At 3:00 AM my husband’s mistress sent me a photo to destroy me, but I forwarded it to the whole Board of Directors of his company part1

and sneakers.

No diamonds.

Nothing that belonged to Mrs. Whitmore.

Downstairs, Ethan’s collection of exotic cars gleamed beneath the garage lights. I ignored the Ferrari and the Aston Martin.

Instead, I chose a black Range Rover registered under one of Ethan’s shell companies.

The irony made me smile.

By 4:00 a.m., I was driving through empty streets toward continue reading …