“You are going to cook and clean while we enjoy the beach, Lydia, because that is exactly what a wife is for after all.”
The words fell from my husband’s mouth right there on the private dock in the Florida Keys, spoken directly in front of his parents, his ex-girlfriend, and the pilot who was waiting to fly us to the private island I had reserved for our anniversary.
I stood perfectly still, clutching my sunglasses in my trembling hand, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs as if it were trying to break free from my chest.
It had been five long years of marriage to Caleb Harrison — five years in which he flaunted designer watches, expensive dinners in the Harbor District, custom suits, and vintage sports cars while everyone believed he was a titan of industry.
The truth was far less glamorous.
The cybersecurity firm that funded his entire lifestyle was actually mine.
A business I had built from a cramped studio apartment in the West End, sleeping only three hours a night.
I had turned down every party.
Endured years of mounting debt and mockery.
Until I finally transformed that tiny start-up into a multi-million dollar corporation.
Caleb worked as a mid-level manager at a logistics company.
His modest salary did not even cover the insurance on the car he drove every day.
Even though he treated me with growing indifference, I still believed — desperately — that I could save our crumbling marriage if I just tried hard enough.
That was the only reason I had booked a week on a private island in the Caribbean for our fifth anniversary.
A villa with a personal chef.
A full staff.
An exclusive beach.
All for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I did it because Caleb had spent months telling me I was cold.
That my company had turned me into a woman who no longer had a home in her heart.
He said he needed a wife who was more present.
More traditional.
And I was foolish enough to believe he actually missed me.
The night before the trip, I handed him the itinerary inside a heavy black envelope embossed with gold lettering.
“This trip is just for the two of us, Caleb — no meetings, no business calls, no distractions,” I told him softly.
He barely looked up from his phone.
“I hope the internet connection is decent out there. I cannot disappear from my responsibilities just because you feel guilty about your schedule.”
It hurt.
But I swallowed it.
Because I wanted this to work.
The next morning, I arrived at the private dock thirty minutes late because of an emergency at the office that required my approval.
I expected him alone.
Maybe annoyed.
Instead — there was a crowd.
Caleb stood there with his mother, Margot.
His father, Arthur.
And Tessa.
His ex-girlfriend.
Dressed in a white linen dress as if she were the guest of honor.
Her hand rested on his arm.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
And she didn’t move it when I arrived.
Margot looked me up and down with thinly veiled disgust, adjusting her sun hat.
“It is about time you arrived, Lydia,” Caleb said casually. “I invited my parents and Tessa. She’s been going through a difficult time.”
My throat tightened.
“You invited your ex… to our anniversary trip?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Do not start your CEO drama. You can just focus on cooking and keeping the villa tidy while we enjoy ourselves.”
He glanced at the pilot.
“It will do you good to actually use your hands for once.”
Margot stepped forward, smiling smugly.
“It is the least you can do, considering you are living off my son’s money and status.”
The most important part is just ahead — click NEXT »»
