He Cheated, I Exposed His Muse Secret

Chapter 4

For two weeks, I behaved like a normal person, playing along obediently.

I took my medication on schedule, then threw it up.

I kept my appointments with Sarah, smiled, and told her, "I'm feeling much better."

I put on a show of silence and vulnerability around Ryan.

I gave him a sense of security to lower his guard.

But in private, I did three things.

1. I changed my psychiatrist.

I found a new one, Leo Hart, who had no connections whatsoever to Ryan.

During our first video therapy session, I told him, "I suspect my husband is deliberately trying to make me think I'm crazy."

I braced myself for the usual response, expecting him to write me off as paranoid and delusional.

He was silent for ten seconds, then said, "Please tell me every detail you can remember."

After three sessions, he said, "Nina, you are not ill. All your symptoms are normal stress responses after prolonged manipulation. You are not crazy. Someone is systematically making you believe you are."

It was the first time in ten years anyone had said "you are not ill" to me.

I sat there on my end of the call, crying for twenty minutes.

2. I went through Ryan's old phone.

It never occurred to him that his "crazy wife" would even be capable of getting into his phone. The passcode was our wedding anniversary.

I cracked it in forty minutes. Inside were two sets of chat logs.

One was between him and Sarah. It wasn't doctor-patient communication. It was blatant plot planning.

He told her what symptoms to "manufacture" next, and she was in charge of "confirming" them in the diagnostic report.

Three years of their collusion was clearly laid out, every role perfectly divided. It was even more detailed than one of his novel outlines.

The other set was between him and a contact saved as "Mia."

Flirtatious, explicit, completely out in the open.

One particular conversation made my blood run cold.

Ryan: She's been way too off lately. My whole script is falling apart. We need a big move to break her completely.

Mia: How?

Ryan: Come to the house. I'll tip off the media ahead of time, let her 'catch' us in the act. She'll lose it for sure. Then the whole internet will see #CrazyWifeBustsCheatingHusband. I'll be the devoted husband who suffered in silence all along. Then public opinion will be on my side. The divorce will go through smooth as butter. She walks away with nothing. I keep all the copyright royalties. And you can stand by my side openly. Three birds, one stone.

Mia Hayes. A twenty-six-year-old rising actress who starred in two low-rated web dramas. Ryan's mistress.

The time was set for three o'clock Saturday afternoon.

3. I secretly installed three cameras in the living room, bedroom, and study.

I also backed up the files from Ryan's computer in his study. Ten years of writing logs, the completion date and source of inspiration for every first draft. All on record.

He had no idea. He thought the woman whose brain had been fogged by drugs was still curled up meekly inside his script.

But just three days after I stopped taking the pills, my thoughts started to clear.

On the fifth day, I could recall every single thing he had done over the past three years in full detail.

On the tenth day, I compiled all the evidence into a single document.

The title on the cover was A Guide to Performing as a Crazy Beauty.

On Saturday morning, I went to a print shop and made fifty copies.

The first section contained screenshots of the conspiracy between Ryan and Sarah. The second section was the full chat log between him and Mia. The third section was a timeline of the ten years of manipulation I endured, mapping every action he took before one of my "episodes" and everything he wrote after it. Time, place, cause and effect. All perfectly lined up.

The fourth section was a scorecard with five categories: script concept, acting skill, set and lighting, line delivery, and overall score.

Every bullet was now loaded and ready.

At 2 p.m. on Saturday, I sat in the living room and heard footsteps outside the door. A lot of footsteps.

The reporters were here.

I took a deep breath.

Ryan, you spent ten years writing my story.

Today, it's my turn to write yours.