Chapter 8 - The Price of ArroganceThe fallout was biblical.
Within forty-eight hours of the website going live, Trevor’s life had been completely incinerated. His parents refused to take his calls after reading how he spoke about his wife and child. His golf buddies deleted him from every group chat. Vanessa released a furious public statement on her own social media claiming she was the “innocent victim” of his manipulation, only to be dragged mercilessly by internet sleuths who posted screenshots of her own gloating texts.
Trevor tried to call me. Hundreds of times.
His voicemails shifted from angry demands to pathetic, tearful pleas.
“Naomi, please. Please pick up. I was stupid. I made a mistake. It was just a game, you know how I am! Think of Bailey! We’re a family!”
I listened to them once, sitting at the mahogany dining table of my new penthouse apartment overlooking the skyline of a brand-new city. Bailey was in the next room, happily sketching pictures of her new school, completely unfazed by the storm we had left behind.
I didn't block his number. I let him leave his desperate, weeping messages into the void, knowing that every ringing phone was a monument to his absolute failure.
Marcus came over that evening, carrying takeout Thai food and a bottle of expensive champagne.
“You know,” Marcus said, popping the cork with a satisfying pop, “most people get depressed after a divorce. You look like you just won the lottery.”
May you like
I raised my glass, the golden liquid catching the evening light.
“I didn't win the lottery, Marcus,” I smiled, my heart lighter than it had been in a decade. “I just stopped playing a rigged game.”
