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The Night He Drugged My Tea

The Night He Drugged My Tea

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My husband, Ethan Cole, was New York' s legal golden boy-revered for his legal prowess and, more famously, for his legendary adoration of his wife, Sarah Miller. "My North Star" tattooed over his heart, cross-country flights for a few hours with me; I believed this perfect fairytale for years. Then, the crash. Arriving at his office to surprise him, I overheard his junior associates' crude jokes: "Boss is off to Napa with Jessica Vance for a 'client retreat'." Napa? He'd texted "Chicago deposition." My world tipped. The video landed, sent by Jessica: her, tied with Ethan' s silk tie, his face consumed by a desire I hadn't witnessed in years. It plummeted deeper. That night, he drugged my tea. Then, he brought her into our bed, right beside me, believing I was out cold. Her moans, his rough whispers, Jessica' s sweat-damp hair brushing my cheek-the ultimate, sickening violation. The man who once cooked me gourmet breakfasts became a depraved stranger, brazenly flaunting his infidelity inches from me. How could he? My reflection showed tear-streaked eyes, but pain became icy resolve. No screaming. No breakdowns. A chillingly precise plan formed. I took a burner phone, texting him-my husband, the famed attorney-as an anonymous "Ms. Evans": "My husband is cheating with his assistant. What should I do?" His reply, professional and prompt: "Secure all evidence of his infidelity. Bring it to me." So, I did. I formally retained Ethan Cole to handle my divorce. Game on.

Contents

Introduction

My husband, Ethan Cole, was New York' s legal golden boy-revered for his legal prowess and, more famously, for his legendary adoration of his wife, Sarah Miller.

"My North Star" tattooed over his heart, cross-country flights for a few hours with me; I believed this perfect fairytale for years.

Then, the crash. Arriving at his office to surprise him, I overheard his junior associates' crude jokes: "Boss is off to Napa with Jessica Vance for a 'client retreat'." Napa? He'd texted "Chicago deposition."

My world tipped.

The video landed, sent by Jessica: her, tied with Ethan' s silk tie, his face consumed by a desire I hadn't witnessed in years.

It plummeted deeper.

That night, he drugged my tea.

Then, he brought her into our bed, right beside me, believing I was out cold.

Her moans, his rough whispers, Jessica' s sweat-damp hair brushing my cheek-the ultimate, sickening violation.

The man who once cooked me gourmet breakfasts became a depraved stranger, brazenly flaunting his infidelity inches from me.

How could he?

My reflection showed tear-streaked eyes, but pain became icy resolve.

No screaming. No breakdowns.

A chillingly precise plan formed.

I took a burner phone, texting him-my husband, the famed attorney-as an anonymous "Ms. Evans": "My husband is cheating with his assistant. What should I do?"

His reply, professional and prompt: "Secure all evidence of his infidelity. Bring it to me."

So, I did.

I formally retained Ethan Cole to handle my divorce. Game on.

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Latest Release: Chapter 10   Today 14:39
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1 Introduction
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2 Chapter 1
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3 Chapter 2
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4 Chapter 3
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5 Chapter 4
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6 Chapter 5
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7 Chapter 6
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8 Chapter 7
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9 Chapter 8
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10 Chapter 9
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11 Chapter 10
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