A Traitor's Debt

In the middle of the night, my husband started talking in his sleep. "My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow."

But we were using protection. Where the hell did a kid come from?

So I opened his phone. I saw the money transfers to another woman—spent on all kinds of luxury shit and a house.

The photo album had pictures of her in a skimpy stripper outfit, a little bump in her belly.

The last one was an ultrasound. Four months along, it looked like.

I didn't make a sound. Just saved the evidence.

They were about to learn the price of betraying a mafia princess.

I trusted my husband of three years. Completely. Until he muttered in his sleep, "My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow."

That's when I knew. He wasn't just cheating. He had a bastard on the way.

In the darkness, I made a vow. This heartless man was going to pay.

It was 3 AM.

Vincent mumbled something in his sleep. I was about to roll over, but then I made out the words.

"My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow."

I was wide awake.

What new house? What little treasure? We didn't have kids. For three years, he’d said he wanted to focus on his career, kept putting it off.

A sliver of moonlight cut through the curtains, landing on Vincent’s face. He was sleeping soundly, a satisfied smile on his lips.

I quietly reached for his phone.

My thumb unlocked it. He never hid anything from me, which made what I found next a special kind of hell.

I went straight to his bank transfers.

Recipient: Carmen Rodriguez. Amount: $800,000. Memo: Deposit for the villa.

My hand started to shake.

It wasn’t just rage. It was a surge of adrenaline. A thrill, even. The kind you get when your body reacts before your brain can, knowing your life is about to blow up.

I searched "Carmen" in his contacts and pulled up her social media.

First post: an ultrasound photo. Caption: "My little angel, four months along."

Second post: a brand-new Maserati, with a Hermès charm on the key. "Thanks to my man for the surprise."

Third post: A Bvlgari bracelet on her wrist—worth $150,000. The same one Vincent told me he’d bought as a "client gift."

The irony was thick enough to choke on. When we got married, Vincent was just starting out. I didn't want to hurt his pride, so I was the one who suggested a small wedding. No fancy jewelry, nothing.

Back then, Vincent held my hand, tears in his eyes, and promised he’d make it up to me, ten times over, as soon as he made it.

Looks like he was making it up to another woman.

I kept scrolling.

Vacations by the sea, dinners at Michelin-star restaurants, first-class on a private jet. Every photo dripped with luxury. And the