All Chapters of "Custom-Made" Lies: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

The craftsmanship of the blouse was exquisite—exactly the kind of work Marc Maxwell would make himself. But the feel of the fabric beneath my fingertips stirred doubt in my chest.My sister-in-law and I were nearly identical in size. We both wore a size M—no exceptions. So why would this be an S?Could he really have mistaken the size?I reconsidered, then dismissed the thought almost immediately. Marc was a professional fashion designer and the person who understood us both best. How could he possibly make an S-sized blouse for either of us?Unless… it wasn't made for me—or for his sister.Then who was it for?The moment the thought surfaced, it wrapped around my mind like wild vines, tightening with every second.Forcing myself to calm down, I opened the pet-monitoring app on my phone. I'd been away on business for a month, and the thing I worried about most was our cat. So I had installed cameras in both the living room and the bedroom.I dragged the timeline back to the day

As the new women's line moved forward, Marc began working overtime even more frequently—sometimes not coming home until one or two in the morning.He said he'd hit a bottleneck in the new collection's designs.I told him not to overwork himself, but he only smiled and said he was fine.Then another detail put me on alert.After he came home, the scent of his body wash changed. We had always used cedarwood-scented products, yet for the past few days, he'd smelled like a sweet, cloying floral fragrance.When I asked him about it, he brushed it off."The company bought new shower products for the break room. I shower there if I work late so I don't wake you."The explanation was flawless, yet the unease inside me kept spreading like wildfire.Another late night, he texted that he might have to stay up all night again and told me to sleep first.I lay in bed, tossing and turning, and without thinking, opened the surveillance feed again.The lights in his office were on, but his s

Marc claimed that the shadow I'd seen was caused by him moving one of his mannequin models. In the chaos of that moment, the explanation had sounded reasonable enough.But now, I'd found a flaw.That mannequin wasn't some lightweight display prop—it was a custom piece he'd ordered for maximum realism, complete with a fiberglass core. Even for a man, dragging something that heavy in the dark without making a racket was nearly impossible. It certainly couldn't have slipped by as quietly and gracefully as the figure in the video.It had to be that woman. She was hiding from me.I was about to call and demand an explanation when I forced myself to stop. I had been too impulsive before; confronting him without solid proof would only put me on the losing end again.So I changed tactics—money.Using an excuse to double-check some bills, I went through Marc's personal spending from the past six months.It didn't take long to find something suspicious.Starting three months ago, his acc

I shut off my phone and forced myself to lie back down.This time, I couldn't afford to tip Marc off again.For the surveillance and barging into his office in the middle of the night, I apologized to him sincerely. I told him I'd been away on business for too long, that Vivienne's situation had worn me down, and the pressure made me overthink everything.Marc seemed to let down his guard. His attitude toward me returned to its usual tenderness.But the gentler he was, the tighter the string in my chest pulled.On Friday afternoon, using my position as the company's biggest investor, I scheduled a meeting with the property manager of the building.I asked him to pull the architectural plans for the entire tower.I pretended to study fire routes and load-bearing walls for a while, then casually flipped to the floor plan of the 22nd floor—where Marc's company was located.Just as I suspected, the data on the official blueprint didn't match the renovation sketch he had given me.

Marc still refused to admit he cheated. Instead, he turned everything around and accused me.He called his parents and mine one by one, crying into the phone, accusing me—voice trembling, tears flowing—of fabricating evidence to frame him so I could run off with some pretty boy outside. He claimed I wanted to force him out of the marriage with nothing.In an instant, I became everyone's target.My phone wouldn't stop ringing. My parents' scolding, my in-laws' furious denunciations—everything crashed over me like a tidal wave.No one believed me.But that was fine. I had already organized and handed all the evidence to my lawyer.A week later, my attorney sent Marc a formal legal notice along with a divorce agreement that included all the evidence.The terms were simple. Marc would voluntarily give up all shared marital assets and return the full amount of my investment in his company—5.8 million dollars.He refused. He hired the best lawyer in the industry, ready to face me in