Sarah Cadwell sat hunched in the plush leather chair of Rachel Donovan's office, her auburn hair falling like a curtain over her face, shielding her hazel eyes from the world. The dim light of the late afternoon filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, a reflection of the darkness seeping into her heart. Her olive-toned hands, trembling slightly, clutched a crumpled tissue, the faint freckles on her cheeks stark against her pale, tear-streaked skin. The message from Lisa Hargrove—"Can't wait for tomorrow, babe. She'll never suspect a thing"—haunted her, a betrayal that had robbed her of sleep throughout the night, they were probably already together now. The revelation that her husband, David Cadwell, was entangled with her best friend had shattered the fragile trust she'd built over years, a trust rooted in a past she'd clung to for safety.
Sarah's childhood had been a nightmare until her parents' car crash when she was twelve. The loss had left her orphaned, timid, and introverted, her spirit bruised by years of their abuse—her father's fists, her mother's cold indifference. But salvation came when she moved to State R to live with her grandmother, Mrs. Ellis Grayson. There, she was showered with love, her granny's warm embrace and lilac-scented hugs mending the wounds of her past. It was Mrs. Ellis who introduced her to David, the son of her close friend, a struggling young entrepreneur just starting Cadwell Enterprises. Back then, David was different—lean but earnest, his cold gray eyes softened by ambition, his dark blond hair often mussed from late nights building his company. They'd hung out at community picnics, shared quiet dinners at Mrs. Ellis's modest home, and over time, love blossomed. His persistence helped her overcome her fear of men, and they married when Cadwell Enterprises was still a fledgling dream. But now, that dream felt like a lie, the explicit messages and Lisa's voice a dagger to the life they'd built together.
She hadn't confronted David. Her trauma-induced timidity held her back, a vise tightening around her throat at the thought of his sneer or the crooked nose twitching with disdain. Instead, she'd sought solace in the only remaining friend she trusted—Rachel Donovan, her lawyer and confidante. Rachel, with her sharp features and dark ponytail, leaned forward, her voice carrying the authority of a seasoned advocate. "Sarah, I know this cuts deep," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "But if you want a divorce, you need more than a phone call, a text and a few photos, David's a powerful man now—his lawyers will crush you without solid evidence. Hire a private investigator. Let them dig deeper, in secret. We'll build a case he can't escape."
Sarah nodded, her full lips pressed into a thin line. The idea of secrecy suited her introverted nature, a shield against the confrontation she dreaded. I can't face him, she thought, her internal conflict surging. [What if he denies it? What if he turns on me, like my father did?] The memory of her parents' rage flashed before her eyes, merging with the bruise on her arm from their laundry room scuffle. Yet, a flicker of defiance stirred—I deserve better than this betrayal, after all Granny helped me build. Rachel's advice felt like a lifeline, a way to reclaim control without breaking under the weight of her past.
Rachel handed her a business card for a discreet investigator, her eyes softening. "Keep this quiet, Sarah. David can't know you're onto him. We'll get the proof—financial records, hotel stays, whatever it takes. You'll walk away with what's yours."
Sarah tucked the card into her pocket, her mind racing. What's mine? she wondered, thinking of the $200 million David had hidden. The sum, uncovered in his financial records, now seemed like the fruit of his deceit, funding a double life she'd never suspected. She left the office, her emerald-green dress a stark contrast to her subdued demeanor, and returned to the Cadwell Mansion, where David's snores had filled the night—a sound that now grated like a lie from the man she'd once believed in.
Over the next few days, the private investigator, a shadowy figure named James, worked in silence. Sarah avoided David, her timidity keeping her interactions brief and polite, her hazel eyes avoiding his gaze. The mansion, once a symbol of their shared struggle and success, felt like a prison, its opulent chandeliers and marble floors a reminder of the life she'd helped build, now tainted by his infidelity. Her internal struggle intensified—part of her yearned to confront Lisa, to demand why her friend had stabbed her in the back, but the fear of rejection, of being alone again like after her parents' death, held her back. [What if Rachel's wrong? What if I'm overreacting, misjudging the man Granny trusted?] The doubts gnawed at her, echoing her childhood insecurities, yet the evidence of that Bluetooth call fueled her resolve to uncover the truth.
James delivered his first report a week later, on February 22, 2025, meeting Sarah in a quiet café near Elm Street, close to Mrs. Ellis's home. The investigator, a wiry man with a scarred face, slid a manila envelope across the table. "Mrs. Cadwell," he said, his voice low, "your husband's been busy. This goes deeper than you thought."
Sarah's hands shook as she opened the envelope, her breath catching. Inside were photos, receipts, and call logs detailing David's serial infidelity. A beachside apartment in State D, rented under a shell company, served as a love nest for his favorite mistress—identified only as "C.V." for now. Hotel bookings in cities across the country— in different States—correlated with his "business trips," each stay accompanied by charges for room service and lingerie. The timeline stretched back years, long before Lisa entered the picture, even before Cadwell Enterprises stabilized. One photo showed David with a blonde woman, her face obscured, leaving a hotel in a red lace outfit that matched the call's description.
Her stomach churned as she read further. Most of David's so-called business travels—monthly jaunts to "secure deals" when the company was struggling—were rendezvous with various lovers. A spreadsheet listed dates and locations: a weekend in Vegas with a brunette shortly after their marriage, a week in Chicago with a redhead during a lean year, all while Sarah waited at home, believing in his dedication to their future. The $200 million he'd hidden wasn't just for tax evasion—it funded this web of deceit, paying for apartments, gifts, and silence, a secret he'd kept even when they were scraping by. [He's been laughing at me all this time,] she thought, her chest tightening with a mix of rage and humiliation. The timid girl inside her wanted to curl up and disappear, to avoid the pain of facing this truth, especially knowing Mrs. Ellis had vouched for him. But the woman she was becoming pushed back. [I won't let him win.]
The familiarity of Lisa's voice from the Bluetooth call haunted her again, now a sinister confirmation, the betrayal cutting deeper. Lisa, one of her two only friends, had been part of this the moment she introduced David to her, perhaps even before David's company took off. The thought of confronting her friend twisted her gut, her introversion warring with a growing need for justice. [How could she betray my trust?] she wondered, tears welling but held back by sheer will. Yet, the evidence of David's broader infidelity shifted her focus—Lisa was just one piece of a larger puzzle, a puzzle that stretched back to the days when she'd believed in their shared struggle.
She thanked James, her voice barely a whisper, and left the café, the envelope clutched to her chest. The walk to Mrs. Ellis's home was a blur, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to run to David, demand answers, but her childhood trauma—her father's rage, her mother's abandonment—kept her silent. I can't face him alone, she thought, leaning on Rachel's advice. The investigator's findings were a weapon, but she needed more—proof of the $200 million, concrete ties to Lisa, something to ensure David couldn't bury her in court with his newfound wealth.
At Mrs. Ellis's, the elderly woman with her lilac cardigan and wise eyes greeted her with a hug. "You look troubled, dear," Mrs. Ellis said, her voice a balm to Sarah's frayed nerves. Sarah forced a smile, hiding the envelope. "Just tired, Granny," she lied, her timidity shielding her pain. Inside, she resolved to stay quiet, to let James dig deeper. [I'll take everything,] she thought, the phrase echoing with a newfound strength. His wealth, the mansion, his reputation—she'd strip it all away, make him regret every mistress, every lie.
That night, back at the mansion, David sat in his study, oblivious, his snores later filling the silence. Sarah lay awake, the investigator's report beside her, her mind replaying the beachside apartment, the hotel rooms, Lisa's voice. The timid girl she'd been wanted to forgive, to forget, to honor the man Granny had introduced, but the woman she was becoming knew better. He's been cheating for years, she thought, her resolve hardening. The impending destruction caused by his serial infidelity loomed, a shadow over her marriage, with Lisa's betrayal just the tip of the iceberg. She'd uncover it all, in secret, and when the time came, she'd take everything—leaving David Cadwell with his biggest regret.