Naomi Brooks arrived at 8:51 p.m.
She walked into my office carrying a leather briefcase and wearing jeans beneath a trench coat.
I'd known Naomi for eleven years. She had helped incorporate my first company when my office consisted of two folding desks and a printer that jammed every twenty pages.
She had also attended my wedding.
When I turned my phone toward her and showed her Gloria's Instagram story, Naomi stared at it for a long moment.
“Is this tonight?”
“Yes.”
“And Sebastian told you he was in Miami?”
“Yes.”
She watched another video.
Then another.
“Victoria, I'm going to ask you something important. Are you certain this is actually a wedding and not some staged ceremony?”
“I watched them exchange vows.”
Naomi's expression hardened.
“Okay.”
She put down the phone.
“Then we don't react emotionally. We document.”
That sentence may have saved me.
I wanted revenge.
For approximately twenty minutes, I wanted to burn everything Sebastian loved.
Naomi wouldn't let me.
“Anything that belongs legally to him stays his,” she said. “Anything jointly owned gets handled properly. Anything that's yours gets protected. We don't cross those lines.”
So we worked.
And what we discovered was almost worse than the wedding.
Sebastian had been preparing.
Over the previous four months, he'd increased spending from several supplementary cards.
There were expensive restaurant charges I had never noticed.
Jewelry.
Hotels.
Trips.
A prenatal clinic.
Then Naomi found the Florida resort deposit.
I leaned closer.
“That was charged to the household travel account.”
“He used your money to finance this wedding?”
“Our money,” I corrected automatically.
Naomi looked at me.
“Victoria.”
I stopped.
That habit would take time to break.
Naomi contacted an associate who specialized in family law.
By 10:15, attorney Daniel Price joined us by video call.
He was precise and careful.
“No dramatic transfers,” he warned. “No emptying joint accounts. No destroying property. Preserve everything.”
“What can I stop?”
“Anything that is genuinely your individual credit authorization or solely owned corporate resource, subject to the agreements involved. We'll review each one.”
So we did.
The Escalade wasn't Sebastian's.
It belonged to Carter Strategic Holdings.
Sebastian had permission to use it.
Permission could be withdrawn.
The country-club membership was a corporate executive membership provided through my company.
Sebastian was listed as my spouse.
That benefit could be terminated if the marital relationship ended, subject to the club's rules.
Two luxury cards were supplementary cards on accounts for which I was the primary holder.
Those could be frozen.
The most important discovery involved Sebastian's latest real-estate venture.
Six months earlier, he'd approached me about acquiring a small luxury development outside Chicago.
He needed financing.
I'd agreed to provide a personal guarantee.
But the final guarantee hadn't been executed.
Sebastian apparently believed it had.
The lender was still waiting for my signature.
Without it, his financing was uncertain.
I stared at the unsigned document.
Naomi looked at me.
“That's the thing he forgot.”
My signature.
At 11:03 p.m., Sebastian finally called.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
Naomi nodded.
“Answer normally.”
I did.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.”
His voice was cheerful.
Behind him I heard music.
“You still working?”
I stared at Naomi.
“Yes.”
“God, Victoria. It's Friday.”
“So you've told me.”
He laughed.
“How's Miami?”
The silence lasted less than a second.
“Hot. Conference is boring.”
I felt something inside me finally break.
Not my heart.
My belief in him.
He was standing at his wedding reception, wearing another woman's ring, lying to his wife as naturally as he might order coffee.
“Meet anyone interesting?” I asked.
“A bunch of developers.”
“No brides?”
Naomi's eyebrows lifted.
Sebastian went silent.
Then I heard movement.
A door closed.
“Victoria.”
That was all he said.
I leaned back.
“Yes, Sebastian?”
“You saw?”
“I did.”
“Look, I can explain.”
“Can you?”
“It isn't what you're making it into.”
I almost admired the absurdity.
“You married my assistant.”
“Our relationship has been over for years.”
“That would've been useful information for me.”
“You were never home.”
“I was working.”
“Exactly.”
I looked around the office.
The place where I'd spent thousands of hours building the life Sebastian claimed had somehow victimized him.
He continued.
“Alyssa understands me.”
“How long?”
“Victoria—”
“How long?”
“About a year.”
A year.
Alyssa had only worked for me seven months.
Meaning Sebastian had known her before I hired her.
My stomach turned.
“Did you send her to interview with me?”
Silence.
That was my answer.
“Sebastian?”
“It's complicated.”
“No. It's actually becoming very simple.”
His tone sharpened.
“Don't do anything irrational.”
Naomi silently wrote something on a legal pad.
I repeated his words.
“Irrational?”
“We need to handle the assets fairly.”
There it was.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I hurt you.
Assets.
“You're worried about money.”
“I'm worried about both of us.”
“Interesting.”
“Victoria, the house is our home.”
“Yes.”
“And my development project—”
I smiled for the first time that night.
“What about it?”
Another silence.
“The guarantee needs to go through Monday.”
“I know.”
“You already agreed.”
“I agreed to consider signing after final review.”
“Don't play games.”
“I'm not.”
His voice dropped.
“I need that signature.”
I looked at Naomi.
She shook her head once.
“No,” I said.
Sebastian seemed genuinely confused.
“What?”
“No.”
“Victoria.”
“You heard me.”
“You can't sabotage my business because you're angry.”
“I don't have to guarantee your loan.”
“You promised.”
“And you promised something too.”
He had no answer.
For the first time that night, I heard uncertainty in his voice.
“Victoria, let's talk Sunday.”
“Have a nice honeymoon.”
I hung up.
Thirty seconds later, he called again.
Then again.
Then Gloria called.
Then Camille.
Then Sebastian.
I turned the phone facedown.
At midnight, Naomi and I left the office.
I drove myself home.
The Highland Park house looked exactly as it had that morning.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Perfect.
I stood in the foyer and remembered Sebastian carrying me through that doorway after we'd purchased it.
“This is ours,” he'd whispered.
I went upstairs.
His closet contained fewer clothes than usual.
I hadn't noticed.
Several expensive watches were gone.
His passport was gone.
A suitcase was gone.
This hadn't happened overnight.
I sat on the edge of our bed.
That was when I finally cried.
Not dramatically.
No screaming.
No broken glasses.
Just quiet tears for the woman I'd been that morning.
The woman who had listened to his voice message and believed every word.
Eventually I washed my face.
Then I removed my wedding ring.
I placed it on the nightstand.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a text.
Sebastian: We need to talk before you make a mistake you'll regret.
I stared at it.
Then another arrived.
Sebastian: Don't touch the accounts.
A third.
Sebastian: Victoria, answer me.
I turned off the phone.
He still didn't understand.
I wasn't going to take what belonged to him.
I wasn't going to destroy his life.
I was simply going to stop financing it.
And Sebastian was about to discover how expensive his freedom really was.
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