I’m a relationship coach who streams online, the person women call in the dead of night to help them navigate the wreckage of their hearts. That night, a young woman called in. She claimed she’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years and now wanted out. She wanted to go back to her small town, get married, settle down. But he was threatening to kill himself if she left. I gave her my standard, professional advice. “You want to be free? Go to his wife. Tell her everything. Confess your mistake and return every single thing he ever gave you.” Three days later, a box arrived at my door. Inside was the deed to a house, keys to a dozen luxury cars, and what looked like a hundred designer handbags. At the same time, a notification lit up my phone: a wire transfer for $850,000. The attached note read: “Thank you for the advice. I’m returning everything to its rightful owner.” I stared at the name on the deed, my husband’s name, and that night, I started my livestream. “Tonight,” I said, my voice hollow, “I’m going to tell you all a joke. And the punchline is me.” 1 “Remember that girl from the other night? The one who’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years, asking me how to break free?” I was walking through the villa, the one from the deed, my phone still streaming live. I felt pathetic. Even now, in the moment I discovered my husband’s affair, my first instinct was to turn my own humiliation into content, into traffic. All to pay for my father’s astronomical medical bills. A lump formed in my throat. “Do you want to know what happened next?” I continued, my voice tight. “Well, it turns out… I’m the wife.” The comment section exploded. Digital gifts, animated supercars, a flood of notifications. But before I could say another word, the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Stop following me! I told you, we’re over!” It was a woman's voice. The exact same voice from my livestream three nights ago. My heart seized in my chest. And then I saw him. Ethan. He followed her inside, his face a mask of desperation. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and his expression darkened. “Mia, baby, don’t joke like that.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m not joking… My mom set me up with a really nice guy back home. I’m going back to marry him.” A switch flipped in Ethan. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pacing like a caged animal before finally kicking the glass coffee table, shattering it across the marble floor. “Who is he? What could he possibly give you that I can’t?” The crash made the girl—Mia—flinch, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “You’re an asshole, Ethan… you…” He closed the distance between them, his anger melting away as he tenderly kissed the tears from her eyes. “If you don’t want me to die right in front of you,” he whispered, his voice raw, “then don’t leave me. Please.” She pushed him away, her voice rising to a shout. “Then what am I supposed to do? You can’t give me a ring, but you won’t let me go!” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. In our seven years of marriage, Ethan had always been the epitome of cool control, a man of unshakable composure. I had never seen him like this—unhinged, frantic, utterly consumed by a love that wasn’t for me. My hand went slack, and the selfie stick clattered to the floor. The camera angle shifted wildly, sending the live chat into another frenzy. [Wait, did I just see the other woman’s face? Someone screenshot that!] [OMG this is the messiest, most incredible drama ever. Live front-row seats to the husband's epic breakdown!] [That guy is hot, though. NGL.] [CHLOE! What’s happening? Pick up the camera!] The sound of the phone hitting the floor finally drew their attention. They both looked up and saw me standing on the landing of the staircase. Mia’s eyes lit up with a desperate hope, as if I were her savior. “You’re here! You actually came!” She rushed up the stairs and grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “The house, the cars, I don’t want any of it! Please, just talk to him. Tell him to let me go. You said… you said if I gave it all back, I could walk away. Right?” I stood there, frozen, the blood draining from my face. I couldn't form a single word. But Ethan’s shock had already curdled into rage. He stormed up the stairs, grabbed me by the throat, and slammed me against the wall. His eyes were cold and dark. “When did you find out about Mia?” His gaze dropped to the deed in my hand, and his fingers tightened around my neck. “Did she make you give the house back? Huh?” I couldn’t breathe. It was Mia who pulled at his arm, her voice panicked. “No! I brought it to her myself! Stop it, you’re hurting her!” Ethan finally released me. He turned back to Mia, his hand instantly finding hers, his voice dropping to a soft, pleading whisper. “What if I said I could give you the title? Mrs. Blackwood. Anything you want, Mia. I’ll give it all to you.” I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of bitter resignation washing over me. The title I had held for seven years, offered up like a party favor. In the ringing silence, Mia slowly let go of my arm. She looked down at the floor and whispered, “...Okay. I’ll give you three days. If you can’t do it in three days, you have to let me go.” 2 After Ethan left with Mia, I bent down and picked up my phone. I was stunned to see that over a hundred thousand people were watching the stream. The comments were all screaming the same thing: Read the diary! I looked over to where my phone had fallen. Next to a pile of Mia’s luggage, a small leather-bound journal lay open on the floor. My hands trembling, I did what my audience demanded. I opened the diary. With every page I turned, the world tilted further off its axis. March 18th, 2018 We’ve been together for three years, but today, he got married. He promised me she was just a business arrangement, a tool for an alliance. He said I was the only one he loved. We cried and made love all night, desperate and broken… My wedding night. The night Ethan told me he had an urgent business trip, leaving me to sleep alone in our cold, empty bed. April 4th, 2019 He swore he didn’t love her, but now she’s pregnant. He was furious, his eyes red. He promised me, he swore on his life, that she would never have his child before I did. I’d been pregnant six times in seven years. Every single time, I lost the baby to a freak “accident.” The first, a hit-and-run. The second, a mugging that went wrong. The third, a severe case of food poisoning. …I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. I didn’t dare think about the others. June 19th, 2021 The storm was terrible today. I was so scared of the thunder, I lost control of the car and hit something. I’m so glad he was here to hold me. That was the day my mother died. It was pouring rain. I had collapsed on the pavement, sobbing until I passed out, miscarrying our fourth child. He had told me he was stuck in a meeting, unreachable. He’d been with her. All night. May 14th, 2025 My family is pushing me to get married. I tried to break up with him for the first time. He gave me 10% of his company’s stock. He said it was my security, my power. Tucked into the page was a stock transfer agreement. I read the document, and the air left my lungs. My entire body went numb. This May, just a few months ago, my father’s tech company had faced a catastrophic cash flow crisis. It was on the verge of bankruptcy. I had begged Ethan, pleaded with him for a bridge loan, for any kind of help. He’d told me his assets were tied up, that his hands were tied. The assets that were “tied up” had been transferred, without a moment's hesitation, to Mia. My father’s company went under. He had a massive stroke and ended up in the ICU. I couldn’t control it anymore. My hands shaking violently, I ended the livestream and finally, finally let myself break, my body wracked with silent, gut-wrenching sobs.
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