For His Eyes Only

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In the seventh year of our marriage, my wifes one that got away made me download an app.

It was a digital vault filled with her intimate videos, curated exclusively for his eyes.

When I confronted Layla about it, she didnt cry. She didnt beg. She just looked at me with that familiar, weary impatience, like I was a child interrupting an adult conversation.

"I didn't actually sleep with him, Carter. Besides, that was item number ninety-nine on The List. Just one more to go, and I wont owe him anything anymore."

Click the link. Download the app. Itll show you who Layla really loves.

Jared had sent me that text, followed immediately by the download link. Even through the sterile glow of the screen, I could feel his smirk. The arrogance of a man who knows hes won.

I stared at the phone for a long time. Eventually, the writer in methe part that picks at scabs just to see how deep the wound goeswon out. I tapped the link.

The app was titled: Jareds Sanctuary.

The moment it opened, the blood in my veins turned to slush.

...

The screen was a grid of thumbnails, every single one featuring Layla. My Layla.

There she was in scandalous lingerie Id never seen before. There she was in a steam-filled bathroom. There she was, preening in the stall of a public restroom.

Her voice, tinny through the speaker, sliced through me.

"Jared, I love you so much."

"Jared, am I beautiful?"

The words were barbed wire, wrapping tighter around my heart with every syllable. Beneath every video, a caption read: For Jareds eyes only.

Clatter.

My phone hit the floor hard enough to crack the screen.

Layla was my wife. Seven years. Two thousand five hundred days of building a life together. I knew she had a past, but I never imagined she was capable of this kind of duplicity. This wasnt just cheating; it was a performance.

She had sworn, on our wedding day, that I was the only one.

I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

The background noise on her end was a wall of soundmusic, laughter, the clinking of glass. Then, a voice cut through the din. A man's voice.

"Come on, Layla! Jared is the one that got away. No way youre over him. Give him a kiss!"

The chant started. "Kiss him! Kiss him!"

"Layla," I said, my voice trembling with a rage I didnt know I possessed. "What are you doing?"

She didnt answer. The line just went dead.

It was 1:00 AM when Layla finally stumbled through the front door, reeking of expensive gin and bad decisions.

"Friend's birthday," she mumbled, kicking off her heels. "Ran late."

I saw it immediately. A hickey on her collarbone, dark and violent against her pale skin. It felt like a needle being driven into my retina.

"Layla," I said, my voice echoing in the silent living room. "I want a divorce."

She didnt even flinch. She just swapped her heels for slippers, her expression bored.

"I've been working all day, Carter. I don't have the energy for your drama tonight."

This had been her default setting for the last two years. Dismissive. Cold.

Years ago, Jared had lost a finger saving her from an accident. She carried that guilt like a holy relic. So when he returned to the States and proposed they complete a "Bucket List of 100 Couple Activities" as closure, she agreed without hesitation.

She had promised me: Let me finish this list for him. Once the debt is paid, Im yours. Wholly and completely.

I believed her. God, I was such a fool.

I watched as she stopped coming home. I watched her Instagram storiesdinner dates with Jared, Disneyland trips, photos of their fingers interlaced.

Every time I asked, she had the script ready: "Its just for The List, Carter. Its performance art. Its fake. Stop obsessing."

And I let myself believe it. I tolerated her playing house with another man because I thought there was a finish line. I thought if I waited long enough, Id get my wife back.

But looking at her now, I realized the finish line had moved a long time ago.

"I'm serious, Layla. I want a divorce. Were filing tomorrow."

The air in the room dropped ten degrees.

"You're doing this because I didn't pick up the phone?" She glared at me, genuine annoyance creasing her forehead. "Seriously? Youre being incredibly petty. I was busy."

Always my fault. For seven years, every crack in our foundation was somehow caused by my inability to be understanding enough.

I was so tired.

"Layla, I saw the videos. The ones you made for Jared."

I waited for the shame. The shock. The apology.

Instead, she just looked... inconvenienced.

"I told you, I didn't actually sleep with him. That was item ninety-nine. Its almost over. Why can't you just wait?"

I laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. There was no point arguing with someone who was rewriting reality in real-time. You cant wake a person who is pretending to be asleep.

Layla left early the next morning.

An hour later, a notification popped up on my TikTok. A paparazzi account.

Headline: [A-List Star Layla Vance Spotted Entering Five-Star Hotel with Mystery Boyfriend.]

The photo was grainy but unmistakable. Jared, with his arm possessively around Laylas waist, guiding her into the lobby.

The next video was a screenshot of Laylas Weiboher official account.

She had posted: [Jared was my first love. He is the love of my life.]

That was the moment the last thread snapped.

Layla was a superstar. She had never publicly acknowledged me. She claimed it was to protect her career, so the world thought she was single. I was her dirty little secret.

But for Jared? For him, she would scream it from the rooftops.

Our seven years weren't a marriage. They were a joke. A long, bad joke with no punchline.

I opened WeChat and messaged my editor, Harper.

Im taking the offer. Im ready to move to London and join your new publishing house.

Harper replied instantly: Are you sure? What about your wife? You said you couldn't leave her.

I am a writer. A successful one, arguably at the top of my genre. A year ago, Harper had begged me to help her launch the overseas branch. I turned her down because I couldn't bear the thought of being an ocean away from Layla.

[I'm divorcing her.] I typed. [From now on, Im the protagonist of my own life.]

Ive written so many redemption arcs, so many heroes who overcome the odds. It was time to write my own.

A message from Layla buzzed in.

[The final item on Jareds list was to go public with him.]

[Once the heat dies down, Ill explain everything to the fans. Ill fix it.]

She never used to explain herself to me. It was almost a novelty.

But I was already gone. Mentally, I had packed my bags.

[Okay.]

That was all I sent. I closed the app and started looking up visa requirements. But first, I had to legally sever the tie.

I didn't expect Layla to come home that afternoon. She breezed in carrying an iced Americanomy favorite.

Seeing the cup gave me a sudden, sharp pang of nostalgia.

We met in college. I was in the music club, singing in the practice room on weekends. She had walked past, heard me, and stopped.

She chased me with the ferocity of a hurricane. She learned my schedule, my favorite foods. She brought me an Americano every single day for a month just to listen to me sing.

Then came the day she cornered me in the grove behind the library. Her eyes were shining like stars. "Carter, give me a chance. Let me be your girlfriend."

Before I could answer, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me.

Remembering that girl now, I felt a profound sense of confusion. How could the girl who pursued me with such fire be the same woman humiliating me for her ex?

"Are you mad?"

She sat next to me on the sofa, too close.

"I explained it, didn't I? It was the last item. Once this blows over, the debt is paid. Look, I even bought you coffee."

"I'm not mad," I said quietly. And I wasn't. Anger implies passion. I just felt empty.

"He saved your life," I added. "You have to pay him back."

She searched my face, surprised by my capitulation. Then, her shoulders relaxed.

"Exactly. I knew youd understand."

Her phone lit up on the coffee table.

The wallpaper was a photo of her and Jared, heads together, wearing matching sweaters.

A notification slid down. Jared: I miss you, babe.

"The wallpaper is just one of the list items," Layla said quickly, catching my gaze. "I'll change it back as soon as I issue the clarification statement."

"Right. Im tired. Im going to take a shower."

As I walked to the bathroom, the image of one of the videos from the app flashed in my mind. Layla, in a bathtub, skin flushed pink.

Jared, I wish you were here. We could wash each other.

Bile rose in my throat. I barely made it to the sink before I dry-heaved.

In the past, the thought would have broken my heart. Now, Layla just made me sick. Literally.

Falling out of love isn't a slow fade. Its a sudden snap.

When I came out of the shower, Layla was gone. I assumed shed left again, so I didn't bother checking.

I remembered Id left my sneakers drying on the patio, so I went out to grab them.

I didn't make it to the shoes.

Layla was lounging on the patio chair. She was wearing a sheer lace nightgown, her phone camera angled down toward her chest. She was biting her lower lip in that way she knew drove men crazy.

"Jared... does this make you feel better?"

A voice from the phone purred, "Layla, God, I love you..."

My brain short-circuited.

The List. The debt. The "one hundred things." It was all bullshit.

It was just a cover story. A structured, gamified excuse to cheat.

And I had bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.

Love really is blind until it isn't.

I had planned to make this divorce clean. Dignified.

But standing there, listening to my wife perform for another man in my own backyard, I realized dignity was overrated.

The next day, I planned to head to the library to write. Layla surprised me by offering to take me to lunch with her friends.

In seven years, she had never introduced me to her inner circle. This was a first.

We got into her car.

"Jared, navigate to Xi Che Restaurant," she commanded.

The cars AI responded instantly. "You got it, beautiful."

It was Jareds voice. She had customized the GPS voice pack.

"Don't misunderstand," she said, starting the engine. "Item number forty-two on the list."

"Right."

I opened the glove compartment and saw a box of mens briefs. Pink. Not my size.

"Item sixty," she said, not even looking at me.

Jared hadn't even come to see me since hed been back. But his ghost was haunting my marriage, occupying every corner of my life. I felt less like a husband and more like the intruder in their romance.

"Oh," I said.

"What's wrong with you today?" She glanced at me.

"Nothing," I lied. "Why?"

"Okay. Maybe I'm overthinking it." She relaxed.

Disappointment isn't screaming. It isn't crying. Its silence. Its watching someone you used to adore and realizing their words simply dont land anymore.

My departure wasn't a sudden impulse. It was a savings account of letdowns that had finally matured.

Before we even entered the private dining room, I heard the laughter.

"I heard Layla brought Carter today. Jared, aren't you worried?"

"Why should I be? Shes already carrying my child. Whats there to fear?"

Jareds voice. Casual. Smug.

I froze, my hand hovering over the door handle.

Pregnant?

For seven years, I had begged for a family. Every time, Layla shut me down. Im an actress, Carter. My body is my livelihood. A baby would ruin me.

I respected her. I swallowed my desire to be a father because I loved her career as much as she did.

And now? She broke every rule for him.

"Why aren't you going in?" Layla appeared behind me, twirling her car keys.

I didn't answer. I pushed the door open.

The room went silent.

Jared adjusted his collar, revealing a matching hickey on his neck. He grinned at me, a shark showing its teeth.

"Carter! Come in, sit down."

"Go on," Layla nudged me from behind. "Don't just stand there."

The tension broke. Someone laughed.

"Layla, today is Jareds birthday! You organized this whole thing for him, you have to sit next to him."

Jared feigned modesty. "No, no. Carter is her husband. He should sit there."

"It's fine," Layla said, breezing past me. "I'll sit with you."

She didn't even look at me.

So, it was his birthday. That explained the makeup. The expensive dress. The exclusive restaurant.

I felt eyes on me, pitying and mocking. I didn't speak. I just picked up my chopsticks and started eating. It was expensive food. I might as well get my money's worth.

"Carter," Jared said, leaning forward. "I heard your writing isn't exactly steady income. Don't worry about the bill today. My treat. Eat up."

Layla placed a piece of braised pork in Jareds bowl. "Nonsense. I said Im throwing you this party. Im paying."

Even now. Not a shred of loyalty.

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Layla," I said, my voice cutting through the chatter. "What exactly are you to Jared?"