The affair photos hit the trending page forty minutes ago, and my in-laws are already begging me to save the man who ruined my life. My husband’s steamy pictures with his assistant leaked online while they were on a “business trip.” His devoted-CEO image? Shattered overnight. The company stock tanked. His family showed up one by one to guilt-trip me. [Think about the big picture, Melissa. Do the right thing.] So I did what they asked. I clicked the button and posted seven clarification statements: “There is no so-called mistress in my marriage to Mr. Francis. The rumors about him and his assistant Ms. Amy Turner maintaining a love nest at Moristero Manor are simply that — rumors.” “My three miscarriages over five years were pure bad luck. They were absolutely NOT the result of a bet Mr. Francis lost to Ms. Turner.” “Mr. Francis traveling to Japan with his assistant on our wedding anniversary was strictly for business purposes.” “The monthly Porsches and Hermès bags purchased for Ms. Turner were standard corporate gifts. Nothing more.” “My family’s heirloom being given to Ms. Turner was entirely my idea. I volunteered.” “As for the viral intimate photos online — they were personally photoshoped by me.” “I owe Ms. Turner a sincere apology.” Three minutes after I posted the video, my phone buzzed. Corey — radio silent for days — finally decided to show up. In my Message. [Melissa. Take it down. NOW!] [Do it before I get back, or you know what happens.] I laughed softly and typed back: [Then I won’t wait for you to come back.] … I barely set my phone down before a voice beside me spoke. “Ms. Wood, your reinstatement request has been approved. Given the nature of the position, we’ll need confirmation that you are currently unmarried and not pregnant before departure.” I nodded. “Understood. Thank you.” After the officer left, I sat alone in the empty walk-in closet. An open suitcase lay in front of me — a few changes of clothes and an old photo album. That was it. Outside the window, the sky was fading to dark. But my phone screen kept lighting up. That “clarification” video had been live for forty minutes, and the comments had already blown past a million. Seven of the top ten trending topics were about my statement. #CoreyFrancis_AmyTurner_MoristeroManor #A_Bet_Caused_Miscarriages #MelissaWood_Apologizes_AmyTurner #CoreyFrancis Every single one — top viral. I scrolled through the comments. My fingers barely had the strength to swipe. [wasnt Corey Francis supposed to be the most devoted husband in the city? what the hell happened?] [Monthly Porsches and Hermès bags as standard corporate gifts? is the Francis Global a company or a charity?] [Francis Global doesn’t even have an office in Osaka. What kind of business trip was this exactly?] [lol someone in reddit dug up the hot spring resort they went to — it’s a couples-only spot with some VERY adult packages. ‘Business trip’ my ass.] [volunteered to give away my family heirloom? Melissa, blink twice if someone’s holding a gun to your head.] [I’ve been a paparazzi for 10+ years and this is the first time I’ve seen someone write ‘my husband is trash’ in a PR statement and disguise it as an apology. Melissa — are you asking for help?] I stared at the screen for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh. They were right. I was asking for help. Just not from them. Every single line in that statement — the public wouldn’t catch the full meaning. But Corey would. The moment I posted it, there was no going back. Not for him. Not for us. My phone buzzed again. A message without a profile picture. [Ms. Wood — the marriage certificate held by you and Mr. Corey Francis has been verified as a fake document.] I froze. I thought I’d already made peace with it — back when I first found the clues myself. But hearing it confirmed out loud, my eyes still stung.
The next morning at six, I was jolted awake by a knock on the bedroom door. It was Jody, the housekeeper. “Mrs. Francis, your husband is home.” I blinked. He wasn’t supposed to be back today. Before I could react, Corey was already standing in the doorway. Behind him — Amy Turner and Carol Sharp, the company’s PR manager. Amy was dressed in a crisp blazer, eyes red-rimmed and glistening. “Melissa, how could you post something like that? Do you have any idea what people are saying about me online? I…I can’t even leave my house…” I leaned back against the headboard, watching her trembling-lip routine, and let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, that statement? I just threw it together. Didn’t expect you to take it so personally.” “Melissa!” Corey’s voice was barely contained fury. “You’re going to delete that statement right now. Then you’re posting a new one — say the account was hacked. Say none of it came from you.” I didn’t respond. Carol pulled a document from her briefcase and handed it over. “Mrs. Francis, the PR team drafted a new statement. You just need to sign.” I took it and skimmed through. Professional wording. Pinned everything on a hacked account. “Get yourself ready,” Corey said, his voice dropping another degree. “The company’s holding a press conference at two. You’ll be there with me. You don’t have to say a word — just stand next to me and smile. The rumors will die on their own.” I looked up at him. “You want me to pretend none of this ever happened?” His expression darkened. “I’m not asking.” “I know,” I said, the smile fading from my face. “But I’m done performing for you.” I thought saying that would shake something loose in him. Guilt. Shame. Anything. But he just stood there, looking down at me with something close to impatience. Like I was the one being unreasonable. I thought about how he got me here. Step by step. Lie by lie. In the beginning, it was “Amy’s just a fresh grad, don’t overthink it.” Then it became “She’s good at her job. It’s normal for me to look out for her.” And then — she had a key to Moristero Manor. My grandmother’s jade pendant showed up around her neck. And I lost three babies. He played both sides flawlessly. Not a single crack I could find. Until the week before his trip — the company’s anniversary gala. I went upstairs to the lounge to find him. The door wasn’t fully closed. I heard him inside, drinking with his buddies. “Corey, you lost another bet to Amy? What was it this time?” His voice, careless and loose: “Bet on how long it’d take Melissa to forgive me for skipping her birthday. I said one day. Amy said one hour. I lost.” He took a drag of his cigarette, voice lazy with alcohol: “Melissa’s great, just… boring as hell. Feed her a couple sweet lines and she buys every excuse I give her. Nothing special in bed either… Last time I took her family’s jade pendant — told her some bullshit about a business partner who’s obsessed with occult, said wearing it would ward off bad luck — and she actually believed me.” Laughter erupted around him. “Good thing you never actually filed that marriage certificate. You’d be kicking yourself right now. But seriously — Amy’s way more fun. You’re not going to make it official with her?” “…maybe. Mrs. Francis? That spot fits someone like Melissa better. Doesn’t make waves, doesn’t make a fuss.” The laughter died down, and then he lowered his voice. “But this time — we can’t mess with her body again over a lost bet. Three miscarriages because of me losing to Amy… one more and her body’s really going to give out.” I stood outside that door, and the cold seeped straight into my bones. In that one moment, everything clicked into place. … The memory faded. I watched Corey walk slowly toward me. Then he smiled. “Melissa, your parents’ ashes — they’re at Rosendale Cemetery, aren’t they?”
He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing my ear. “If you don’t show up at that press conference and say exactly what you’re told to say — next time you visit them, that spot will be empty.” He straightened up and adjusted his cuffs. “Some things, Melissa, you can’t afford to lose.” My fists clenched at my sides. “Corey.” I stood up and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m done.” His steps halted. I took a deep breath. “I’m leaving. Mrs. Francis — that title, the position, all of it — give it to her. Is that enough?” The room went dead silent. Nothing but the sound of heartbeats. I waited for his reaction. Rage. A sneer. Some vicious remark designed to gut me. Any of it would have been fine. After all, this was the result everyone wanted. He’d get what he always wanted. Amy would get what she’d been scheming for. And I’d finally stop pretending. But he just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he laughed. “Leave?” He repeated the word slowly. “You have no friends. No family. No job. Where exactly are you going to go?” He reached out and gripped my chin, tilting my face up. “Isn’t this good enough? Just turn a blind eye to a few things, and we’ll call it even.” EVEN? There was nothing even between us. There never would be. I’d been counting down the days. One more month — just one — and the classified file from my old unit would be declassified. I could have laid the truth out in front of him. Proved that I never betrayed him. That what he saw that night was a cover operation, not what he thought it was… But now? I didn’t want to explain anymore. Five years. 1825 days. And this was all I had to show for it — absolutely nothing. Amy sniffled softly from behind him. Her voice came out thin and delicate. “Corey, please don’t be like this…” “Melissa.” Then she looked up at me with those wide, watery eyes. “I really never meant to come between you two. Could you please take that statement down? The comments online are so awful… My parents are terrified…” “Take it down?” I looked at her. “Without that statement, you’d still just be ‘Corey Francis’s assistant.’ Now the whole world knows your name. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” Amy’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Corey pulled her behind him in one swift motion — that instinct to shield her, to protect her at all costs. More real than anything he’d shown me in five years combined. “Melissa!” His voice was low thunder before a storm. “I’m saying this one last time. It’s an announcement, not negotiation. Figure it out yourself.” He wrapped his arm around Amy’s shoulders, turned, and walked out. The door clicked shut. I stood there, staring at it, and felt something heavy settle over me — the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix. When I married him, I thought he was my safe harbor. In the end, even my dead parents became leverage in his hands. Turns out the storm was never outside. The harbor was indeed the storm itself.
Before the press conference, I was forbidden from leaving the house. I didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. I just kept telling myself — get through today. Just get through today. That afternoon, I sat next to Corey on stage and read the script, word for word. Camera flashes popped like firecrackers beneath us. Corey smiled and held my hand the whole time. To everyone watching, it looked like a perfect couple. But my palm was drenched in cold sweat. The second the press conference ended, Corey stood up and walked straight to Amy, who was waiting in the wings. I didn’t watch them. I went to a flower shop and bought a bundle of chamomile and drove to Rosendale Cemetery. It had been too long since I’d visited Mom and Dad. I kept telling myself I’d go once things calmed down. That I’d sit with them and talk, the way I used to. I kept putting it off. Almost waited too long. When I got to their spot, I froze. Where were the jade urns? In their place sat a pot of bright red roses, blooming like blood. Blooming like they owned the space. I thought I’d gone to the wrong spot. I checked the number three times. No mistake. No. No. My parents’ ashes had been here for ten years. I knew every inch of that shelf. My head started buzzing. I’d known Corey long enough to understand him. When he couldn’t do something, he’d rather watch me cry than pretend otherwise. Like the time I found traces of his affair with Amy and asked him to fire her. Just let it go, I said. Pretend it never happened. He didn’t say a word. His face just said, I can’t — he wouldn’t even bother lying about it. So when he promised that if I cooperated at the press conference, he wouldn’t touch my parents’ ashes — I believed him. I actually believed him. I stood there for a long time before I went to find the staff. “Excuse me — the urns that were here. Where… where are they?” The man at the front desk didn’t even look up. “Oh, that spot? Boss reserved it for her flowers. The ashes? Moved somewhere, I guess.” “…moved?” My voice cracked. “I paid the maintenance fees. You moved them without telling me? Get your boss here. Now.” He finally glanced up, smirking. “Our boss is Mrs. Francis — wife of the CEO of the Francis Global. And who exactly are you?” Mrs. Francis? But when did I ever— The chamomile slipped from my fingers and hit the ground. I rushed back to the spot and searched frantically. Nothing. Nothing left. My eyes burned. I turned to leave — and tripped over the flower pot. Dirt scattered across the floor. Something white peeked through the soil. I crouched down and picked it up. A shard of white jade. Engraved with the letter W. …it was a piece of my father’s urn. A hand shoved me aside. “What do you think you’re doing? That’s Mrs. Francis’s flower! You break it, you pay for it!” I stumbled back. I watched him scoop the dirt back into the pot — dirt mixed with fragments of my father’s ashes — and my whole body started shaking. “My parents’ ashes… were used as fertilizer for that flower?” He wouldn’t look me in the eye, just mumbled something about how people should focus on being good to their parents while they’re alive instead of obsessing over ashes after they’re dead. “What difference does it make where they end up?” I didn’t hear the rest. I turned and walked out. My mind was blank the entire drive back. It stayed blank until I pushed open the bedroom door and saw Amy Turner lying in my bed. That was when my brain snapped back on. Corey glanced at me, casually tucking the blanket around Amy’s shoulders. “The press conference didn’t work. The comments are brutal. She’s a mess, so I brought her here to keep an eye on her.” I stared at that look on his face — like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Corey.” My voice came out calmer than I expected. “Where are my parents’ ashes?”
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