Part 2Secret of the Mango

First thing the next morning, as soon as Oliver left for the corporate office, I drove straight to the address printed on the receipt.

It happened to be a subsidiary branch of our own parent corporation.

The receptionist at the front desk looked up, flashing a glossy, rehearsed smile. "Good morning. Who are you here to see?"

"Molly," I said smoothly. "We have a private matter to discuss."

It didn't take long before a girl came hurrying out to the lobby.

She had soft, bouncy curls and flawless, dewy makeup.

The moment she spotted me, her face lit up with an overly eager, brilliant smile. "Hi there! I'm Molly. Were you looking for me?"

She was young. Vibrant. Cloaked in an aura of bubbly sweetness.

But beneath that sugar-coated exterior was a sharp, territorial edge that only another woman could instantly detect.

"Hello, Molly." I gave her a curt nod. "I have a few questions I was hoping to ask you privately."

We sat down in the corner of the lobby. Molly looked across the table at me, her big eyes swimming with a perfectly calibrated mix of innocence and confusion.

"It's about the fire safety inspections," I started, keeping my tone entirely conversational. "I heard you're handling the property management side for our residential complex?"

Molly blinked. For a split second, her mask slipped, but she quickly plastered the smile back on.

"Oh? Fire safety? I think you might have the wrong person. I work in corporate operations. I don't know the first thing about building maintenance."

Her voice was light, airy, and dripping with bewildered innocence.

"Really?" I nodded slowly. "My mistake then."

"It's just that yesterday afternoon, a maintenance guy came into my kitchen to check the alarms. He ate a mango and left the pit right in my trash can..."

Molly's fingers tightened around her paper coffee cup. Her eyes darted away from mine.

"Oh wow... you know how it is with independent contractors these days, so unprofessional..."

"But..." She let out a breathy little laugh. "What does any of that have to do with me?"

Before she even finished the sentence, my eyes had already dropped to the table next to her hand.

Sitting right there was a small paper bag embossed with the gold foil logo of Sugar & Lace.

It was the exact same bakery from the crumpled receipt in Oliver's pocket.

"Are you a fan of Sugar & Lace too?"

I dragged my eyes back up to her face, letting a mocking chill bleed into my voice. "I hear their mango crepe cake is to die for."

Every ounce of color instantly drained from Molly's face.

Her hand jerked violently. Scalding hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, burning her fingers.

She slammed the cup down in a panicked frenzy, frantically grabbing napkins to wipe up the mess, looking utterly pathetic and cornered.

In that single, fractured moment, all the missing puzzle pieces snapped violently into place.

I stood up and walked away without giving her a second glance.

I don't even remember the drive home.

When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was pitch black. Oliver wasn't back yet.

I closed the door and just stood in the dark entryway for a long time.

Divorce. The word echoed in my skull, growing louder and more solid by the second.

There was nothing left to salvage.

My personal laptop had been in the shop for days, so if I wanted to draft a separation agreement tonight, I had to use Oliver's home office desktop.

I pressed the power button. The screen glowed to life, asking for a password.

I tried his birthday. Incorrect.

I tried our wedding anniversary. Incorrect.

Finally, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I typed out the letters of Molly's name.

The desktop unlocked.

It was almost too poetic to be real.

Right there on the center of the desktop was a newly created folder. It was simply titled: Notice.

Some dark, twisting intuition at the bottom of my stomach told me to click it.

Inside was a single PDF file. The header made my blood run cold.

Notice of Immediate Termination Regarding Regional Operations Director Victoria.

The corporate jargon was brutally formal. It accused me of gross negligence, claiming I had leaked highly classified financial data to a rival firm during the Apex Corporation merger, causing massive financial damages. Based on company bylaws, I was to be fired immediately and stripped of all stock options.

The signature at the bottom belonged to the Head of Corporate HR.

My husband. Oliver.

A toxic cocktail of absolute terror and blinding rage flooded my veins, turning my hands to ice.

The most disturbing part? The date on the termination notice was set for next week.

I was the lead director on the Apex project. Just last week, Oliver had specifically pushed me to take full control of the final data models.

He had kissed my forehead and told me how crucial this account was for my year-end promotion to Vice President.

I gripped the edge of the desk, forcing air into my burning lungs. I needed to think. This wasn't just a dirty little affair.

Oliver had dug a grave for me, and he was standing at the edge waiting for me to jump in.

Next week was the final wrap-up meeting with the clients. The second that meeting ended, the trap would snap shut.

My mind flashed back to the lobby this morning. To Molly.

Printed right beneath her smiling face on her company badge were the words: Operations Department.

It all made perfect, sickening sense now.

I reached out and slowly closed the document window.

If they had already dug the grave, it would be rude of me not to play along.

I guess we were about to find out who was going in the dirt first. Me, or my husband and his little mango-loving sidepiece.