I Was His To-Do List

After we got married, Jacob said he wanted a homemade lunch for work. So I dragged myself up at five to make it.

By noon? That same lunch showed up on his secretary Linda's feed:

[Thanks for caring, Mr. Haag. My stomach doesn't hurt today!]

I asked him why. He just shrugged. "It's a lunch. Who cares who eats it?"

I was clearly upset, so he dangled some island trip.

But when I showed up at the airport, suitcase in hand, I got this:

[Sorry, Yuna. Something urgent came up. Business trip. I'll make it up to you.]

I went home alone. Noticed that his IP address was still the same as before. Business trip? Nonsense.

Stuff like that? Pretty standard with Jacob.

Take tonight—he stumbled in reeking of drugstore perfume, clinging to Linda like a drunk prom date.

"Sorry, Mrs. Haag. He drank for me," she mumbled, all innocent, eyes on the floor. That fresh hickey on her neck? Yeah, not exactly subtle.

Later, changing his shirt, I spotted a lipstick smudge—Linda's usual shade.

Didn't need a detective badge to get the picture.

After dumping him in bed, I went to his study.

That's when I saw it.

A pink diary.

My stomach dropped.

It looked just like the one Sabina Horne gave Gabriel Klutz, my ex-fiancé, at our wedding. It was titled Forgive Him Seventy-Seven Times.

Gabriel took one look, dumped me on the spot, and bailed. I got stuck dealing with the gossip storm and side-eyes solo.

I opened this one. First line? [Hurt Yuna Auclair seventy-seven times, and I'll break up with Gabriel and be with you.]

Sabina's handwriting.

And every page? A mirror of the crap Jacob had pulled on me lately.

So yeah—he married me just to check off a list of ways to wreck me?

I started shaking. Hard.

I was the joke. The setup. And I never saw it coming.

I grabbed my phone, voice cracking. Called my parents in Norvane.

"Mom, Dad... I'm coming home in three days."

I still couldn't get it. Why her? I met him first. She'd made my life a nightmare.

How could he destroy me like this... for her?

That's when I knew—I had to get out.

***

Next morning, the bed was empty. Jacob was gone.

Someone dropped off a red dress for some party.

Red. Seriously? I'm all about soft tones. Red felt like someone else's skin.

I walked into his study, pulled out the diary.

Another checkmark. Of course.

I opened my laptop and booked a flight—three days, and I'd be leaving Caldora.

Then a pop-up blinked.

Jacob's messages had synced.

[How many of the seventy-seven things have you done? Don't go soft on her, or I'm not coming back to you.]

—Sabina.