In the middle of the night, I woke up and overheard my husband talking on the phone with his mistress: “Don’t worry, by tomorrow she’ll definitely be gone. The 7,500-square-meter mansion and the multi-billion-dollar life insurance will be yours…” I trembled as I quietly took action that very night.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of whispering. At first, I thought I was dreaming. The city lights spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our bedroom, casting long shadows across the sheets. My husband, Jonathan Hale, wasn’t beside me.
Then I heard his voice.
Low. Careful. Calculated.
I stayed still, my eyes barely open, listening as he stood near the balcony door with his phone pressed to his ear. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Tomorrow she’ll definitely go to hell. The 7,500-square-meter mansion and the multi-billion-dollar life insurance will be yours.”

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