The 70k Rolex

In the eighth year of my marriage to Layla, I found a receipt in her coat pocket. She had spent seventy thousand dollars on a luxury men's watch.

That seventy thousand dollars represented every penny of our savings.

When I called her, she snapped at me. I bought that watch for my best friend. It is just seventy thousand, Jaxson. Do you really have to be this pathetic and angry?

I hung up and saw her across the street. She was wrapped in a deep, passionate kiss with a man. That man was wearing the watch.

For eight long years, I had given my heart to a piece of human trash.

1.

The timestamp on the receipt was ten o'clock last night.

It was a Rolex, priced at exactly $70,800.

When I pulled that slip of paper from Layla's pocket, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

But her signature was right there at the bottom. It was unmistakably her handwriting.

She was supposed to be working late last night. She shouldn't have had any time to go shopping.

Unless, of course, she had lied to me.

But why would she lie? I frantically dialed her number.

"Layla, did you buy a watch yesterday?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yeah, so what?" she replied, sounding completely indifferent.

We weren't rich. We had been married for eight years, and I had spent every night running a late-night food truck to save that money. It was our future.

I squeezed my phone until my knuckles turned white. "Where did the money come from? And who is it for?"

I didn't expect my question to set off her temper. "Why are you interrogating me like a criminal?"

"Because it's my business!" she yelled.

"You're my wife. Of course I'm asking. Our entire life savings are in that account. Did you forget we were supposed to put a down payment on a house next month?"

A terrible feeling settled in my gut, making my tone sharper.

Predictably, her next words were like a bucket of ice water over my head.

"I bought it for my best friend. It's just seventy grand, Jaxson. Stop being so dramatic."

"You can just work a few more years and make it back. We'll buy the house later," she added.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

She had drained our entire life savings for a friend's gift.

And she expected me to just walk away from the house we had already toured. We had already put down a holding deposit!

Before I could say another word, she hung up on me.

When I tried to call back, the line went straight to voicemail.

A cold chill ran through my veins.

Every night at six, I went out to man the grill, working like a dog until dawn.

I did it happily because I thought we were building a home of our own. I thought we were finally done with renting.

But she had just blown everything I worked for on a whim.

I was beyond furious. I headed downstairs, intending to find her.

But as soon as I stepped outside, I saw her.

She was stepping out of a sleek BMW. A younger man climbed out of the driver's seat.

He walked over and pulled her into his arms. They were whispering and giggling like teenagers.

I saw it clearly then. The man was wearing the Rolex.

Layla's "best friend" was nothing more than her secret lover.

Fury boiled in my chest. I wanted to charge over there and scream.

But then they started kissing. His hands were wandering all over her body.

I felt like my lungs were going to explode from the pressure.

However, I stopped myself. I didn't charge.

Impulse is a devil. I needed to be cold. I needed to be smart.

2.

When Layla finally came home, she had fresh lipstick on.

The clothes that had been disheveled moments ago were perfectly straightened.

She tossed a small box onto the table.

"Here. I saw this and thought of you, so I used my coffee budget to get it."

I opened the box. Inside was a cheap, black braided string bracelet with a few plastic beads.

"It was expensive, but you're worth it. Aren't you touched?" she asked, leaning in close.

She acted as if our phone call earlier had never happened.

If this were yesterday, I would have been moved to tears by her thoughtfulness.

Now, it just made me want to gag.

I had seen this bracelet on the Rolex receipt. It was a free promotional gift.

I tossed it directly into the trash can.

"I don't want the freebie," I said flatly.

*Slap!* She hit me across the face with everything she had.

"Jaxson Miller, have you lost your mind?" she screamed.

"How dare you throw away a gift I bought for you!"

"So what if it's a promotional item? It's only there because I spent money on something else! It counts as a paid gift!"

"You ungrateful, low-life piece of..." she continued, her words turning into a stream of nasty insults.

My face stung, and my ears rang with her abuse.

She was from a rough part of the South, and whenever she got angry, her thick, vulgar slang came out.

I used to pretend I didn't mind, but now I realized how much she truly loathed me.

"It's disgusting," I said, standing up and pushing past her.

"Now, let's talk about the money."

I looked at her with eyes like flint.

She was beautiful, with an oval face and bright, almond-shaped eyes.

But she was a firecracker with a vicious streak.

For years, whenever she was unhappy, she took it out on me physically.

I never hit her back. I loved her too much to hurt her.

She used to take pictures of me looking defeated and post them to her private stories, bragging about how she had me whipped.

I had been a fool. I had mistaken her abuse for passion.

3.

"You always said your money was my money. I can spend it however I want!"

"So I bought a watch. Big deal!" she said, acting like she was the victim.

If I hadn't seen her with my own eyes, I would have never guessed she was cheating.

She was a master of manipulation.

I didn't know how long this had been going on.

But I knew one thing: I would never tolerate a cheater.

She was tainted.

"Did you give that watch to another man?" I asked.

Her eyes flickered with fear for a split second, and the color drained from her face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower," she muttered, trying to push past me.

I grabbed her arm and tossed my phone onto the coffee table.

On the screen was the photo I had snapped of her kissing that man.

"I gave you an out. I didn't cause a scene in the street," I said.

"Now, give me an explanation."

She shoved my hand away, her face twisting with rage. Her voice hit a screeching pitch.

"Fine! I'm seeing someone else. So what?"

"He has real money. He can give me a life where I don't have to work. He can give me luxury."

"What can you give me? A smelly food truck and a cramped apartment?"

I stared at her, stunned by her lack of remorse.

We had been married for eight years.

Every single hour of those years, I had labored for our future.

I didn't make her a millionaire, but she lived better than most women her age.

I took her on vacations. I bought her designer bags while I wore shoes with holes in the soles.

I thought love could be earned through sacrifice.

Instead, I had sacrificed everything for a betrayal.

"Jaxson, I am done with this pathetic life!"

She lunged at me and kicked me hard in the shin.

Then, she grabbed a heavy hardcover book from the shelf and hurled it at my head.

The sharp corner of the book caught my forehead, and blood immediately began to soak my hair.

The book thudded onto the floor.

"I... I didn't mean to do that," she stammered, looking momentarily shocked.

I looked at her panic and felt nothing but cold laughter in my heart.

Eight years together.

I had ruined my health for her. I had cut off my own family for her.

She never cooked. She never cleaned. I did it all after working twelve-hour shifts.

She spent her weekends playing the rich housewife with her friends while I funded the lie.

And now she had broken my skin after breaking my heart.

4.

I didn't say a word. I just walked out and went to the ER to get stitches.

She didn't follow me. She just sent a text: I have things to do. Take care of yourself.

I wondered if her heart was made of stone.

I sat on the hospital bed, feeling my soul shatter.

Then, my phone buzzed again. It was a video from an unknown number.

The thumbnail alone made my blood run cold.

It was Layla, dressed in a provocative bunny outfit, kneeling on the floor.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew exactly what that video contained.

I gripped the phone so hard I thought the glass would snap.

I forced myself to watch it.

Those thirty seconds were the longest of my life.

The woman I had cherished was degrading herself for another man's pleasure.

I felt a wave of nausea and actually gagged.

My body was failing from exhaustion, and my head throbbed with every heartbeat.

I remembered what she saidDthat he could give her a rich life.

I was a kind man, but I was not a weak one.

I wouldn't just hand her a divorce and walk away quietly.

She had destroyed me. Now, she would feel the weight of what she'd done.

My phone buzzed again. It was a message from the same stranger.

Look at how much your wife loves me.

She says I'm much bigger than you. She says I'm a real man.

I didn't reply. I just saved every photo and video.

I would take this evidence and bury her with it.

That night, I looked through our old photos.

We had met at a corporate firm. She was two years older, a sales manager back then.

She was the one who approached me first.

"Hey, rookie. You look a little lost," she had said with a smirk.

"Let me show you how things work around here."

We fell in love. At a Christmas party, she got drunk and confessed her feelings.

I was head over heels. I thought she was my soulmate.

After she got fired for negligence, she started working as a therapist at a "wellness spa."

She swore to me she only had female clients.

Clearly, she had been lying for a long time.

The video I just watched was filmed inside one of those spa rooms.

She was gone long ago. I was the only one still living in the dream.

5.

The next morning, Layla actually showed up at the hospital.

Seeing her face made me think of the bunny suit. It was revolting.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she snapped, tossing a greasy bag onto my lap.

"I took time out of my busy schedule to bring you breakfast."

It was two cold, dry breakfast sandwiches from a gas station.

I opened the bag and started eating, one bite at a time.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

She looked surprised by my lack of aggression.

"You're not mad anymore?"

"We've been married for eight years, Layla. Couples fight. It's normal," I lied.

Inside, I was screaming, but my face remained a mask of calm.

She let out a sigh of relief.

"Good. Like I said, seventy grand isn't the end of the world. You can earn it back."

She still couldn't look me in the eye.

"I ended things with that guy. It's over. I won't do it again."

"Okay," I replied.

"Babe, let's go home. I'll make you something nice for dinner," she said, trying to hold my hand.

On the drive back, she was glued to her phone, typing furiously.

"Just checking in with the girls," she explained without me asking.

I caught a glimpse of the contact photo. It was a man.

It was likely the man from the BMW.

In the past, I would have demanded to see the phone.

Now, I didn't care. She was already dead to me.

When we got home, she actually spent time in the kitchen.

She served three dishes and a soup. This was a miracle; she usually never touched a pan.

"Eat up," she said, piling food onto my plate.

"Jaxson, since our savings are gone, things are tight. You're going out to the food truck tonight, right?"

She was watching me closely.

I stopped chewing. So that was it. The hospital visit, the cooking... it was all to get me back on the street to earn more for her to spend.

My disappointment had no bottom.

"Yeah. I'll go."

She smiled, satisfied with her puppet.

That evening, Layla claimed she had an extra shift at the spa.

As soon as she left, I received a screenshot of a text chain.

The lover's name was Barrett.

Layla: Barrett, meet at our usual spot tonight?

Barrett: Yeah. Be clean. No makeup.

Layla: Can't wait to show you a good time!

I gripped my phone. My resolve to ruin her was now set in stone.

Later that night, I was working at my grill on the street corner.

I didn't expect Layla to show up with Barrett.

She acted like she didn't know me at all, trailing behind him like a loyal dog.

I stayed silent, curious to see her play this out.

"Barrett, I peeled these shrimp for you. Try one," she cooed.

She had never once peeled a shrimp for me in eight years.

I was the one who served. She was the one who took.

She never even helped with the utility bills.

"Barrett, is this food truck too low-class for you?" she asked.

Barrett looked at me with a smirk and spat out a piece of shrimp.

"This is trash. Hey, cook! How do you mess up grilled shrimp?"

"Are you using industrial oil? My stomach feels like crap already."

"Oh no, Barrett! Where does it hurt?" Layla cried, kneeling beside him with fake concern.

The sight of her kneeling reminded me of the video. The fire in my gut flared up.

"My food is fine. If you don't like it, leave," I said coldly.

"Watch your mouth!" Barrett yelled, pointing a finger at me.

Layla glared at me and hissed under her breath, "Shut up and take it. Don't ruin this for me."

It was pathetic. She had betrayed me, and now she was protecting her meal ticket.

"Your food is poison and you have a bad attitude," Barrett sneered.

He kicked over one of my folding tables and grabbed me by the collar.

"Get on your knees and apologize."

"Barrett is right. You're the problem. Do it now, Jaxson," Layla added.

I looked at her moving lips and felt like vomiting.

"I'm not apologizing for anything."

Barrett's grip tightened. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I'm the heir to the Northwood Holdings. I can erase you from this city in a heartbeat."

I let out a soft laugh. "Oh, I know exactly who you are."

"I also know you have a wife and two kids at home."

"And I know that Northwood Holdings is just a subsidiary of my family's corporation."

6.

Barrett froze for a second, then burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "Are you delusional?"

"A street cook claiming my family's company is his? That's rich."

"What's next? Are you going to tell me you're my CEO?"

"Actually, yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you."

Layla scoffed. "Jaxson, stop embarrassing yourself. You're a loser with a grill."

"Apologize to Barrett before he ruins your life!"

I was sick of her gold-digging heart.

When I met her, I never told her about my family's wealth.

I didn't want our relationship to be about money.

I thought she was a simple, honest girl who didn't care about status.

Now she was selling her soul for a man who didn't even respect her.

"I won't apologize."

"Do whatever you want."

I wanted to see if they actually had the guts to touch me.

I had cut ties with my parents for Layla, but I never lost touch with my grandfather.

Yesterday, in the hospital, I called him. I told him I was ready to come home and take over the empire.

He had immediately transferred Northwood Holdings into my name.

He also promised to send security. They were supposed to arrive any minute.