Ryan Cooper. Then Brandon. Then Tara. The group chats light up.
She can see the previews. "What the hell did you tell your husband?" "Jessica knows." "Michelle's going crazy."
Then come the wives. Unknown number. "We need to talk about your little hotel adventure with my husband." Lauren looks at me like I set the house on fire.
"What did you do?" she repeats louder. "Jason, what did you do?" "Nothing you didn't start," I say. "I just moved the timeline up."
My phone vibrates. There's a text from Mike Ramirez, my foreman. "Car disabled. Cards frozen. Uber locked. All set, boss."
I slide the phone back into my pocket. "Oh," I add almost as an afterthought. "And you're not going anywhere tonight. Mike already took care of your car."
"Credit cards should be declined about now." Her eyes dart to her purse. She digs out her wallet like she expects to see melted plastic. "Keep going."
"Those two geniuses you were meeting," I say. "Their wives have everything they need. Screenshots, dates, times, room numbers."
"I made sure no one can twist this into a 'Jason was abusive, so I had to cheat' story. You don't get that script." She's shaking now, still in that ridiculous dress. Suddenly less like a femme fatale and more like someone who dressed for the wrong weather.
"You're overreacting," she says. But it comes out thin. "We were just talking, flirting. I was mad at you. I—"
"Lauren," I cut in, calm as a level on fresh concrete. "I watched you plan to blow up my life for six months. In your own words, you're not going to gaslight me out of what I read with my own eyes."
I jerk my chin at the papers. "You called me pathetic, spineless. Said I'd probably thank you for leaving me." I hold her stare. "You were half right."
"I am thanking you for reminding me what happens when you let people walk all over you." Her phone keeps lighting up, buzzing across the nightstand like it's trying to escape. Messages from Ryan, from Brandon, from Tara, from unknown numbers. The panic is spreading outward in real time.
"I still have my keys," she says suddenly, reaching for control like a drowning person. "I'll just call a cab or a friend. You can't keep me here." "I'm not keeping you anywhere."
I say, "You're free to go in that dress with no money, no car, and two married men who just realized you were never planning to save them, just use them." I step toward the door. "Jason, please," she says.
"We can fix this. I'll delete everything. We'll go to counseling. You don't have to—"
I stop in the doorway and look back at her, standing there with the life she thought she controlled falling apart at her feet. "This is me fixing it," I say. "I'm done being the nice husband you counted on."
"From now on, you live with what you did, not with the story you wanted to tell about it." Her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sits without meaning to. I walk downstairs, grab my boots, and step out into the evening air.