The Lace Slip Lie

The snarky little post Id made on The Sprawla private forum for rich, disgruntled wiveshad exploded overnight.

I had vented about finding yet another piece of lingerie that wasn't mine. Now, I watched the comments roll in, but one private message stood out, a blue-check account I didn't recognize:

@UnattainableIdeal: He didn't cheat. He just wants you to flirt with him, Avery. He wants you to stop being so buttoned-up and boring.

I snapped a photo of the pale pink lace slip Id just pulled from between the sofa cushionsa damning piece of evidence if ever there was one.

@AveryThorne: Are you sure about that?

The typing bubble appeared and vanished several times. A few seconds of silence stretched.

@UnattainableIdeal: ...He wants you to wear it.

I was done with the whole ridiculous, degrading scavenger hunt. This was the tenth piece of intimate apparel Id found in our Boston penthouse in as many months.

I ignored the anonymous user and grabbed my phone to call my lawyer, Leo. "Did you finally draft those papers?"

1

Miles Thorne pushed the door open, his expression as cool and detached as the polished granite countertop in the kitchen.

I was sitting on the Italian leather sofa, staring straight at him. Next to me, the pale pink lace slip was a glaring, obvious spot against the charcoal gray cushion.

Miles glanced over. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, brushed past me, landed on the lingerie, and then moved on without a flicker of acknowledgment. He simply walked toward the stairs.

The sheer dismissal was a slap in the face. Impotent ragethats what the feeling was. He was bringing women into our home, leaving their secrets scattered for me to find, and he couldn't even bother to offer a lie. He treated me like a ghost in my own marriage mausoleum.

I snatched up my phone and went back to my post on The Sprawl, typing furiously.

@AveryThorne: My husband is cheating, fine. But does he have to keep leaving lace slips and silky camisoles everywhere? What is his goal? To provoke me? Can't he keep his affairs out of the house?!

The comments poured in.
WTF, is he serious? You haven't yelled at him?
He's definitely doing it on purpose.
Why are you staying, girl? Do you like the drama?

I replied with cold cynicism: Look, he might be a player, but the man has money. Serious money.

The collective wisdom of the internet told me to swallow my pride and stop looking for the evidence. A trade-off, Avery.

While I was wallowing in this melancholy, the private message popped up again.

@UnattainableIdeal: He didn't cheat. He just wants you to flirt with him, Avery. He wants you to stop being so buttoned-up and boring.

I narrowed my eyes. How could you possibly know that?

No reply.

I scoffed, taking the picture of the slip again and sending it. You sure? If you don't find this repulsive, you have my respect. (Followed by a strong-arm emoji).

@UnattainableIdeal: ...He wants you to wear it.

I actually laughed. This person was a complete freak.

I was genuinely tired of this. I hadnt looked at the account again, dialing my lawyer, Leo. "Is the divorce agreement ready?"

Last month, Id found a satin bunny costume tucked deep under the master bed. That was the last straw. Id called Leo that night.

But Miles and I had been married for five years, and Id grown very accustomed to the life his money afforded. There was also the residual, old feeling of affection. I had loved himuntil his nonstop work, his constant absence, slowly chipped away at the foundation until there was nothing left but two strangers sharing a very expensive zip code.

My hesitation had stalled the process. I kept thinking I needed the right time to talk to him. Now, I thought, maybe hes been trying to talk to me all along. Maybe this whole lingerie scavenger hunt was his clumsy, silent plea for me to end it. Fine. Ill give him what he wants.

Leo replied, "It's been ready for a week, Avery. But I'm out of the country. Do you want to come to the firm and pick it up, or should I have my assistant courier it to you?"

"Courier it," I sighed. "Your firm is practically in the next state. I'm too lazy for that drive..."

A cold voice cut through the silence of the room. "Avery. Who are you talking to?"

I instantly hung up, turning to face him, forcing a casual look. "I thought you were in your study."

Miles stood on the bottom step, his eyebrows low, his gaze locked onto me. "Who were you just on the phone with?"

Was he interrogating me? The man who was currently having an affair? I glared back. "Mind your own business."

I yanked the lace slip fully out of the couch, marched toward him, and threw it right at his chest. "Why don't you mind your own first."

2

Back in the bedroom, a message from my friend, Liv, flashed on my screen.

Liv: Avery, seriously, you need to watch Miles. I heard he's getting way too cozy with his new executive assistant.

She followed up with a photo. Miles was leaning over a document, his face obscured by shadow, while a pretty, slender woman stood right next to him, leaning in, their shoulders practically touching. It was an unnervingly intimate angle.

I let out a cold laugh. When was this taken?

Liv: Just yesterday.

Id been at my spa retreat yesterday. That explained the fresh piece of lace on the couch. My fingers tightened faintly around my phone.

It was a strange feelingnot sharp pain, but a deep, numbing ache of betrayal. But we were on the verge of divorce, so those ambiguous feelings didn't matter. I thanked Liv.

I noticed the annoying user, @UnattainableIdeal, had messaged me one second ago.

@UnattainableIdeal: Does this make you angry? That your husband is doing this?

My eyes widened. I typed back furiously. Is it not obvious enough?! Does he even see me anymore?!

@UnattainableIdeal: It sounds like you really care about him.

I was speechless. What nerve.

The person continued: You should try to be proactive. Go to him, try to flirt a little, and tell him you're bothered.

I stared at the last phrase: tell him youre bothered. It wasn't really jealousy, it was disgust, but I was too tired to explain. He's cheating. You think that'll work?

@UnattainableIdeal: It will.

The certainty in that one word was maddening. I clicked on their profile. Just a bunch of blurry photos of houseplants. Nothing useful.

@UnattainableIdeal: Most men are like this.

I snorted. I sent a dry: Oh. I just wanted this person to stop, so I added: Fine. Ill try it later.

The account went quiet. Thank God.

In reality, I turned off my phone and yawned. My eyelids felt heavy. Sleep beckoned. The world was ending, but first, I needed a nap.

3

I woke up starving in the middle of the night.

I stumbled downstairs, groggy, planning to snatch a yogurt from the fridge. A sudden, low voice startled me into wakefulness.

"Avery."

I nearly dropped the carton, whipping my head around. Miles was on the sofa, his long legs crossed, staring into the dark room. By the sliver of moonlight filtering through the window, I could just make out the intense focus of his eyes on me.

I stammered. "W-w-what are you doing sitting in the living room?"

His voice was husky, a low grate. "I forgot. What were you doing in the room?"

I gave him a baffled look. "Sleeping, Miles. I woke up from a deep sleep. It's the middle of the night."

Was it my imagination, or did he visibly freeze for a second?

I grabbed my yogurt and waved dismissively. "I'm going back to bed. You should too."

Miles stared at me, his lips parted as if he was about to speak, but he ultimately remained silent.

I woke up the next day just before noon. The first message I saw was from Liv.

Liv: You're not going to the Thorne corporate event?

The updated guest list for the big commercial gala listed Miless new executive assistant as his date. As his date, Avery. Did you two have a fight?

I quietly read the lines. A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. We were getting divorced soon. I didn't need to be upset about this.

But still...

It was true Miles and I lacked passion, but we had always maintained a kind of stiff, polite respect. Now, with the lingerie and the public date, it seemed clear: he had found someone he genuinely cared about and was deliberately pushing me out. I would grant him his wish.

The annoying user popped up again.

@UnattainableIdeal: Did you try my advice? Did it work?

Persistent, I thought. I hadnt had the slightest intention of going to Miles and confessing my feelings.

I sent a cold laugh. No, it didn't work. We're getting divorced.

4

The reply was instantaneous. A bright red exclamation mark followed by a two-word message.

@UnattainableIdeal: Don't do it!

I raised an eyebrow. He was more stressed than I was.

Why not? he asked.

I gave a dry chuckle, typing quickly. Hes taking another woman to the biggest corporate event of the year. What am I supposed to stay for? To cheer them on?

Silence. A long five minutes passed before a reply came.

@UnattainableIdeal: Maybe he just wants to make you jealous.

Hes hoping youll demand to go with him.

I stared at the screen and almost burst out laughing. This persons reasoning was truly astonishing. To justify this much callous behavior.

I was done debating. I ended the conversation. I'm not going. He can bring the whole staff if he wants. I don't want to see his stone-cold face anyway.

I exited the chat.

Leos firm was efficient. The next afternoon, the assistant couriered the package. I tore it open and pulled out the divorce papers. Two copies, all the necessary information filled out. All it needed were Miless and my signatures.

I picked up a pen and, with careful, deliberate strokes, signed my name on the line for the wife.

A hollow feeling settled in my chest. Five years. Just like that.

I placed the signed papers prominently on the living room coffee table, packed a small suitcase, and headed to my own placea pre-nup loft Id bought before the wedding. I needed a quiet place to contemplate how I would spend the rest of my life after taking half of Miles Thornes fortune.

5

I spent two days at the loft, sleeping and eating, catching up on the emotional exhaustion of the last few years.

On the third day, my phone nearly melted from Livs frantic calls.

Liv: Avery! Are you really not coming?!

Your husband actually brought the little secretary! Holy hell, Chloe is wearing a custom couture gown!

You need to get here! If the Queen doesn't show up, the mistress takes the throne!

I read Livs chain of messages and looked at the few candid photos shed snapped.

Miles was in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his expression utterly impassive. Next to him was the secretary, Chloe. Young, beautiful, and in a white mermaid-style dress that made her look like a pure, delicate flower.

A knot formed in my stomach. It was a lie to say I wasn't bothered. But then I reminded myself that I was divorcing him. Why should I care?

I texted Liv back. I'm not coming. They can be happy together. I'm busy cashing out.

Liv: ...Are you serious? It's Miles Thorne!

Yes. It was Miles Thorne. The hardest man to catch at Harvard Business School, the one whod pursued me for a full year before I finally agreed to marry him. The man who, despite his coldness after marriage, never once held back his wealth.

My resolve wavered.

Just then, the mysterious user popped up again.

@UnattainableIdeal: Are you really not going to the event?

Your husband looks incredible tonight.

If you don't go, he will be very disappointed.

I stared at the messages, a surge of pure fury hitting me. Disappointed? He brought another woman as his date and he expected me to cheer him on?

I typed, pressing down the rage. I don't care.

@UnattainableIdeal: If you went, he would be happy.

He got you a gift.

A gift? I gave a cold laugh. Was it another lace slip? Or something even more bizarre? I was about to block him when Livs call came through again, her voice vibrating with excitement.

"Avery! Check the trending page!"

I opened the social media app. #ThorneCEOandNewFlame was sitting at number one. I clicked in, and high-resolution photos and videos of the gala flooded the screen.

Miless god-like handsome face was flawless under the lights. He and Chloe did, indeed, look like a perfect couple. The comments section was a battlefield.

OMG! Who is that woman? Not his wife, Avery!
Where have you been? Theyve been playing their own games for years.
The secretary has serious game to land Miles Thorne.
Am I the only one who thinks the CEO looks miserable? Like someone owes him ten million dollars.

I couldn't help but smile at the "miserable" comment. It was true; Miles in the photos looked like his jaw was set in concrete.

As I was enjoying the schadenfreude, Liv shrieked into the phone. "Did you see it?! The necklace around her neck! The Heart of the Ocean! Miles bought it at auction last week for nine million dollars!"

My heart plummeted. I had seen the news about that auction. I even joked with Liv that some woman was incredibly lucky.

I just didn't expect that woman to be his secretary.

6

He bought me a designer handbag for my birthday. The most expensive was maybe a few hundred thousand.

It wasn't that he was stingy. It was that he thought I wasn't worth the grand gesture.

A strange mix of bitterness and white-hot anger rushed through me. I took a deep breath.

"Liv," I said, my voice steady. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything!"

"Send your emergency gown and your stylist to my loft. Now. Immediately."

Livs efficiency was startling. Within half an hour, my single-bedroom loft looked like a celebrity dressing room backstage.

"Avery, you finally snapped? We're crashing the party?" Liv asked, directing the stylist while practically bouncing with excitement.

I sat in front of the mirror, looking at my slightly pale, tired face. My eyes, however, were blazing.

"Crash it?" I smirked, letting the stylist pin up my hair.

"Im going to reclaim what's mine."

I was still Miles Thorne's wife. His date, publicly, had to be me. If a divorce was happening, I would be the one kicking him out, not the other way around.

The stylist and makeup artist were world-class. In less than an hour, the mirror reflected a radiant, fiercely beautiful woman. A strapless gown of siren-red silk made my skin look porcelain. The high slit in the skirt gave fleeting glimpses of my long legs. My long, dark hair was swept up, a few loose curls framing a face defined by a powerful red lip.

"Holy shit, Avery. If you dressed like this all the time, that secretary wouldn't even exist!" Liv stared, slack-jawed.

I smiled, a predatory curve of my lips, and grabbed a tiny clutch. "Let's go. Time for the main event."

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "303091" to read the entire book.