"Ah... baby, not so rough~"
"Hold me tight... let's come together."
Breathy moans mixed with low grunt-like groans spilled from the phone's speaker.
The cab driver couldn't help himself—he glanced in the rearview mirror at the stunning girl in the backseat. Awkward and half-joking, he said, "Young lady, I get that times have changed, but maybe leave those spicy videos for some private time at home with your guy, yeah?"
Carol Bennett slowly looked up. Her gorgeous features now carried a layer of frosty detachment.
She tilted her phone, revealing a clear live feed from a home surveillance camera. Her voice was as cold as ice. "That is my boyfriend. From my home security system."
The driver immediately shut up, giving her a silent, sympathetic look before snapping his eyes back to the road.
The sounds from the phone only seemed louder in the silence.
Carol lowered her head again, staring at the messy entanglement of bodies onscreen. Ryan Morgan—the guy who swore he loved her, who said they'd marry once her long-distance job ended—was now getting it on with another woman.
She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms, the sting barely grounding her from the nausea and hurt twisting in her gut.
No tears. No dramatic breakdown. Just a subtle, steady chill settling in her eyes.
With practiced calm, she exited the video, opened her phone's editing app, trimmed the most damning few seconds, and uploaded it anonymously to a trending video site.
She gave it a clean, cutting title—"Riverton's Playboy: Ryan's At-Home Feature"—and hit send.
Done. She exhaled slowly, then dialed the contact labeled "Donald Bennett."
He answered almost immediately.
No greetings, no pleasantries. Her voice was cold, emotionless, firm enough to bruise.
"Fifty grand. Send it to my Venmo now. That marriage you mentioned? I'm in. After that, we go our separate ways."
There was a pause. Then a man's voice, thick with barely held excitement:
"Carol, you've finally come to your senses! I'll—"
She hung up before he wasted another word.
Within seconds, her phone chimed—"Venmo: $50,000 received."
The driver's hands visibly trembled, making the car jolt slightly. He glanced back again, this time like he couldn't quite believe the scene unfolding behind him.
Carol didn't acknowledge the look. She simply lifted her chin and said in an even tone, "Change of plans. Take me to the County Clerk's Office."
The driver dared not ask questions and quickly turned the wheel at the next intersection.
Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of a quiet government building.
It was early evening—well past closing time—but a sharply dressed man stood waiting at the side entrance, hands clasped, posture professional.
As soon as Carol stepped out, he approached with practiced ease.
"Ms. Bennett, hello. This is your and Mr. Ethan Mitchell's marriage certificate, fully signed and processed. Please keep it safe."
He handed her a crisp white envelope—standard issue, but freshly sealed.
Carol paused for half a second. She had assumed the marriage was symbolic, just for show. But this? No in-person appearance, no ID checks, not even a signature?
That was something else.
Then again, this was the Mitchell family. The richest name in Riverton. With their level of influence? Forms, lines, and laws are just... suggestions.
Wouldn't be surprised if they could waive the divorce waiting period too.
She took the envelope, light in her hand but heavy in implication. Her fingers brushed the seal as she muttered, "Thanks."
"Of course, ma'am. Just doing my job." The man gave a small nod and left.
Almost the moment his back turned, Carol's phone lit up like a Christmas tree.
Caller ID: Ryan.
She answered without flinching, not even raising the phone to her ear.
On the other end, Ryan's voice exploded through the speaker.
"Carol! Did you leak that video?! Was it you?!
"My parents are freaking out! My boss called! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
A cold smile curled on Carol's lips. She waited for him to finish screaming before answering, voice like ice over broken glass.
"Yeah. You're welcome. I made you famous."
"You bitch! It was just a fling! The one I actually want to marry is YOU! And now you're trying to ruin me?!"
"Wow. Slow down." She laughed—a short, sharp thing. "I never signed up to share a dirty toy with some other woman."
She lifted the marriage envelope, held it up to the sky, even though he couldn't see it.
"Listen, Ryan. The last two years felt like I was feeding a stray mutt with a God complex. Let me make this clear: I broke up with you. Don't call. Don't text. Don't breathe in my direction. You're toxic, and I'm done."
"You damn—!" Ryan was in the middle of another rage burst when Carol hung up on him.
Smooth and final, she blocked his number.
Silence. Pure bliss.
She flagged down another cab and headed straight for the café where she and Sophia Collins often met.
Sophia was already there. The moment she spotted Carol, she waved enthusiastically. "Carol! Over here! How'd things go with your man?"
Sliding into the seat across from her, Carol ordered an iced Americano before calmly saying, "We broke up."
Sophia blinked, stunned for a second, then clapped with a mix of joy and relief. "Good riddance!"
"I always said Ryan was trash! That dude's a pampered rich brat with a brain the size of a peanut. Every time I saw him with you, he looked like some hormone-crazed pig, just trying to drag you to bed! Lucky you snapped out of it before his stupid face sucked your soul out."
Carol rubbed her temples. She used to think Ryan's looks weren't too bad—now just thinking about him made her skin crawl.
She sipped her coffee. The chill of it ran down her throat and brought a wave of clarity.
"But there's more." She set the cup down.
Sophia caught the calm in her tone and raised a brow. "What? Something bigger than ditching that loser?"
Carol looked up at her, eyes steady. "I got married."
"Pfft!" Sophia choked on her coffee and started coughing hard. "M-Married?! To who?! When?!"
"Just now. To the only son of the Mitchell family. Riverton's richest."
Sophia's eyes nearly popped out of her head, voice shooting up several octaves. "Ethan Mitchell?! The guy everyone says is terminally ill, dumped by his ex, turned into some cold-blooded psycho who scared off eight fiancées? THAT Ethan?!"