Page 56 of Sebastian.

I’ve turned into bed early after a long, indulgent bubble bath and a few chapters of a book that I can’t recall the name of. The need for a good night's sleep is eating away at me, but it’s just been restful nights for the past few weeks. Again, I’ve got my phone in my hand, but I force myself to drop it on the nightstand, wanting to resist the temptation to call Sebastian again just to hear his voice. As I do, my eyes catch a glimpse of the photograph tucked in the corner of the nightstand—a memory frozen in time.

I pick it up, my fingers tracing over the faded edges. It's a snapshot from over two decades ago, a photo of the night Seb and I first met, dancing at a grand ball. The smiles on our faces seem distant now, replaced by the complexities that life has woven between us. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the past, in the simplicity of our connection back then.

Gosh, I was so enamored with him from the very first moment I laid eyes on him. At that point in my life, I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted Sebastian Van den Bosch, and I was ready to burn it all down just to have him. Nothing was going to hold me back, not even my mother. I could never wish that we had never met, not with our wonderful children, but a part of me wonders if this would all be easier if I hadn’t had such a strong connection to him from the start.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself a moment to get lost in the memory of that dance, of Sebastian’s hands on my waist, long before the weight of the world was on our shoulders…but the ringing of my phone pulls me back to the present. It's Gabi calling, and I have a pretty good idea why. I answer the call, my voice steady despite how vulnerable I still feel from looking at the picture from our first dance.

“Hey, Gabi.”

“Julia, I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.” Gabi’s tone is professional, even more proof that this isn’t a personal call.

“No, not at all. What's up?” I reply, trying to keep the apprehension out of my voice. “Did you manage to get it?”

She lets out a long breath. “Yeah, Jules, I did. You owe me a big one. The club didn’t want to give an inch.”

“They didn’t know who they were messing with, though.” I laugh slightly, knowing that anyone that goes up against Gabi is bound to lose.

“Ha! You’re right there. They tried every excuse in the book. First they said they didn't have cameras inside the private rooms. I told them that I already knew that was a lie, and then they backtracked and tried to claim that, while they did have a camera, that night’s recording was conveniently missing.”

Despite how dire this situation is, I can’t help but feel a tiny thread of amusement, crossing my legs and leaning back against my headboard. “Wow. Amateurs.”

“Seriously. I had to stop myself from laughing. They kept running me around in circles and I had to threaten to start arresting the bastards if they didn't cough up the copy.” My friend is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, there’s a little more of my friend and less of the prosecutor in the words. “Are you really sure you want to watch it?”

Apprehension courses through me. I’m almost at the point of no return. “Yes, I do. And Gabi…?”

“Yeah?”

Swallowing hard, I make myself ask the question I’ve been dreading, trying hard to keep my voice from faltering as I do so. “Did you watch it too?”

“Well, I had to confirm it was him.” And just from the tone of her voice, I know that whatever I’m about to see is going to hurt me. Terribly. When I don’t reply for a second, Gabi continues, “You know how important this is. I had to make sure it was legitimate.”

“I know.” I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed. So, whatever I’m about to witness, my best friend has seen it, too. Even if Sebastian and I reconcile, she will know what he’s done and how far he went with that stripper, forever.

It hurts and is humiliating, but a small part of me is glad that there is someone else in the world that knows exactly what I’m going through. At least I will never have to explain my actions to her.

“Thank you. Really, thank you for everything you've done,” I tell her with genuine gratitude.

“You're welcome, Jules. Anything for you. I’m sure we'll talk later.” She then pauses for a beat before adding, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to, okay? Not as the case prosecutor. As your friend.”

I know that I won’t call her. The embarrassment will burn too badly, I’m sure of it, but I appreciate the offer nonetheless. “Okay. I will.”

As I wait for the video to arrive, my heart starts to race. The weight of the evidence I’m about to see in this video, of the reality it represents, is settling upon me. My husband’s betrayal is now tangible, captured on tape, and it's a truth that can't be ignored. I know that watching it will be painful, a reminder that our marriage is in shambles and that I see no clear path to put it back together. Yet, I also know that facing this truth head-on is necessary.

Most of all, I know it’s going to be bad. If it was innocuous, with Sebastian just sitting there and letting the stripper dance, then Gabi would have just said that. The fact that she didn’t give any details and is sending me the video instead tells me everything I need to know…he must have done more than just sit there and watch. My husband, my Sebastian, did something unforgivable with an exotic dancer, and I’m about to see it with my own two eyes.

When the video finally arrives on my phone, I take a deep breath and press play. The scene unfolds before me, and I watch as the man who I’ve always loved more than I thought possible engages in a behavior that has the potential to tear us apart forever. Images flash across the screen, a stark contrast to the memories of our early years together that the photograph on my nightstand evokes.

It's him. He’s sitting there, casual yet detached, while a scantily clad dancer engages in conversation with him. There's a surprising familiarity in their interaction, a connection that stirs a knot of unease in my stomach. I know it’s just part of the stripper’s job to behave like she already knows her customer, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. This is not a time where I am logical…not at all. The dancer seems to genuinely enjoy his company, her laughter ringing out, joyful compared to the heaviness I feel inside.

Then the dance begins––a spectacle that's meant to titillate, to entertain. My husband sits there while the dancer moves sensually around him. It's a routine, rehearsed and choreographed, but that doesn’t take the sting out of it. Not at all. Her clothes come off, piece by piece. Her bra goes first, and the second it’s gone she rubs her breasts all over him, swaying and dipping low so they almost brush on his face before she stands straight again and continues to remove the last few things that she’s wearing. Thigh high pantyhose go next, one by one. The stripper places one delicate foot on the chair between Sebastian’s legs and rolls the fishnet stocking down, and then switches legs to do the other. Finally, she shimmies out of her panties, her nude body glowing in the dark champagne room. Seeing a naked woman so close to my husband,touchinghim, makes my stomach turn. I press my hands against my belly unconsciously, as if the pressure will keep me from getting sick.

I desperately hope that this is the end of it, but of course it isn’t. The stripper turns around so her back is to Seb, and she sensually slides down his body like that, until her bare ass is on his groin. She takes his hands and brings them around her body to hold her hips and it takes everything in me not to toss the phone against the nearest wall. Seb seems still, but doesn’t pull away. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more hate towards him than I do right now. Combined with the love that is also still living inside me, nothing makes sense.

As the dance progresses, the dancer's movements become more intimate, her hands guiding him, her body turning in his grip. She takes his hand once more and pulls his thumb into her mouth, dragging the wet digit down her body and finally sliding it between her legs, over her pussy in a move so brazen that I forget to breathe.

I pause the video, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth so I don’t get sick. There’s a glass for water at my bedside and a small covered pitcher, and my hands shake so hard when I pour myself some that water sloshes over and onto my silk sheets. I can’t stop shaking.

I don’t know if I can watch the rest. I certainly don’t want to, but I’ve come this far I might as well finish the last few minutes. It can’t get much worse. I unpause the video and watch the lap dance continue, a stupid smile on Sebastian’s face as the stripper leans in to kiss his neck. She does a few more sensual moves, and like a final act before finishing her little show, I watch something that brings a fresh wave of pain, something I never thought a dancer would even dare to do. The dancer presses her mouth against his, and I watch as they kiss. His lips on hers, a fervor that betrays the previous detachment he was trying to show.

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