Divorce Day: My Hidden 99 Lives Exposed

When I saw the endless string of zeros on my phone screen, I nearly lost my composure. I had to dig my fingernails into my thigh just to force out a couple of tears.

Across from me, Tristan Pierce sat there, unable to meet my eyes. His fingers were pale from how tightly he held the signed divorce agreement.

"Serena, you deserve the money," he said, his voice raspy. "For the past three years, you've been too quiet in this house. I'm sorry for failing you."

I sniffled. "Don't say that, Tristan. I know I'm not exactly easy to love. I'm not like… her. I don't get you the way she does."

The second I mentioned "her", Tristan's gaze softened.

That was my 99th secret identity, Maisie.

She was the ultimate dream girl who would stay up all night playing video games with him, who would cry over the phone line when his stomach flared up, and who would leave sweet, breathy voice notes calling him "Tris".

Meanwhile, I, Serena Hayes—the actual Ms. Pierce—had spent the last three years playing the role of a textbook stepford wife.

I cooked on time, ironed his suits on schedule, and lay perfectly still in bed when the lights went out. Other than "Okay", "Got it", and "Get some sleep", I barely said another word to him.

Tristan sighed and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. From behind, he looked strangely lonely.

"Serena, I tried," he said. "I really did. But every time I came home and saw you looking at me with that polite and distant expression, this entire house felt like a morgue. But Maisie is different. She feels… alive."

I rolled my eyes inwardly.

Of course, she felt alive. I had put all that effort into making her the perfect fantasy.

Years ago, Tristan's older brother saved my life. On his deathbed, he begged me to look after this love-starved sibling of his, asking me to give him three years of love and affection.

Now, the time was up. I had repaid that favor in full, so it was time to take the money and go.

To ensure he'd sign those papers without a shred of guilt, I had created alternate accounts and launched a precise strike on his heart.

It took 99 tries before he finally experienced what he called a "soulmate", which effectively made him sick of the soulless wife waiting for him at home.

I rose from my seat. My plain white dress made me look thin and fragile, as if I might crumble at the slightest touch.

Stepping up behind him, I kept my voice soft. "I understand. If it makes you happy, I'll step aside."

Tristan whipped around, his hands twitching as if to grab my shoulders, but he froze halfway. A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. "Don't do this…"

He ground his teeth, trying to rationalize his own guilt. "After the divorce goes through, the penthouse downtown is yours, too. Serena… try to smile more from now on."

I gave him a docile nod. "I'll go pack my things."

In my head, I was already calculating the apartment's market value—a whole 20 million dollars.

Packing was quick.

For the past three years, I had basically lived here like a short-term tenant. Every piece of diamond jewelry, luxury watch, and designer handbag Tristan had ever bought me was neatly arranged in the walk-in closet, most of them still bearing their original tags.

The only things I took with me were a few old outfits I'd brought with me and the old phone I'd used for the last three years.

The exact phone that housed the accounts of all my 99 secret identities.