I Came Home Early to Surprise My Wife — Instead I Found Her Affair Partner in Our Bedroom, So I Locked Them Inside and Called My Lawyer

PART 3: THE DEMOLITION OF A MARRIAGE

Marcus Chen looked at me, his eyes sharp behind his silver-rimmed glasses. “Before we go up there, Jake, I did a quick search on the drive over. Marcus Boyd isn’t just an executive at Vanguard Development. He’s the son-in-law of Arthur Pendelton.”

I frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Pendelton? The real estate mogul?”

“The very same,” Marcus Chen nodded, a cold smile touching his lips. “Arthur Pendelton is old-money, fiercely religious, and notoriously brutal when it comes to his family’s reputation. He bought Marcus his partnership at the firm. Everything Marcus Boyd owns—his house, his cars, his status—belongs to his father-in-law’s empire. If Arthur finds out his son-in-law is cheating on his pregnant daughter in a suburban home on a Tuesday afternoon… Marcus Boyd is done. Completely obliterated.”

Tom leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his massive arms. “Sounds like gã này chọn nhầm nhà để chơi rồi (this guy picked the wrong house to play in).”

“Exactly,” Marcus Chen said, turning on his digital camera. “Now, Jake, I need you to hand me your phone. The audio recording you took is legally admissible in our state for divorce proceedings since it was recorded in your primary residence where you have a total expectation of privacy. Let’s go upstairs.”

The three of us walked up the staircase, our footsteps heavy and synchronized. The trail of clothes was still exactly where it had been left. Marcus Chen stopped at each item, taking high-resolution photos with his camera.

Click. Click. Click.

The flash of the camera illuminated the dim hallway.

When we reached the top landing, the muffled noises from inside the room stopped instantly. They heard us. They knew the cavalry had arrived, but they didn’t know what kind of cavalry it was.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the solid brass key, and inserted it into the deadbolt.

CLACK.

I turned the doorknob and pushed the double doors open.

The scene inside was pathetic. Marcus Boyd was sitting on the edge of our navy-blue bed, wearing nothing but his dress socks and a pair of boxers he had hastily pulled on. His hair was disheveled, his face pale and sweating. Lisa was huddled in the corner of the room, wrapped tightly in one of my old, oversized college hoodies, her makeup smeared across her face, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

The moment the door swung open, Marcus Boyd sprang to his feet, trying to summon whatever corporate authority he had left.

“Finally!” he barked, stepping forward. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? This is illegal! I’m going to ruin you, Morrison! I’m going to hire the best lawyers in this state and—”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes traveled from me, to Marcus Chen who was calmly holding a legal notepad, and finally landed on Tom. Tom was standing in the doorway, six-foot-three of pure, silent menace, wearing his state police jacket, his hands resting casually on his tactical belt. Tom didn’t say a word. He just stared at Marcus Boyd with a look that promised absolute, immediate physical ruin if he took another step.

Marcus Boyd’s chest deflated. He swallowed hard, taking a slow step backward toward the bed.

“Marcus Boyd,” my attorney said, his voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “My name is Marcus Chen, senior partner at Chen & Associates. I am representing Jake Morrison in his immediate divorce proceedings against Lisa Morrison.”

Lisa let out a sharp, choked gasp from the corner. “Jake… please… look at me…”

I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes fixed on Marcus Boyd.

“Mr. Boyd,” Marcus Chen continued, pulling a document from his folder. “We have twenty-three minutes of high-definition audio recording of you and Mrs. Morrison inside this room. In that recording, you explicitly admit to a four-month extramarital affair. You also admit to using your corporate expense card to finance luxury trips to Cabo and purchasing high-end jewelry for my client’s wife. That constitutes corporate fraud and embezzlement.”

Marcus Boyd’s face went from pale to completely translucent. “I… that was… we were just joking…”

“We are not joking,” Marcus Chen said smoothly. “In exactly ten minutes, I am going to file an emergency petition for divorce on the grounds of adultery and egregious marital misconduct. If you cooperate right now, if you sign an affidavit confirming the timeline of the affair, and if you leave this property without causing further incident, I will delay sending a copy of this audio file to Arthur Pendelton until Friday morning. That gives you exactly thirty-six hours to figure out how you’re going to explain this to your pregnant wife. Do we have a deal?”

Marcus Boyd looked like a man who had just been handed a death warrant. He looked at Lisa, then at me, his lips trembling. “Give me the paper. I’ll sign it.”

“Marcus, no!” Lisa screamed, jumping up from the corner, the oversized hoodie dragging on the floor. “Don’t sign anything! Jake, you can’t do this to me! We built this life together! It was just a mistake! I was lonely, Jake! You were always working! You abandoned me!”

She rushed toward me, her hands reaching out to grab my shirt, her face contorted into an expression of desperate, manipulative agony. She was trying to play the victim one last time. She wanted me to break, to yell, to show some sign of the husband who used to hold her when she cried.

But I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch.

Before she could touch me, Tom stepped forward, his massive frame blocking her path like an iron wall. “Step back, Lisa,” Tom said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t touch my brother.”

Lisa stumbled back, looking at Tom with pure hatred. “This is none of your business, Tom! Get out of my house!”

“Actually, it’s my house,” I said, speaking for the first time. My voice was incredibly quiet, but it filled the room. “My name is on the deed, Lisa. I paid the down payment with the inheritance from my grandfather. And according to the paperwork you’re about to receive, you have exactly ten minutes to pack a single suitcase of essentials and leave.”

“You can’t kick me out!” she wailed, her voice echoing through the hallway. “I have rights! This is my home!”

“You forfeited your rights the moment you brought another man into our bed,” I said, looking her directly in the eyes. For the first time in nine years of knowing her, I felt absolutely nothing. No love, no anger, no heartbreak. Just a profound sense of clarity. “Look around you, Lisa. Look at what you chose. Was it worth it?”

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing, but for once in her life, she had no clever comeback. She had no manipulative spin. She was completely naked in her guilt.

Marcus Boyd hurriedly signed the affidavit on the legal pad Marcus Chen provided. He didn’t even look at Lisa. He grabbed his trousers, his shirt, and his expensive brown loafers from the floor, and practically ran out of the room, scrambling down the stairs like a terrified rat leaving a sinking ship.

Lisa watched him run, realizing that her prince charming was nothing but a coward who would throw her under the bus to save his own skin for another thirty-six hours.

She turned back to me, her tears flowing freely now, a desperate, hollow sound. “Jake… please… we can go to counseling. I’ll do anything. I’ll sign a post-nup. Just don’t throw me away like this…”

“Ten minutes, Lisa,” I said, turning my back on her. “Tom will be standing in the hallway counting the seconds. If you’re not out by then, he will personally escort you to the curb.”

I walked out of the room, followed by Marcus Chen.

As I walked down the stairs, I heard her begin to pack, the frantic sliding of hangers in the closet. But just as I reached the living room, my phone on the table buzzed violently. It was an unknown number.

I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Is this Jake Morrison?” a trembling, feminine voice asked on the other end. She sounded young, breathless, and completely devastated.

I froze. “Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Jennifer,” the voice whispered, and I could hear her sobbing through the speaker. “I’m Marcus Boyd’s wife… I… I saw a location tag on his phone account. It says he’s at your address. Please… tell me my husband isn’t there…”

I held the phone to my ear, looking up at the ceiling where my wife was packing her bags, and I realized that the blast radius of this Tuesday afternoon was about to claim its final, most innocent victim…