The video erupted with sound—loud, unmistakable—shattering the office's tense silence.
Mr. Sydney's face went sheet-white the moment the footage played, then twisted into volcanic fury. There was no mistaking the woman—Emily, his pampered mistress of twelve months!
Emily's blood ran cold.
"Darling, this isn't me!" she shrilled, manicured nails clawing at the air as the damning video played. Her voice cracked with desperation. "It's deepfake! Photoshop! Someone's framing me!"
CRACK!
Mr. Sydney's palm connected with her cheekbone hard enough to snap her head sideways. "You w***e!" he roared, hurling a paperweight that shattered against the wall. "After the apartments, the jewelry, the goddamn Porsche?"
The ultimate betrayal.
Every employee's stare burned into Mr. Sydney's back like br
