooking in a kitchen. Just his back. Ten years in the same bed. I'd know that silhouette anywhere. That was Asher. And I knew that kitchen too. I'd cooked in it for ten years. In all that time, Asher had never spent more than A minute in there. But now he was cooking for another woman. I sat down again, staring into nothing. The stool beneath me was plastic. This cheap rental didn't even have a couch. No WiFi. No TV. Like a cage. I couldn't name what I was feeling. Sad? A little. Angry about being lied to? Not really. Mostly just... calm. Maybe I'd known all along that the bankRuptcy was bullsh!t. He'd told me himself—no warning signs. No news reports. He'd dumped me in this sh!thole and immediately took off, claiming he had to dodge creditors. A whole week had passed. He only showed up in the mornings, if that. He'd even warned me not to leave the apartment. Said he was worried creditors might track me down. I used to think he was protecting me. Now? Pretty obvious he just didn't want me finding out he wasn't broke—and that he had a side piece. Fine. I accepted it quietly. Then I put on my coat, grabbed my shoes, and walked out. Just like Asher lied to me about being ban//krupt, I never told him about the private account I had— Enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life! At 8 a.m., I got a text from Asher asking where I was. I didn't reply. About ten minutes later, he called. "Sienna, where are you? Why aren't you answering my texts?" He sounded worried. I paused, trying to steady my breathing. "Uh... didn't see them." There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Then Asher asked, carefully, "Sienna, what—what are you doing? Why are you breathing so hard?" I laughed, my voice light. "Running. What else would I be doing?" "Where are you running? I'll come pick you up." Asher clearly didn't believe me. His voice was full of suspicion. I said casually, "Central Park area." He hung up in a hurry. I shrugged and ignored him. Half an hour later, I finally headed back to the apartment. Breakfast was on the table. Coffee and a bagel, already cold. Asher had brought them. I didn't eat it. Just tossed it in the garbage. Ever since he faked going broke, he'd been bringing me this same breakfast every morning. It was fine at first. After a week, I was sick of it. My phone kept buzzing—Asher, calling nonstop. I silenced it, walked into the bathroom, and let it ring on the table. By the time I got out of the shower, he was back. He was holding my phone, still buzzing in his hand. His face looked pissed. "Sienna, why didn't you pick up?" I dried my hair, barely looking at him. "Phone bills aren't cheap. Still money." "You're broke, right? Gotta help you save where I can." Whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat. After a beat, he walked over and wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I'm sorry, Sienna. I shouldn't have doubted you." Then, right in front of me, he transferred me the only hundred dollars left. "Made it last night doing a side gig. It's all yours. Don't worry about saving for me." A side gig? What kind of side gig? Being a gigolo for that influencer? That sounded pretty cheap. I didn't say anything. His phone buzzed. A message popped up. He immediately let go of me and turned away. A moment later, he was in a rush again. "Sorry, Sienna, creditors are hounding me. I gotta go." I turned and looked at him. "Is it really creditors?" "Of course. I'd never lie to you!" "Stay home. Don't go out. I'll bring you breakfast tomorrow." He bolted out the door like his butt was on fire. It didn't look like he was running from debt. It looked like a man running to his mistress. Sure enough, when I opened the influencer's page, she had posted again. [Heard my sugar daddy gave his wife a hundred bucks for living expenses? Nah, that won't do. I want a million!] The photo showed Asher looking down at his phone, transferring money. And a screenshot of the deposit—one million dollars. I laughed. Then I touched the corner of my eye. No tears. Asher came back the next morning with breakfast. Not coffee and a bagel this time. Oatmeal and croissants. I was a little surprised. Just as I was about to take a b!te, my phone buzzed. That influencer—Nico Brooks—had posted again. [Mentioned I wanted croissants last night. Sugar daddy woke up at 3 a.m. and baked them from scratch.] [Too bad I couldn't finish them all. So I graciously let him bring the leftovers to his old, dried-up wife.] The photo showed Asher in the kitchen. Just his back. I'd already picked the food up. Now I set them down. "Disgusting." Asher, who was pouring me soup, froze. "What?" I glanced at him and smiled. "Saw a post yesterday. A husband fakes going broke, tricks his wife of ten years into living in a dump." "Then he brings his mistress home to fu//ck around." "How can a man be that shameless? It's disgusting." "Don't you think so, babe?" Asher instinctively looked away, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah. Pretty disgusting." I stared at him. "You're not lying to me too, are you?" The second the words left my mouth, I saw his eyelid twitch. He looked up in a panic. "No!" "I'd lie to anyone but you. You have to believe me, Sienna!" Then, realizing he'd overreacted, he forced a bitter laugh. "If you don't believe me, I'll swear on it." "If I'm lying to you, I'll get hit by a car the second I walk out that door!" That'd be too easy for you. I smiled sweetly. "Okay. I believe you." I believe you'll get hit by a car the second you walk out that door. I didn't touch the breakfast. Just walked straight into the bathroom. Asher looked confused, but didn't dare ask. He just probed carefully. "You've been showering every morning lately. Are you running every morning now?" I brushed him off. "Yeah. A neighbor's dog knocked me over while I was out. I reeked of dog." "You know I hate dogs. Sweat plus dog smell? Can't stand it." Asher didn't seem to know how much to believe. Or maybe he just wasn't listening at all. Because he was texting his mistress. I could see it perfectly on the hidden camera I'd installed. "Babe, I'd stay tonight. My wife might've figured out the bankRuptcy was fake." "I needed to stay and smooth things over." That night, Asher wrapped his arms around me from behind. In this sickeningly tender position, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sienna." "If I hadn't gone broke, you wouldn't be suffering like this." "Don't worry. I'll work hard and get you back to the good life. I promise." I closed my eyes. All I could see was what I'd watched on the hidden camera. Asher texting Nico: [I hate lying in the same bed with that old hag. I swear I can smell old people on her.] [You're the one who smells sweet, baby.] Nico comforting him: [It's fine. Just wait till she falls asleep, then go to the couch and video call me. I'll keep you company.] [Naked, obviously.] The camera didn't catch Asher's face. But he was clearly excited. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Asher tested me a couple times. When I didn't react, he got up and left. This cheap dump didn't have a couch, so he went to the bathroom. I didn't even need to follow him. I could hear everything from the bed. Disgusting. I really hoped Asher would get hit by a car tomorrow morning. But he didn't get hit by a car. He didn't even wait till morning and left in the middle of the night. And he didn't come back that morning either. No sh!tty coffee and a bagel. No leftover breakfast from his mistress. Just a short text: [Creditors are after me. Gotta go.] Meanwhile, Nico's feed showed Asher holding her in the garage, too horny to even wait. I didn't go over there like some crazy wife and make a scene. That'd be pathetic. I'd look like a lunatic. And throwing a fit wouldn't get me a bigger cut in the divorce. I just quietly saved screenshots of the camera footage and Nico's posts. If we divorced, these would be my weapons. Asher spent the entire day with Nico. Even went on her livestream—risking getting caught. The two of them didn't care about anyone watching. Just flaunted their affair right there on camera. They didn't show their faces, but I could see enough of his lower half to know it was him. Some viewers couldn't take it anymore and tore into them in the chat: [You two are shameless as he11. A cheater and a homewrecker livestreaming their affair? Disgusting!] [Your wife must be so unlucky.] Asher saw the comment and immediately started dropping cash gifts in the livestream. He even spoke up publicly to defend Nico. "Jealous much? That why your mouth's so nasty?" "You look pitiful. Here, have some money. Then shut it before it rots any further." Wave after wave. He threw money around like it meant nothing. Soon enough, all the hate comments were buried under a flood of cash. Once, I got dragged on the trending page over a scandal. Back then, Asher had defended me just as fiercely. Now? He was still fierce. Just not for me anymore. I numbly sighed—the man who used to love me had rotted away. --- Asher came back the next morning with breakfast. The same coffee and bagel as always. Meanwhile, Nico's feed showed Asher making her elaborate breakfasts from scratch. Different every time. A man who hadn't set foot in a kitchen for ten years. Now waking up early to cook for another woman. He must've loved her beyond reason. I couldn't think of any other explanation. I suddenly felt exhausted. This charade—pretending we still loved each other—I was DONE. So on Valentine's Day morning, I told Asher to come home that night. I had something to tell him. He agreed. --- February 14th. Valentine's Day. Also our tenth wedding anniversary. I made all my favorite dishes ahead of time, then called Asher and urged him to come back. He agreed verbally, but hung up quickly. Right before he did, I heard a woman moaning in the background. I froze for a second. By the time Asher got home, it was 10 p.m. "Sorry, Sienna. Got held up meeting a client." "Did you eat? I brought back some takeout from that place you used to love." "I met the client there, mentioned you liked their food, so he insisted I bring some back." He was lying again. Most likely, he'd spent the day shopping with Nico. When they were tired, they booked a hotel room. When they were tired of se//x, they went to a reservation he'd made at some fancy restaurant. And now he'd brought back the leftovers from his candlelit dinner with her. Just like he used to do with me. I glanced at him calmly. Just said flatly. "Come sit. I need to talk to you." Asher didn't move. He looked at me apologetically. "Sienna, I'm sorry, I just came back to check on you." "I have to leave in a bit. Still have stuff to handle with the client." He looked so guilty. Like he actually felt bad. "I'm really sorry I couldn't spend our anniversary with you." "I'll make it up to you next time, okay?" Before I could respond, he set the takeout box down and turned to leave. That's when I realized—he hadn't even taken his shoes off since he walked in. I called out to him. "You have to leave right now?" "Can't even wait ten minutes?" Instinctively, Asher felt he should stay those ten minutes—or he might regret it. But his phone kept buzzing in his pocket. Pulling at him. In the end, he chose not to turn around. Just muttered "sorry" and walked out. The door closed in my face. I waited a full minute, then got up and followed him. Sure enough, his car was parked downstairs. The second he got in, Nico lunged at him from the passenger seat. She bit down on his lip, pouting. "You're two minutes late. You're not allowed to get out of bed later!" Asher flipped the script, pinning her against the seat. His voice dripping with heat. "I can start right now." I stood a short distance away, recording everything on my phone. Only after he drove off did I lower it. I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I made a call. "Everything is done. You can come pick me up now." Valentine's Day and Super Bowl were close together this year. Asher had skipped Valentine's Day and their anniversary. He figured he had to spend Super Bowl with Sienna. He was obsessed with Nico's looks, could lie to Sienna for the thrill of it. Could blow off Valentine's Day and their anniversary. But at the end of the day, that was just playing around. Asher drove to the apartment first thing in the morning. He'd been lying to Sienna for so long—today, he'd take her out and actually spend the day with her. He opened the door and called inside. "Sienna, I'm back! Today we're gonna—" The words died in his throat. The place was empty. Sienna wasn't waiting for him like she used to, wasn't sitting there expecting him to bring breakfast. The bed was made. Didn't look like anyone had slept in it. Her clothes were still there. So was the takeout he'd brought back on Valentine's Day. Everything was there. Except the shoes she always wore. Panic hit him out of nowhere. He yanked out his phone and called her. Thank god—it rang. She picked up. "Sienna, where are you? Why aren't you home waiting for me?" She didn't answer right away. Just a low laugh. And then a sound Asher knew all too well—a man's groan. His whole body went cold. "Sienna, what—what are you doing?" "You're running, right?" Heavy breathing came through the line first. Then her voice. "Asher, someone told me I'm old top to bottom. So I tested it out. Turns out it's not me." "It's you. You're short and soft. Like a button mushroom." She hung up. Asher's brain went blank. When he finally snapped out of it, he frantically tried calling her back. Then a notification popped up on his screen. [Sugar mama says her husband's short and soft—what should she do?] [Easy. Get yourself a young stud with stamina!] The post had a photo attached. A guy in a mask, showing off his eight-pack abs. A woman in barely anything leaning against him. Even from the back, Asher recognized her instantly. That was Sienna. His wife of TEN years.