When I got home, I burned every single thing Monty had given me over the past five years.
As the last little flame went out, I heard the delivery guy calling from outside the door.
The buyer’s name: [Monty]
The recipient: [Sylvie]
I signed for it on his behalf.
When I opened the package, I saw maternal and baby products inside—premium stuff from all the top brands.
Soon, Monty’s message came in.
[Verity, I ordered a package—office supplies. I accidentally had it sent to the villa. Don’t open it. I’ll move it to the department when I get back.]
I replied with a random emoji, then taped the box shut again.
I’d already made up my mind to leave.
I couldn’t even be bothered to call him out on that pathetic lie.
That night, he claimed he was out investigating a case, so he couldn’t come home.
But Sylvie, who’d been on hiatus on the internet for a while, suddenly posted a status update.
She was in a luxury hotel downtown.
In the candid photo, Monty’s police shoulder badge stood out clearly.
The wedding ring on his finger had been taken off, leaving a visible tan line.
In the reflection of the wine glass, the woman was beaming, and the man’s eyes were full of affection.