Chapter 3 - Stranded and BrokeIt took Sebastian three days to fully realize the scope of his ruin. Without my credit cards, he had been forced to drain his meager personal savings just to book a spirit airlines flight back to Chicago.
On Wednesday evening, I was sitting in my living room reviewing quarterly projections when the doorbell rang, followed by furious, violent pounding. I checked the security cameras. It was Sebastian. He looked absolutely feral—unshaven, soaking wet from the drizzle, and screaming at the camera.
I didn't open the door. I pressed the intercom button.
"You are trespassing on private property, Sebastian."
"Open the damn door, Victoria!" he roared. "Where is my truck? Where are my clothes? You can't just throw me out on the street! I have rights! I’m your husband!"
"Not according to the Instagram post your mother shared," I replied smoothly, watching him flinch through the high-definition lens. "You married Alyssa, remember? You’re her husband now. I suggest you go to her apartment. Though, since I fired her on Monday, she probably can't afford rent this month."
"Victoria, please," Sebastian’s voice suddenly cracked, the aggressive posturing evaporating into pathetic desperation. "Alyssa kicked me out. She found out the house wasn't mine. She found out the money was yours. She locked me out of her place."
I felt a rush of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The young, sweet, fertile assistant had realized she hadn't married a billionaire CEO; she had married a glorified freeloader.
"That sounds like a terrible start to a marriage," I noted casually.
"I'll call the police!" he threatened, reverting to anger. "I'll tell them you stole my car!"
"I already called them, Sebastian," I said.
Before he could respond, the flashing red and blue lights of two Chicago Police Department cruisers illuminated the rainy street behind him. Sebastian turned around in horror. The officers didn't walk up to mediate a domestic dispute. They walked up with handcuffs.
May you like
"Sebastian Hayes?" the lead officer asked, stepping onto my porch. "You're under arrest for felony forgery and bigamy. Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
I watched on the monitor as my husband—the man who had spent months plotting my replacement—was shoved into the back of a squad car, possessing absolutely nothing but the wet clothes on his back.
Related Stories
