“The police are going to be here soon, Derek,” he said.

“You need to get your things and leave before they arrive.”

“This is my house,” Derek said, his voice rising again.

“I am not leaving.”

“It is my house, Derek,” I said.

“The deed was transferred to my name last month as part of our post-nuptial agreement.”

Derek stared at me, his mouth opening slightly.

He had forgotten about the document he had signed when he wanted me to sign the non-disclosure agreement for his previous affair.

“You didn’t,” he whispered.

“I did,” I said.

He looked around the room, at the walls, the furniture, the paintings, as if he were seeing them for the first time.

Everything he had used to define his success was no longer his.

“You planned this,” he said, his voice trembling.

“Every single step.”

“I had to,” I said.

“Otherwise, you would have kept me here forever.”

The kitchen door creaked open slightly.

Chef Laura stood in the crack of the door, her face pale, holding a silver tray with the main course.