The Vasectomy Lie

My phone screen flared to life. A text from my wife. [The storm is too bad. I'm working late. Won't be home tonight.] At the exact same time, Spencer sent me a video.

It showed her sitting in an upscale restaurant, sharing an intimate dinner with her college ex who had just flown back into the States.

To spend the evening with him, she had forced me to cover for her at a corporate gala, leaving me stranded in the midnight downpour.

I forwarded the highresolution photo of their candlelit dinner directly to her chat, attaching a single message. [Don't bother rushing back.

Just go straight to a hotel.] I turned my back. I walked into the storm.

Chapter 1 Last night, Blair had somehow carved out time from her supposedly packed schedule to ask me for a favor.

She claimed she had work to handle and wanted me to cover for her at a corporate gala. Once the event wrapped up, she promised to pick me up herself. I didn't hesitate and agreed.

I waited another thirty minutes, but my patience wore thin. I decided to call an Uber myself.

The moment I pulled out my phone, a text from Blair popped up on the screen. [Still working late. Call a cab yourself.] I didn't text back. I should have seen that coming.

The chill night wind hit my face, sobering me up.

On the ride home, my phone buzzed with a message from Spencer. [Idiot, guess where I am right now?] I hit the record button and fired back a voice memo. "I'll punch you in the throat, I swear to God.

Just spit it out." A few seconds later, Spencer sent a short video. The background was an opulent, highend restaurant.

Under the dim, ambient lighting, a woman sat at a table a few feet away. I recognized her instantly. My wife, Blair.

She wore a relaxed, genuine smile I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time. A man sat across from her, his face angled away, hard to make out.

Spencer's exaggerated voice crackled through the phone speaker. "Bro, look who it is. That manipulative prick Finn just flew back from Silicon Valley.

He didn't even drop off his luggage before rushing over to take your wife out on a date. She's basically hanging a giant 'cuckold' sign around your neck!" Heh.

So 'the one that got away' was back in town. No wonder she didn't have time for the gala. Finn, Blair's high school sweetheart.

They broke up junior year of college, but he basically owned the best years of her youth.

Spencer and I only knew the details because our classroom was right next to theirs back then. I texted Spencer to snap a couple of highres photos.

Then, I forwarded them straight to Blair's chat. No explanation. No apology. The chat didn't even flash the 'typing' indicator from her end. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.

Our marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement anyway. I locked my phone screen, leaned against the leather backseat, and closed my eyes.

Three years ago, Blair and I both hit the big threeoh. Under the relentless pressure and manipulation from our families, we signed the papers at City Hall.

It was a multimilliondollar wedding of the century.

Manhattan's entire elite society came out in full force, and the merger of two business empires made us an unshakable alliance of interests in our circle.

After tying the knot, she focused on her career, and I ran my company. We lived under the same roof, but we operated like roommates sharing a lease.

We gave each other plenty of space. There was no sweeping romance, but no explosive arguments either. Blair always thought this setup worked perfectly fine. I disagreed.

This sterile environment never felt like a home. I arrived at the house and pushed the front door open to pitch black. I ripped my tie off and poured myself a glass of ice water.

The freezing liquid slid down my throat, temporarily shoving down the sickening churn in my stomach. After a hot shower, the sound of rain started pattering against the windows.

It grew louder, turning into a torrential downpour. Raindrops battered the glass like bullets. I was toweling off my hair when my phone rang.

Chapter 2 A text from Blair. [The storm is too bad. Probably won't make it back tonight. Just giving you a headsup.] Ridiculous.

I had already called her bluff on her fake overtime, and she still pulled this stunt.

I shook my head and tossed the phone onto the mattress, leaving no reply. "A match made in heaven." The wedding officiant's voice echoed in my head.

Her family needed my family's political leverage, and my family wanted her family's corporate resources.

Blair and I were nothing but the most presentable bargaining chips in a highstakes transaction. I used to think feelings could be cultivated and that a home could be built.

Three years in, I tried to close the gap, but she always maintained that perfectly calculated distance. She played the role of the ideal roommate flawlessly.

Any lingering shred of hope I had for us evaporated the moment she lied to me. Dawn crept through the blinds.

I was buried under the covers, dead asleep, when a noise in the hallway jolted me awake. Footsteps meant Blair was back. Sick, it was barely past 5:00 AM.

If she was going to spend the night out, she might as well have slept in. The bedroom door clicked open. She walked in and stopped right by the edge of the mattress.

I felt the weight of her stare boring into me, but I kept my eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge her. She stood there for a beat, then reached out and tugged at my blanket.

My eyes snapped open, I slapped her hand away, and I yanked the blanket back up. "Sleeping with the covers over your head is a bad habit," Blair stated, her voice stiff. "Psycho," I muttered, shooting her a dark look before rolling over.

Dark circles dragged down Blair's eyes. The expensive trench coat she wore carried the unmistakable scent of men's cologne—and it wasn't mine.

She was still in the exact same outfit from yesterday, and the collar of her silk blouse even bore a faint, undeniable wrinkle.

She flinched, clearly not expecting my reaction. "I was just fixing your blanket." She backed out of the room and shut the door. I slept until the sun blazed high in the sky.

Out in the dining room, Blair had changed into her loungewear and sat eating breakfast.

She looked as though she had just woken up, same as me. "Aren't you going to explain last night?" I pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.

She froze midbite, her eyes darting up. "Finn just got back into the country. We haven't seen each other in years. It was just a casual dinner.

As for lying to you… I just didn't want to overcomplicate things and make you paranoid." "So you two got a hotel room last night?" Blair dropped her spoon against the bowl with a clatter. "Gideon, don't be so ugly about it.

I drove back the second the rain let up." I gave a brief nod, grabbed a glass of water, and took a slow sip. "Sure. Got it." No explosive arguments. No interrogation.

My flat reaction caught Blair off guard. She stared at me, desperately searching my face for a crack—a muscle tick of anger or a flash of hurt. She found absolutely nothing.

I picked up a piece of toast and methodically spread a layer of jam over it, keeping my focus locked entirely on the food. "You… don't have anything else to say?" Blair finally cracked, a tremor of uncertainty bleeding into her voice.

I wiped my hands slowly with a napkin, lifted my gaze, and stared at her coldly, looking at her like she was a complete stranger. "Say what?

Congratulate you on a great hotel experience last night? Or praise his stamina?" Blair froze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

She ducked her head and silently choked down the rest of her oatmeal. From that day on, a fundamental shift occurred.

I stopped watching the clock, waiting for Blair to come home for dinner.

Whenever things got busy at the firm, I ate at the executive cafeteria, and after eating, I'd hit the corporate gym to burn off steam on the heavy bag.

By the time I actually swiped my key fob at the front door, it was usually past eight or nine. Chapter 3 Blair definitely noticed the shift.

At first, she probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

If I wasn't home by seven, she'd shoot me a text like clockwork. [Coming home for dinner?] My replies were delayed and deliberately brief. [Busy.

Eat without me.] Or I'd just leave her on read for hours, only texting back that I already ate after I had already unlocked the front door.

After a few rounds of this, the texts stopped completely. The weekend hit. I needed out of that suffocating house, so I hit up Spencer.

The second I tossed my sports car keys to the valet, two Instagram models in skintight bodycon dresses pressed up against me.

They reeked of heavy designer perfume. "Gideon, we've been waiting forever," they cooed in unison. I blinked, completely thrown.

I knew for a fact I had never seen these women in my life. "Uh, hey. Do I know you?" They didn't bother answering.

Instead, they flanked me, each hooking an arm through mine, pressing their heavy cleavage right against my biceps. "Whoa, what are you doing?" I asked. "Relax, Gideon," one of them purred. "Spencer sent us down to grab you." Son of a bitch.

What the hell was that idiot playing at? Five minutes later, I dropped into the plush seat across from Spencer, who had his own pair of models draped over him. "Well?

How's the VIP treatment?" He took a drag from his cigar, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Don't worry, they're all over twentyone." "Are you out of your damn mind, pulling a stunt like this?" I snapped.

I glanced around. A few people were already staring at our circus, some scoffing in disgust while a few guys shot me that universal look of raw envy.

Spencer had chosen an exclusive, openair Michelinstarred club that strictly required a toptier black card for entry.

There were no private VIP rooms here, and every Alister and socialite lounged out on the sprawling terrace, enjoying the completely unobstructed view.

Spencer completely brushed off my irritation. He blew a thick smoke ring and smirked. "Idiot, you've been miserable lately. I brought in some talent to help you blow off steam.

Life is short. Live a little, man. Besides, Blair already crossed the line. What are you so afraid of?

She gets to play around, but you have to sit at home like a good little boy?" His girls were busy pouring him overpriced whiskey and feeding him fruit, while the two glued to my sides kept accidentally brushing their hands over my thighs. "You're the idiot," I shot back. "It's broad daylight, and you're putting on a show.

You couldn't even book a place with a private room." I rolled my eyes, deciding not to waste my breath arguing since he had been a loose cannon since we were kids.

I took the cocktail the girl on my right offered and muttered a quick thanks. "There we go!" Spencer kicked his legs up, acting like he owned the joint. "I told you to stay single with me.

Did you listen? No. Now look at you. Look at me. I'm swimming in women, zero attachments.

Pure freedom." "Cut the crap," I laughed, grabbing a piece of the hors d'oeuvres. "Everyone knows you're terrified of your mother.

If she caught you pulling this, she'd freeze your trust fund and break your legs." "She'll never know.

I operate in the shadows, bro," Spencer boasted, squeezing the girl next to him. "My brother just had his third kid, so my mom doesn't have a second to spare for me.

She and the old man spend all day worshipping their new little heirs…" He didn't get to finish his sentence.

The maître d' was escorting two new guests down the main aisle right next to our table. I glanced up purely on instinct. My entire body locked up.

The man walking in front wore a tailored suit, projecting an aura of quiet confidence. Finn.

And the woman following right behind him, dressed in a sharply tailored beige trench coat, looking flawlessly put together? Blair.

Chapter 4 The maître d' led them to a table diagonally across from ours. Finn played the perfect gentleman, pulling out Blair's chair for her.

She gave a slight nod and sat down, her profile facing our direction. Spencer spotted them too.

His jaw dropped, the peanut he was holding slipping right back onto his plate. "Holy shit…" he muttered under his breath. He mouthed the words to me: What are the fucking odds?

My grip on my glass tightened for a fraction of a second before I pulled my gaze away. "Nothing to see here.

Eat." The two models beside me sensed the sudden shift in the atmosphere. They reined it in, immediately stopping their attempts to press up against my arms.

Spencer dropped his playboy smirk, his eyes darting rapidly between our table and theirs, practically vibrating with the nervous excitement of a guy waiting for a bomb to go off.

I kept eating, acting as if everything was perfectly normal. I came out today just to escape that suffocating house, and yet, here we were.

Fucking fate. "Hey," Spencer leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Want me to go over there and 'say hi' for you?" "Don't be an idiot.

Finish your food." I didn't even look up. Right at that moment, Blair must have felt the weight of our stares. She turned her head and looked straight at our table.

Her gaze swept over Spencer and his two dates first, a flash of unmistakable disgust crossing her features before her eyes locked onto mine.

Just like that, across the expanse of a few tables, our eyes met. The ambient noise of the crowded club seemed to instantly vanish.

Pure shock flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, calculating scrutiny.

She studied my face for a second, then her gaze dragged down to the two scantily clad models practically sitting in my lap. A microfrown pinched the space between her eyebrows.

The temperature in her eyes plummeted, freezing over like a layer of thin ice. I met her stare headon. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away.

I just stared back with absolute deadpan calm, letting a dark, unreadable smirk tug at the corner of my mouth.

The standoff only lasted a few seconds before she was the one who broke it. She snapped her head back around and murmured something to Finn.

Finn followed her line of sight, turning his head toward us. The moment he saw me, he clearly stiffened, but he quickly recovered, slapping on the fake, smug posture of a victor.

He deliberately reached out and slid his hand over the curve of Blair's waist, shooting me a highly provocative smirk.

I let out a cold scoff, slowly raising my glass in a mock toast, my eyes dripping with pure, unadulterated contempt. "Fuck, he actually has the balls to smile?" Spencer hissed, his voice tight with rage. "Eat." I tore my eyes away, picking up my fork and stabbing a piece of steak.

I moved as if the entire exchange never happened, but the vibe at our table was permanently killed.

Spencer dropped his loud, arrogant bragging, and the two models next to me, hyperaware of the suffocating tension, kept their mouths shut and picked at their food like wellbehaved children.

From diagonally across, the low murmur of Blair and Finn's conversation drifted over.

I couldn't make out the words, but I could see Finn's relaxed, confident hand gestures, and Blair nodded occasionally. They looked sickeningly harmonious. I ate fast.

My plate was completely clean in record time. "Done?" Spencer asked. "Yeah. Let's go." I threw my napkin onto the table and stood up.

As I walked past their table, I didn't break my stride or even grant them a sideways glance. I walked straight past them.

Spencer trailed right behind me, deliberately dragging his feet to rake his eyes over Blair and Finn, letting out a sharp, audible scoff before following me out.

We stepped out of the club, and the harsh glare of the afternoon sun hit my eyes.

Chapter 5 "Damn it, what garbage luck!" Spencer cursed, aggressively lighting a cigarette. "We can't even grab a bite without running into those two.

Gideon, can you really just swallow this?" I looked at him and let out a short laugh. "What do you expect me to do?

Storm over and flip their table?" I patted Spencer's shoulder, my tone completely casual. "It's just a corporate marriage. We're essentially business partners.

As long as it doesn't nuke the companies or embarrass the families, she can do whatever makes her happy." "Want me to handle your divorce?

I'll strip her family's company bare for you. I'm a law school dropout, after all…" "Hard pass.

You'd probably get both of us thrown in federal prison," I cut him off. "Thanks for today. But drop the circus act next time.

If you're going to pull a stunt like this, at least book a place with actual walls." I patted his shoulder again, turned around, and walked toward my car.

In the rearview mirror, I watched Spencer standing on the curb, aggressively scratching his head in sheer frustration. I pulled into the driveway.

Unexpectedly, Blair had beat me home. She was shrugging off her designer coat in the foyer when our eyes locked.

I toed off my shoes, completely ignoring her, and walked straight toward the bedroom. "Gideon." She stopped me.

I paused and turned to face her. "What?" Her eyes raked over me, sharp with scrutiny and a clear flash of displeasure. "Are you… not going to explain yourself?" "Explain what?" I leaned back against the hallway wall, my tone dead flat. "I just had a casual lunch with Spencer.

Don't overcomplicate things and make yourself paranoid." "Just fine. We're all friends here." Right on cue, Blair's face darkened instantly.

I stared at her, suddenly finding the whole thing incredibly funny. "Finn and I had a normal catchup between friends! What you and Spencer were doing today was not normal.

Those girls were clearly escorts." Blair's voice spiked, bleeding with obvious anger. "What?

You get to book highend tables with your old flame to reminisce about the good old days, but I can't grab a bite with my buddy and have two waitresses pour our drinks?" I let out a dry scoff. "Gideon, we need to talk." She forced her tone to soften. "Talk about what?" "Finn and I are just friends.

He just moved back to the States. He isn't familiar with the domestic market yet, and I was simply giving him some advice as a friend," she attempted to justify. "Sure.

I believe you." I nodded. "And?" My reaction completely derailed her again. She had probably braced for a screaming match, an interrogation, or blistering sarcasm.

The one thing she hadn't prepared for was absolute, chilling indifference. "And… so you don't need to mess around with Spencer's crowd just to get back at me." She finally spat out what she actually wanted to say. "You're overthinking.

I don't have the time or energy for childish games." "I just figured things out." I cut the conversation dead.

I didn't bother analyzing the complicated, twisted expression on her face. I turned my back and walked into the master bedroom. Sleep didn't come easy that night.

Hovering somewhere between waking and dreaming, I heard the bedroom door click open and shut a few times.

Soft footsteps paced the hardwood floor in the hallway, and I knew it was Blair. In the days that followed, we plunged into a total cold war. Or rather, a completely new dynamic.

Blair moved back into her family's estate. She didn't give me any formal headsup.

One evening, I pulled into the driveway just in time to watch her toss a weekender bag into her Porsche and speed off right in front of my eyes.

Chapter 6 I didn't bother calling her. Right before bed, a brief text from her popped up on my screen. [The firm is swamped.

I'm staying at my parents' estate for a few days so it's easier to work late.] I stared at the glowing screen and typed a single word in response. [Okay.] The typing bubble pulsed on Blair's end for a few seconds.

Then, it vanished, and nothing else came through. Fine. It saved me the exhaustion of a pointless tugofwar.

The house grew even more hollow, so I buried myself in corporate projects, cutting down my usual banter with Spencer.

A few days later, Spencer's call came in right on cue, drowning in heavy club bass. "Where are you hiding? I'm putting together a VIP section tonight. You in?" "Working.

Got a late night ahead," I kept it short. "Are you kidding me? You hate working late. Bro, I brought in actual talent tonight. Art school students.

Pure and sophisticated…" "I'm literally at the office. This project is critical," I cut him off. "Rain check." Spencer went quiet for a second.

His tone shifted, dropping the playboy act. "Alright. Do your thing. Hit me up if you need anything." I hung up, tossed my phone onto the desk, and leaned back in my leather chair.

The intercom buzzed with my assistant's voice. "Sir, a Mr. Finn is at the front desk. He doesn't have an appointment, but he insists he needs to speak with you.

How would you like me to handle this?" Finn? What the hell did he want with me?

I tapped my pen against the mahogany. "Send him in." Finn strolled in maintaining that sickeningly gentle persona.

He wore a perfectly tailored suit, a measured, polite smile pasted on his face. He dropped into the chair across from my desk. "Gideon. Forgive the intrusion." "Cut the formalities.

What do you want?" I asked flatly, completely stripping away the pleasantries. He let out a soft chuckle, settling deeper into the chair with practiced ease. "Nothing major.

I just finished up a meeting with Blair. I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd drop by and say hello. We are alumni, after all." So this was a power play.

Dropping her first name with that familiar, intimate weight. "Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Just finished a meeting with my wife?

You two certainly seem to be keeping a tight schedule." Finn leaned forward slightly, crossing his hands over his knee and flashing a flawless, innocent smile. "We manage.

Just friends catching up." The air in the office ground to a dead halt. I leaned back in my executive chair.

My fingertips drummed a slow, rhythmic beat against the solid wood desk while I didn't say a word. I just stared at him.

Finn's smile slipped a fraction, but he kept his gaze level. "I feel like there might be some misunderstanding between us. Blair just values her roots.

We go way back." I let out a dry scoff. I picked up my fountain pen, spinning it casually between my fingers, silently challenging him to keep digging his grave.

He let out a heavy, manufactured sigh. "Honestly, I came here today to advocate for Blair. She's too stubborn for her own good sometimes. She doesn't know how to show vulnerability.

But in a marriage, someone always has to be the bigger man and compromise first." I nodded slowly. "So, as the exboyfriend, you're here to give me marital counseling?" Seeing my total lack of emotional reaction, Finn lost his momentum.

He stood up, clearly bored that his bait hadn't worked. "Don't twist my words, Gideon.

As a mutual friend, I just hate seeing you two tear each other apart over trivial things." "Save your breath." I hit the intercom button. "Have security escort our guest out." The eviction was absolute.

The smug mask on Finn's face finally shattered. I stood up and walked over to the floortoceiling windows overlooking the city.

Minutes later, Finn's figure emerged onto the sidewalk below the skyscraper.

He stood by the curb, dialed a number on his phone, and flagged down a cab before disappearing into the traffic. Chapter 7 8:00 PM. I pulled into the driveway.

The garage was dead empty, and Blair's usual spot remained completely vacant. I loosened my tie, planning to grab a hot shower and figure out dinner later.

Surprisingly, Blair was actually home. She sat rigidly on the living room sofa, clearly waiting for me. "Gideon, we need to talk." Her face was pulled tight.

I dropped into the armchair directly across from her. "Talk about what?" "Finn went to see you today." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Word traveled fast.

He must have called her the second he stepped out of my lobby. "Yeah. Your old flame was incredibly enthusiastic.

Even brought a fruit basket." I let a slow, mocking smile stretch across my face, acting as if I was reminiscing about a pleasant afternoon. "What did you two talk about?" Blair pressed, a hard crease forming between her brows. "Nothing much.

Your ex just couldn't hold his liquor, so to speak. He asked me when exactly I was planning to sign the divorce papers." The color completely drained from Blair's face.

She shot up from the sofa. "He would never say something like that!

Gideon, there's a limit to your pathological lies!" "Believe what you want." I crossed one leg over the other, leaning back. "He even used his 'old friend' card to advise me to be the bigger man.

He told me to stop dragging my feet so you can finally move on to your second act." Blair's chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. "Gideon!" Her voice trembled, cracking under the weight of her rage. "Finn is absolutely not that kind of person!

How could he possibly…" "How could he possibly what?" I cut her off cold. "He literally marched into my office to mark his territory. He told me all about your little dinner date.

He said you complained to him that marrying me was just a corporate transaction, and that he was always the only man you ever loved." "He bragged that all it takes is one phone call, and you'll drop everything to run to him, come hell or high water.

I didn't realize a guy in his thirties still held that much raw, magnetic power over you." I paused, letting the silence choke her. "No wonder you've treated me like a ghost for three years.

Turns out you two have been playing house behind my back this entire time." "Honestly, I'm just curious.

If you two are so passionately in love, why did you even break up in college? Was it just for the thrill?

Waiting until you're in your thirties to have a messy, divorced second marriage?

Or maybe your golden boy finally had his fun in Silicon Valley, and now he's crawling back to use you as his safety net?" The rapidfire string of malicious, devastating lies hit Blair like a freight train.

Her face went from pale to a sickening shade of grey, and her lips trembled.

She opened her mouth to speak several times, but I deliberately raised my voice, shoving the words right back down her throat