Emma's POV
I pressed my ear against the guest room door, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would explode.
Vivian's voice was muffled but clear: "—photos look perfect. He'll never know they're fake. Photoshop is amazing these days."
My blood ran cold.
The photos were fake. Vivian was setting me up.
"Just send me more money and I'll handle the rest," Vivian continued. "Once Adrian sees these, he'll be so hurt he'll push Emma away himself. Then you and I can finally be together with the Hartwell money."
I pulled back from the door, my mind racing. I needed to tell Adrian. Right now, before Vivian showed him those lies.
I ran toward the guest room where Adrian had gone, but stopped short of the door.
What if he didn't believe me? What if he took one look at those photos and believed Vivian instead of his wife? I'd already admitted to trapping him into marriage—why would he trust anything I said?
I needed proof. Real proof that Vivian was lying.
I crept back to her guest room door. It was slightly open now. Through the crack, I could see her laptop screen. She was on a video call with someone, but I couldn't see who.
"Don't worry, baby," Vivian purred. "By next week, I'll be the next Mrs. Hartwell, and we'll have access to millions. Just like we planned."
The person on the screen said something I couldn't hear.
"Adrian's so easy to manipulate," Vivian laughed. "He still feels guilty about our breakup. And Emma? She's pathetic. So desperate for attention she'll believe anything. I almost feel bad for her. Almost."
Rage burned through my fear. I pulled out my phone and started recording through the crack in the door.
"The affair photos are genius," Vivian continued. "I hired an actor who looks nothing like anyone Adrian knows, photoshopped Emma's face onto some stock images, and boom—instant cheating wife. Adrian will be devastated, and I'll be there to comfort him. Classic."
I had it. Video proof of Vivian's entire scheme.
My hands were shaking as I stopped the recording and backed away from the door. I needed to show this to Adrian immediately—
A hand clamped over my mouth from behind.
I tried to scream but couldn't. Someone dragged me backward into the hallway bathroom and locked the door.
"Don't scream," a male voice whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He released me, and I spun around to face—
Marcus.
"What are you doing here?" I gasped.
"Saving your marriage, apparently." Marcus looked furious. "I came back because something felt wrong about Vivian's whole story. I've been outside the guest room for twenty minutes listening to her confession. Did you hear it too?"
I held up my phone, still recording. "I got it on video."
"Good. We need to show Adrian now before—"
A crash came from down the hall. Then Adrian's voice, loud and broken: "You're lying! Emma wouldn't do this!"
My stomach dropped. We were too late. Vivian had already shown him the photos.
Marcus and I ran toward the guest room. The door was wide open now. Adrian stood in the middle of the room, his face pale, staring at Vivian's laptop screen.
"Adrian—" I started.
He looked at me, and the pain in his eyes made me want to die. "Is it true? Have you been seeing someone else?"
"No! Adrian, those photos are fake—"
"They have timestamps, Emma. Dates. Locations." His voice cracked. "Six months of dates. Six months of you laughing with another man while I thought—" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "While I thought we were trying to make this work."
"We weren't trying to make anything work six months ago!" I moved toward him. "You barely spoke to me six months ago! Adrian, those photos are photoshopped. Vivian just admitted it on the phone—"
"Now you're blaming my sister?" Vivian's voice was thick with fake tears. "Emma, I know this is embarrassing, but don't try to make me the villain. I'm trying to help Adrian see the truth."
"The truth is you're a liar!" I pulled out my phone. "I have proof. I recorded you confessing everything—"
I looked at my screen and my heart stopped.
The recording was gone. Deleted.
"Looking for this?" Vivian held up a small device. "Signal jammer. Deletes any recordings within twenty feet. Sorry, Emma. You really should have backed up your evidence to the cloud."
My legs went weak. The proof was gone. Everything I'd recorded—gone.
"Emma?" Adrian's voice was hollow. "You're saying you have proof, but you can't show me?"
"Marcus heard it too!" I looked at Adrian's best friend desperately. "Tell him! You were outside the door listening!"
Marcus stepped forward. "She's telling the truth, Adrian. I heard Vivian on the phone admitting the photos are fake. She's running a con with someone—"
"Of course you'd take Emma's side," Vivian interrupted smoothly. "You've always had a soft spot for her. Remember at the wedding when you said Adrian was lucky to have her? Maybe you're the one she's been seeing. Maybe that's why you're so quick to defend her."
"That's insane—" Marcus started.
"Is it?" Vivian pulled up another photo on her laptop. "This was taken three months ago. Emma and Marcus having coffee together. Alone."
I remembered that coffee. Marcus had asked me to meet him to discuss Adrian's birthday surprise. It was completely innocent.
But in the photo, the way it was cropped, the angle of the camera—it looked intimate. It looked like a date.
Adrian stared at the photo. At me. At Marcus.
"You met with my wife behind my back?" he asked Marcus quietly.
"For your birthday present," Marcus said quickly. "Emma wanted to throw you a surprise party—"
"Did she?" Adrian's voice was ice. "Or is that just another convenient excuse?"
"Adrian, please—" I reached for him.
He stepped back like I'd burned him. "Don't. Just... don't."
The look on his face broke something inside me. He believed Vivian. After everything, after my confession last night, after his speech about wanting a real marriage—he believed her over me.
"I need to think," Adrian said. "Everyone get out. Now."
"Adrian—" I tried again.
"OUT!"
I flinched. Adrian had never yelled at me before. Never.
Marcus grabbed my arm. "Come on. Let's give him space."
He pulled me into the hallway. Vivian followed, her face the picture of concerned sympathy.
"I'm so sorry this happened," she said sweetly. "Emma, if you need to talk—"
"Stay away from me," I hissed. "I know what you're doing."
"Do you?" Vivian leaned close, her voice dropping so only I could hear. "Because it looks like I'm winning. Adrian believes me. He always will. You know why? Because deep down, he still loves me. He married you as a consolation prize, and now he knows exactly what kind of person you really are."
She walked away, and I stood there shaking with rage and helplessness.
Marcus's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and his face went white.
"What?" I asked.
"It's from Adrian. He wants me to recommend a divorce lawyer." Marcus showed me the text. "Emma, he's serious. He's actually going to divorce you."
The floor seemed to tilt under my feet.
"I have to fix this," I whispered. "I have to make him believe me—"
"How? We have no proof. Vivian deleted your recording and has a answer for everything." Marcus ran his hand through his hair. "She's been planning this for a while. She's three steps ahead."
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
"Stop fighting and leave quietly. You were always going to lose. Adrian was always mine. —V"
I stared at the message, then at the closed study door where my husband was probably already calling lawyers.
Vivian had won. She'd destroyed my marriage in less than forty-eight hours, and I had no way to prove the truth.
But then I remembered something. Something Vivian said on that phone call before the recording was deleted.
She'd mentioned a name. Just once, quick, but I'd heard it.
"Marcus," I said slowly. "When you were listening outside the door, did you hear Vivian say a name? The person she's working with?"
Marcus frowned, thinking. "Yeah, actually. She called him... Derek? David?"
"Daniel," I breathed.
The same Daniel who'd asked me to coffee at the gallery. The same Daniel I'd gone on two dates with.
It wasn't a coincidence.
Vivian had sent him. She'd planted him in my life weeks ago, probably took real photos of us together, then photoshopped them to look more intimate.
"She's been planning this for over a month," I said, the pieces clicking together. "She knew I was unhappy. She sent Daniel to befriend me, took real photos of us, then altered them. That's why they look so convincing—because they're based on real meetings."
"Can you prove that?"
I thought hard. "Maybe. Daniel mentioned he was new to the art world. Said he'd just moved from Paris." I looked at Marcus. "What if he didn't just move from Paris? What if he came here WITH Vivian?"
Marcus's eyes widened. "Immigration records. If they entered the country together—"
"We can prove they know each other." I felt hope flutter in my chest. "It's not much, but it's something."
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Vivian:
"By the way, Adrian just asked me to stay permanently. As his wife. Congratulations on your divorce, little sis. 😊"
And attached was a photo taken thirty seconds ago—Adrian and Vivian in his study, her arms around him, his face buried in her shoulder.
It looked like he was crying.
It looked like she'd already won.