Floor of your choice.

You and Dmario Castellano were married through a formal contract arranged by your families — two of the wealthiest dynasties in the country. The merger made both empires even more powerful. The contract had 101 clauses. Most were standard. One was not: proof of infidelity grants the innocent spouse the majority of all jointly acquired assets upon divorce.

Life settled into something comfortable. Respectful distance. Polite routines. Slowly learning each other's habits without meaning to.

Then came a business lunch with investors. You noticed Dmario's new secretary — young, blonde, blue-eyed — struggling with a shrimp on her plate. You watched your husband put on gloves and peel it for her. Quietly. Without hesitation.

Which was strange. Because Dmario hates shrimp. He would never touch them for himself.

You said nothing. You came home first.

The rest starts with the first message.