I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 03

I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 03

“Mrs. Sterling.. what are you doing here?”

“Working overtime.”

“Mr. Thompson is…” He seemed to hesitate.

“Sean didn’t come in today.”

“I know.”

I walked straight to my office and closed the door.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was a gray city skyline. The autumn smog made everything look blurred.

I opened my laptop and logged into the home security system.

I had installed it last year for security; Sean had laughed at me then, saying I was overreacting.

I had turned off the camera in the master bedroom, but the ones in the living room and hallway were still running.

On the screen, the housekeeper was cleaning.

At 10:17 AM, the front door opened. Sean walked in, followed by Jade.

She was carrying two paper bags with the logo of a famous trendy bakery.

“Just put them on the coffee table,” Sean’s voice came through the speakers, sounding lighter than I’d ever heard it.

“Martha, you don’t need to stay for the afternoon. We’ll clean up ourselves.”

The housekeeper acknowledged and left.

Jade sat on the sofa as naturally as if she were in her own home.

She opened the bags, took out a piece of cake, and scooped a piece with a spoon to hold to Sean’s mouth.

“Try this. Didn’t you say you wanted to try it last time?”

Sean ate it from her hand, a bit of cream smudging the corner of his mouth.

Jade reached out to wipe it away, her thumb lingering on his lip for two seconds.

“Is it sweet?”

“Sweet.”

“You’re sweeter.”

Sean laughed and tried to push her hand away, but she caught his wrist.

They locked eyes, and something began to ferment in the air. Finally, Sean was the first to look away, standing up to head to the kitchen:

“I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I want your pour-over, not the instant stuff.”

“You’re so demanding.”

I watched the screen, my fingers unconsciously tapping the desk.

This wasn’t an affair—at least not in the physical sense yet.

But in front of this other woman, he became a version of himself I didn’t recognize.

He was relaxed, he laughed heartily, and he was moved by cheap flattery.

Between us, there was nothing left but a “middle-aged couple sick of looking at each other.”

At 3:00 PM, Sean’s phone rang.

He checked the screen, his expression instantly tightening:

“It’s Claire.”

Jade sat up straight and made a “shh” gesture.

“Hello?” Sean answered, his tone flat.

“Yeah, working overtime. The proposal is due. Just order some takeout; stop eating instant noodles all the time.”

He hung up, and Jade leaned in:

“Sean, is it really okay to lie to her like that?”

“She agreed to the game herself,” Sean’s voice turned cold. “Half a month, not a single day less. Her own words.”

“But what if she finds out?”

“Finds out what?” Sean laughed.

“That I’m at home discussing work with a colleague? Claire is a proud woman. Even if she suspects something, she won’t cause a scene in public. When the two weeks are up, I’ll go back and say a few sweet words, and it’ll blow over.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “It’s been three years. Don’t you think I know her?”

I turned off the monitor.

Rain began to fall outside, droplets hitting the glass and snaking down like distorted rivers.

I thought back to the day of the proposal. Sean had held me tightly, his voice raspy as he said, “I’ll treat you right for the rest of my life.”

Back then, his sincerity was real. Now, his calculation was equally real.

How does a person turn into this?

Or maybe he was always this way, and I just never saw clearly.

My phone lit up. My lawyer had sent a file:

Divorce Property Division Proposal I scanned it, my eyes stopping at the “At-Fault Party Determination” section.

“The current chain of evidence is incomplete. I suggest continued observation. If we can secure substantive evidence within these two weeks, we can gain much more leverage.”

Substantive evidence.

I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name.

Maya Vance, my college roommate, now the CTO at a cyber security firm.

At a reunion last year, she got tipsy and grabbed my hand, saying, “Your company’s system security is like wet tissue paper. If I wanted to, I could pull up your husband’s chat logs every single day.”

I had dismissed it as drunk talk then.

Now, I dialed her number.

“Maya, I need a favor.”