After My Husband Cheated, I Embraced Revenge

My heels clicked against the polished floor of Seattle's airport terminal as I tucked the discreet black shopping bag under my arm. Inside was a lace ensemble that had made the boutique attendant raise an eyebrow when I'd selected it. Not Victoria Sterling's usual style—CEO power suits and boardroom confidence were more my territory than black lace and satin ribbons.

"Would you like a gift receipt?" she'd asked with a knowing smile.

"No," I'd replied, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "It's... for me."

For Ethan. For us. For whatever was left of our marriage beneath the layers of schedules, meetings, and separate lives we'd built.

I checked my phone as I settled into my first-class seat. Three missed calls from Marcus about tomorrow's product development meeting, two emails marked urgent from our legal team, and a calendar reminder about Friday's board presentation. With a decisive swipe, I texted my assistant: *Cancel all meetings until noon tomorrow. Personal matter.*

The plane took off, and I leaned back, closing my eyes. When was the last time I'd done something spontaneous for Ethan? His thirty-fifth birthday deserved more than the expensive watch I'd already ordered online. It deserved presence. My presence.

By eight that evening, I slipped my key into our front door, the house silent and dark just as I'd expected. Perfect. I tiptoed upstairs, my heart beating with an unfamiliar rhythm—not the adrenaline of closing a deal or outmaneuvering a competitor, but something more primal. Excitement. Anticipation.

In our master bathroom, I studied my reflection as I applied a touch of the red lipstick Ethan had once said he loved. When had he last commented on my appearance? I couldn't remember. I slipped into the black lace, adjusting the straps that crisscrossed my back, revealing more skin than I'd shown in... years, probably.

The woman in the mirror looked vulnerable. Hopeful. Nothing like the "machine" my employees whispered I was behind my back. Nothing like the calculating CEO who'd built a tech empire from nothing but ambition and sleepless nights.

The sound of our front door unlocking froze me mid-movement.

"Relax, my wife's on a business trip—she's not home until Friday."

Ethan's voice, low and intimate in a way I hadn't heard directed at me in months.

Footsteps on the stairs. Two sets.

My brain processed the situation with cold efficiency even as my heart stuttered in panic. Nowhere to go. No time to dress. The closet doors were mirrored—hiding there would be useless. In a split-second decision born of pure survival instinct, I dropped to the floor and rolled under our king-sized bed, the black lace scraping against hardwood.

From my hiding place, I watched two pairs of shoes enter our bedroom. One pair I recognized as Ethan's Italian loafers. The other—expensive athletic shoes. They dropped to the floor one by one, followed by the soft rustle of clothes.

The bed creaked above me.

"God, I've missed you," Ethan murmured, his voice thick with desire. "These business trips