On my anniversary, my billionaire parents gifted me a sports car. The next day, my husband came to my office and demanded the keys, saying, “This sports car is mine.” When I refused, he angrily left the office. A few hours later, he called me, laughing, “I burned your dream sports car.” I rushed to the house, but when I arrived, I couldn’t control my laughter because the car he burned was…

“He called me and said he did,” I replied, pointing directly at Derek.

Derek snapped immediately, “She’s lying! It’s her car! Her parents bought it. She’s trying to blame me.”

I inhaled slowly. “The Lamborghini my parents gifted me is still at the dealership. Here’s the contract and the dealer’s address.”

I pulled the paperwork from my purse and handed it over.

Another officer motioned Derek aside. “Sir, come over here.”

“It was a prank,” Derek said quickly. “A stupid anniversary prank.”

“Pranks don’t involve accelerant,” the officer replied calmly, glancing toward the driveway where a fire investigator was already examining the scene.

The investigator asked for our porch camera footage.

Ironically, Derek had installed those cameras himself. He called them security. I always thought they felt more like control.

Now they were evidence.

We watched the clip together on my phone.

Derek dragged a gas can from the garage. He walked around the car, splashing fuel across the hood. Then he flicked a lighter.

His face was perfectly visible under the porch light.

Derek stared at the screen in stunned silence.

“You recorded me,” he muttered.

“You recorded yourself,” I answered.