The moment I signed the divorce papers, I immediately canceled his 15 credit cards. While he was celebrating a $75,000 wedding with his mistress, he froze at just one sentence from me.
The first alert came as the champagne was poured.
Declined.
Then another.
Then a third.
Servers paused. A manager approached. Conrad laughed it off at first, reaching for another card. That one failed too.
His phone rang. It was me.
“Felicity,” he said, lowering his voice as he stepped away from the table. “Something is wrong with the accounts.”
“I know,” I replied calmly. “You should read page eleven of the agreement you signed today.”
There was a pause long enough for me to imagine his expression changing. The confidence draining. The realization arriving too late.
“What did you do,” he asked.
“I reclaimed what was never yours,” I said.
Behind him, voices grew tense. Brianna followed him into the hallway, her smile gone. “Why are they saying the band will not play,” she demanded. “Why are the flowers being removed.”
Conrad covered the phone. His face was pale. “Give me a minute,” he whispered to her, though his voice shook.
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