Liam's office occupied the top floor of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched a breathtaking city skyline, the Empire State Building's spire seemingly within reach. The space boasted an aggressive minimalist style—black, white, and gray dominating. The only splash of color came from a small pot of white phalaenopsis orchids on the ebony desk before me.

I sank into an expensive B&B Italia armchair, still wearing yesterday's T-shirt and jeans that carried the scent of betrayal. Liam's assistant—a woman who looked like she'd stepped straight out of Vogue—thoughtfully brought me a hot latte. The rich coffee aroma finally dispelled the last trace of last night's staleness from my body.


Liam and I had talked until three in the morning. Or rather, I talked while he listened. I dumped everything out like toxic waste—my three years of self-deceptive marriage, Jack's family's behavior, and my laughable friendship with Chloe. He never interrupted, only silently handing me a glass of water when my emotions crumbled. He was a born listener, calm and focused, as if he could see through all my hysteria to the core of the problem.

Now, with ten minutes remaining before the scheduled negotiation, Liam sat across from me, quickly flipping through a document—a report he had prepared overnight detailing all the property and financial entanglements between Jack and me.

"Emily," he looked up, his gaze sharp as a blade, "during the negotiation, you don't need to say much. Remember, you are the victim, and you have all the legal and moral advantages. Don't be swayed by their emotional blackmail; leave everything to me. But when necessary, I'll give you a signal, and at that moment, I need you to stand your ground."


I nodded, gripping the coffee cup tightly. The warmth seeping through the ceramic was my only anchor at that moment.

A knock sounded, and the assistant showed Jack and Karen in.


After just one day apart, Jack looked haggard, with heavy dark circles under his eyes, though his clothes remained impeccable. Karen, on the other hand, was like a lioness preparing for battle, radiating hostility from every pore. When she entered, she was initially stunned by the grandeur of the office, but that awe quickly transformed into sharp jealousy.

"My, how impressive," she said with biting sarcasm, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily. "Emily, you've moved up in the world, haven't you? No wonder you suddenly grew a backbone. So you found yourself a better prospect—that explains why you want to divorce our Jack!"

I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms.

Liam seemed not to have heard her vulgar insinuation. He simply glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist and spoke with clinical precision: "Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson. I am Liam Ford, Miss Emily's representing attorney. To save everyone's time, let's get straight to the point."

He pushed a document to the center of the table. "This is the divorce agreement. Based on Mr. Jackson's serious misconduct during the marriage—namely adultery—we are requesting the court to make a compensatory division. Miss Emily will receive all marital joint property, including the Brooklyn apartment where you currently reside, as well as full ownership of the Mercedes under your name."

Jack's face instantly turned ashen. "This is robbery! On what grounds? My mother also contributed money for that house!"

"Does Mrs. Jackson's funding have clear bank transfer records and a gift agreement?" Liam's tone remained completely calm. "If not, legally it will be considered a joint gift to both of you as a couple. As for the vehicle, the purchase funds came entirely from your joint account, to which Ms. Emily contributed far more than you did. We have reason to believe that her obtaining ownership is entirely reasonable."

"You... you're bullying us!" Karen trembled with anger. She slammed the table and jabbed her finger at me. "Emily, you ungrateful bitch! Our Jack fed and clothed you, and this is how you repay us? I'm telling you, fine, get divorced, but the house must be split fifty-fifty, otherwise there's nothing to discuss! If worse comes to worst, we'll make a scene in your neighborhood, at your company, and expose whatever's going on between you and this man. Let's see who gets embarrassed then!"

I looked at her face contorted with rage as last night's cruel words echoed in my ears. A cold fury rose from the depths of my heart, overwhelming all my timidity.

Liam glanced at me at the perfect moment, a hint of encouragement in his eyes.

I took a deep breath, leaned forward, and looked Karen straight in the eyes. For the first time, I spoke to her in an icy tone: "Karen, what you should be worried about is not my reputation." I paused, turning my gaze toward Jack, who had turned pale, and said deliberately, "It's your son's. A man who sleeps with his wife's best friend on their anniversary, a man who maintains his lifestyle on his wife's income—how much reputation do you think he has left?"

Jack's entire body trembled as he looked at me in disbelief. He had never seen me like this before—calm, sharp, like a completely different person.

The negotiation ended on a sour note. Karen screamed "You just wait and see" as she dragged away the dispirited Jack.

The office returned to silence, with only the faint whistle of wind outside the window. I felt as if all my strength had been drained, and I collapsed onto the sofa.

"You did well," Liam's voice came through, with a hint of approval. "This is the first step—you held your ground."

In the following days, as Liam had predicted, Karen's revenge began. Like a woman possessed, she frantically spread rumors about me being "domineering," "money-hungry," and "having an affair long ago" in our community chat groups and among neighbors. She portrayed me as a vicious gold-digger who abandoned her husband for someone of higher status.

Meanwhile, Chloe was performing her one-woman show on Instagram. She posted a selfie with red, swollen eyes, captioned: "Some wounds come from those we trust most. I thought it was friendship, but it was just a misunderstanding. I was too naive." Below it, friends who didn't know the truth consoled her, and some even started calling me out by name.

I handed my phone to Liam, my fingers trembling with anger.

He calmly glanced at it, then dialed a number. "Activate Plan B," he said into the phone, then added, "Yes, make it look... 'casual'."

After hanging up, he looked at me: "Emily, a PR war isn't about who shouts the loudest, but who can produce the most damning evidence. Now, we just need to wait."

The wait didn't last long.

Two days later, the neighborhood's most notorious gossips—Mrs. Li, Auntie Chen, and others—almost simultaneously received an anonymous email.

The email contained minimal text, just a few clearly scanned documents.

One document contained Jack's purchase records from multiple luxury stores over the past two years. The payments were made neither by him nor by me, but with Chloe's credit card. This included an expensive Rolex watch—the very same one Jack claimed he had "saved his bonus for a long time" to buy himself as a birthday present last year.

The other document was even more explosive. It was a report from a private detective agency detailing Karen's dozen-plus visits to Atlantic City casinos over the past year, along with bank statements showing she had misappropriated nearly fifty thousand dollars from our joint savings account.

At the end of the email was a photograph. In it, Karen was hysterical after losing money at a gambling table, her face contorted with rage, looking nothing like the "loving mother" image she had so carefully cultivated.

This email was like a depth charge exploding in a calm pond. Those who had been defending Karen and her son moments before instantly changed their tune. It turned out the so-called "victims" were actually a kept man riding on his mistress's coattails and a compulsive gambling addict.

Public opinion had, in the quietest of moments, completed its most thorough reversal.

In Liam's office, he handed me a printed copy of community chat logs filled with all kinds of vulgar language.

As I read those comments from people who were cursing me yesterday but today had turned to viciously attacking Jack and Karen, I felt no satisfaction, only a hollow calmness.

Liam walked to the window, looking at the endless stream of traffic below, and with his back to me said: "Emily, remember this feeling. Never put your fate in the mouths of a mob." He turned around, his lips curling into an extremely faint, almost invisible smile.

"The show has only just begun."