Thank you for meeting me, she began, her eyes, a clear, bright blue, meeting mine directly. I know this must be… weird. That’s one word for it, I agreed, keeping my tone neutral.
You said there was something I should know about Richard. Brittany took a deep breath. He’s been lying to you, but he’s been lying to me too.
She opened her purse and removed a small stack of papers, placing them on the table between us. He told me you two were already separated, that you had agreed to divorce months ago, but were keeping it quiet for business reasons. I felt a fresh wave of anger at Richard’s manipulation, but kept my expression controlled.
When did this start? Between you two? Six months ago, I was hostessing at the Boston location during the opening. Richard was there for two weeks, overseeing everything. Her cheeks flushed slightly.
He was charming, attentive, made me feel special, said I had potential to move up in the company. The timeline aligned with the changes I’d noticed in Richard’s behavior, and you believed him? About us being separated? She nodded, looking down at her hands. He even showed me papers.
What he said were preliminary divorce documents you’d both signed. She pushed the stack toward me. These.
I picked them up, recognizing immediately that they were drafts of business contracts with signature pages from old documents attached. A crude forgery that would never have held up to legal scrutiny, but enough to convince someone who wanted to believe. He brought me to New York three months ago, Brittany continued, set me up in an apartment, promised to help advance my modeling career.
Her voice hardened slightly, but then I started noticing things. He would never take me to certain restaurants, never introduced me to his close friends, always had excuses for why I couldn’t visit his home. Because we were still very much married, I finished for her, setting the papers down, and living together.
She nodded, blinking back tears. I found out the truth yesterday, after your text. I did some research, found articles about you and Richard together at events just months ago.
She looked up at me, her expression a mix of anger and shame. I feel so stupid. Despite everything, I felt a flicker of sympathy for her.
She was young, manipulated by a man twice her age with wealth and power. You’re not the first woman Richard has charmed, and probably not the last. There are others? Besides me? Her eyes widened in shock.
I shook my head. Not that I know of, but he charmed me the same way once, when I was about your age. Brittany’s gaze sharpened with interest.
You were my age when you met him? Twenty, I confirmed, signaling to the waiter for coffee. I hadn’t planned on having a real conversation with this woman, but something about her directness made me reconsider. I was working as a receptionist at an advertising agency that handled his first restaurant’s marketing.
Richard was thirty-one, already successful, confident, charming. Brittany finished with a small, knowing smile. Like, he’s the only person in the room who really sees you.
I nodded, surprised by how accurately she’d captured it. Exactly like that. The waiter arrived with my coffee, and Brittany ordered an iced tea.
When he left, she leaned forward. So, what happened? How did you go from receptionist to… She gestured vaguely at my designer watch, my tailored clothes, the obvious markers of success. Richard happened, in part, I admitted.
He encouraged me to go back to school, paid for my undergraduate degree, supported me through law school. He was proud of my accomplishments. I stirred my coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl.
At least, I thought he was. He talked about you sometimes, Brittany said quietly. Said you were brilliant, but that you’d grown cold, too focused on your career.
The words stung, even coming from her. And, I suppose he presented himself as the neglected husband? She nodded, looking embarrassed. He said you two hadn’t been intimate in over a year, that you were essentially roommates.
She twisted the paper wrapper from her straw between her fingers. I’m guessing that wasn’t true, either. No, I said simply, leaving it at that.
Some details of my marriage were still too private to share, especially with the woman who had been sleeping with my husband. Richard appears to have created convenient narratives for both of us. Our drinks arrived, creating a brief pause in the conversation.
I used the moment to study Brittany more carefully. She was beautiful, yes, but there was an intelligence in her eyes that suggested she was more than the stereotype of a young model being kept by a wealthy, older man. What do you want from this meeting, Brittany? I asked finally.
You said you had something to tell me about Richard, but it seems you’ve mostly confirmed what I already suspected. She straightened, setting her drink aside. I have texts, emails, receipts, everything documenting our relationship for the past six months.
I want you to have them. She reached into her purse and pulled out a USB drive, placing it on the table. He lied to both of us, used both of us.
I don’t want him to get away with it. I stared at the small device, understanding its value in my divorce proceedings. With this evidence, there would be no way for Richard to deny the affair or contest the prenuptial clause.
It was exactly what I needed, and yet I found myself hesitating. Why would you help me? You don’t know me. Brittany’s expression hardened.
Because yesterday, after I confronted him about still being married to you, he told me I was just a fun distraction and that I should be realistic about my position. Then he offered me money to disappear quietly. Her voice cracked slightly, like I was some problem to be handled.
Not a person he’d been telling he loved for months. The cold calculation sounded exactly like the Richard I’d seen in Goldstein’s office. Not the man I thought I’d married, but the one he’d apparently become or perhaps had always been beneath the charm.
I’m sorry, I said and meant it. You didn’t deserve that. She shrugged, attempting nonchalance but not quite succeeding.
I’ll be fine. I’m young, as he kept reminding me. But you and I both deserve better than his lies.
She pushed the USB drive closer to me. Take it. Use it.
Make him pay. I picked up the drive, turning it over in my fingers. Thank you.
This will help significantly with my case. Good. She took a sip of her tea, then asked, What happens now? With the divorce, I mean.
Now I negotiate from a position of strength, I explained, slipping the drive into my purse. With this evidence and the prenuptial agreement, Richard will have to agree to the terms I set forward. And those terms include half his business? Brittany asked, a hint of admiration in her voice.
Fifty percent of the business assets acquired during our marriage, I corrected, which includes the restaurant group, various real estate holdings, and several investment portfolios. She whistled softly. No wonder he looked terrified when I mentioned speaking to you.
He stands to lose a fortune. He should have thought of that before he decided to cheat, I said, more sharply than I intended. I softened my tone.
But this isn’t about punishment. It’s about getting what I legally deserve after 13 years of marriage and significant contributions to building those businesses. Brittany nodded, looking thoughtful.
For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling this with a lot more class than most people would. She hesitated, then added, he showed me pictures of you sometimes, from events and parties. You always looked so confident, so put together.
I was actually kind of intimidated by the idea of you. The comment startled a small laugh from me. Me? You’re young and beautiful.
If anyone should feel intimidated, it’s me. Beauty fades, she said with surprising wisdom. But what you’ve built for yourself, your career, your reputation, that’s real power.
She gathered her purse, preparing to leave. I should go. I have a modeling go-see across town.
What will you do now? I asked, genuinely curious about her plans. Move back to Boston, probably. My sister’s there.
Start over. She stood, smoothing her dress. Maybe go back to school.
I always wanted to study design. You should, I encouraged, remembering my own journey. It’s never too late to reinvent yourself.
She smiled, a genuine expression that transformed her face from merely beautiful to radiant. Thank you for meeting me, Alexandra. For what it’s worth, I think Richard made a huge mistake letting you go.
After she left, I sat alone with my coffee, processing the unexpected turn my morning had taken. I had come ready to face an adversary, perhaps even to unleash some of my anger on the woman who had been sleeping with my husband. Instead, I’d found another of Richard’s victims, different circumstances, but the same manipulation, the same lies.
I returned to the office to find three messages from Martin Goldstein waiting for me. Apparently, Richard had instructed him to schedule another meeting, this time with a different approach. Instead of the insulting initial offer, Richard was now proposing something closer to an equal division of our personal assets, though still protecting his business interests.
It wasn’t enough, and both of them knew it. I called Goldstein back immediately. I’ve acquired additional evidence confirming Richard’s infidelity.
I informed him without preamble, comprehensive documentation covering the past six months. I’m prepared to move forward with enforcing the prenuptial agreement in full, including the infidelity clause. There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
I see, Goldstein finally said. His tone resigned. Perhaps we should discuss potential settlement options before proceeding to court.
I think that would be wise. I agreed. I’ll have my terms drafted by tomorrow morning.
That evening, I began the process of truly reclaiming my life. I transferred my personal items from the penthouse to a luxury short-term rental I’d arranged in a different part of the city. I needed neutral space, somewhere without memories of Richard in every corner.
The new apartment was sleek and impersonal, exactly what I needed. After arranging my essential belongings, I sat at the pristine dining table with my laptop, drafting the settlement terms I would present to Goldstein. I worked methodically, ensuring every detail was precise, every claim justified by both the prenuptial agreement and state law.
By midnight, I had completed the document. It was fair but firm, claiming exactly what I was entitled to, without vindictiveness, but also without compromise. I would get 50% of the restaurant group, half of our real estate holdings, and an equitable division of our personal property.
Richard would retain enough to continue operating the business, but would need to include me as an equal partner in all future decisions affecting the company. As I prepared for bed in the unfamiliar apartment, I realized I felt something unexpected. Relief.
The marriage I had built my adult life around was ending. But somehow, I felt more like myself than I had in years. Without Richard’s larger-than-life presence, without the constant adjustment to his needs and schedule, I could finally hear my own thoughts, clearly, again.
The next three weeks passed in a blur of legal meetings, asset evaluations, and negotiations. Richard, faced with the irrefutable evidence of his affair and the binding language of the prenuptial agreement, had little choice but to accept my terms. Goldstein, to his credit, advised his client to settle rather than fight a losing battle in court.
The actual signing of the divorce papers was anticlimactic. Richard and I sat across from each other in a conference room at Goldstein’s firm. Neither of us speaking beyond the necessary formalities.
He looked tired. The confidence I had always associated with him diminished somehow. As we each signed our names to the document that would legally end our marriage, I caught him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
Regret, perhaps. Or simple resignation. When it was done, we stood to leave.
At the door, Richard paused. Alexandra. Just my name.
Spoken softly. I turned, meeting his eyes one last time. Yes? I’m sorry.
He said, the words seeming to cost him something. Not for the divorce. That was probably inevitable.
But for how I handled it. You deserved better. I studied him.
This man I had loved for thirteen years. Trying to reconcile the charming young entrepreneur who had swept me off my feet with the calculating businessman who had tried to cheat me out of my fair share. And now this apparently contrite figure before me.
Yes. I agreed simply. I did.
As I walked out of the building into the bright spring afternoon, I felt as though I was stepping into a new chapter of my life. The divorce had been finalized. The assets divided.
The legal battles concluded. Now came the harder part. Figuring out who Alexandra Montgomery was on her own.
The answer began to take shape in the months that followed. With my share of the restaurant group, I established myself as an active board member, bringing my legal expertise to bear on the company’s expansion plans. Richard, initially resistant to my involvement, eventually came to value my input as the business continued to thrive despite our personal fallout.
My career at the law firm flourished. Thomas offered me the opportunity to head a new division specializing in hospitality industry contracts, leveraging my experience with the restaurant business. The work was challenging and satisfying, allowing me to build something that was entirely my own achievement.
On a personal level, I took time to rediscover interests I had neglected during my marriage. I joined a rowing club, something I’d enjoyed in my teens but had abandoned for lack of time. I took cooking classes, traveled to destinations Richard had never been interested in, and reconnected with friends I had lost touch with over the years.
