I opened the luxury travel agency’s app and reviewed the reservation, which included the island, the villa, the seaplane, the premium bar, and all the private excursions.
Every single cent of that one hundred and fifty thousand dollars had been paid from my personal account.
Caleb shouted from the edge of the dock, his voice echoing across the water.
“Lydia, stop playing with your phone and tell the pilot we are ready to board immediately,” he commanded.
I raised my hand in a mock gesture of obedience while my thumb hovered over the screen.
The option to cancel the entire reservation appeared in bold red letters, and I did not hesitate for even a second.
I thought about every night he had come home late smelling of expensive perfume while telling me I was paranoid and irrational.
I remembered Margot laughing at me for earning a man’s salary while claiming I lacked the grace of a traditional woman.
I remembered the credit card statements showing Caleb purchasing jewelry and designer bags for a woman whose name was certainly not Lydia.
I pressed the button firmly, watching as the screen confirmed that the refund was being processed.
A wave of peace washed over me, so deep it almost felt unfamiliar.
But I did not stop there. I immediately opened my banking app to take further action.
I canceled Caleb’s secondary credit cards and revoked his access to our joint account, which was primarily funded by my dividends.
I moved my personal investments into the protected trust my attorney had set up months earlier when I first began to realize my marriage was a lie.
Finally, I opened a secure file on my cloud drive labeled “Insurance Policy.”
Inside were detailed bank records my accountant had uncovered, showing large deposits from Caleb into an account owned by Tessa.
He had been using my company’s profits to fund an apartment in the city and support a lifestyle for a woman he claimed was just an old friend.
Eighteen months of carefully constructed lies had been financed by the very money he said he was managing for our future.
I turned back toward the dock just as the travel manager approached the group with a tablet in his hand.
“Mr. Harrison, I am afraid we have just received a high-priority alert regarding a total cancellation of your trip,” the manager said.
Caleb removed his sunglasses and frowned.
“That is impossible, because my wife just checked us in a moment ago,” he replied arrogantly.
The manager shook his head and pointed to the screen.
“The primary reservation holder has canceled everything, and the seaplane will not be departing today,” he explained.
He added that rebooking would require an immediate payment of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
