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.

My blood turned to ice.
I knew instantly who he was talking to. Vanessa Cole—his assistant, his “trusted colleague,” the woman I’d always felt uneasy about. My hands trembled under the blanket, but I didn’t move. I forced my breathing to stay slow, even as panic crawled up my spine.
Jonathan continued, voice steady, almost bored. “Everything’s arranged. It’ll look natural. No one will question it.”

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