By admin It was supposed to be the night I confronted my wife and her lover. Instead, a glowing screen in my living room revealed a truth far more sinister: ‘TARGET: DANIEL MERCER. ACCESS POINT: REBECCA MERCER. OBJECTIVE: RECOVER THE PHOENIX FILE.’
Rebecca recoiled from the mouse as if the very words had scorched her fingertips. Mark reacted with startling speed, his knee colliding with the coffee table and sending a glass crashing to the rug, but I managed to snatch the laptop before he could reach it.
“What exactly is this Phoenix file?” Rebecca asked, her gaze fixed on me, not Mark. Her voice, once brimming with an arrogant confidence, now sounded small and utterly stripped of its earlier bravado.
Mark offered a forced, hollow laugh. “It’s completely fake. He just concocted it because he found out about us and wanted to scare you.”
I calmly rotated the laptop back towards the television, reopening the folder. Below the alarming first line lay a damning collection: dates, hotel receipts, photographs, and transcripts of messages Mark had foolishly believed were permanently erased.
The color visibly drained from Rebecca’s face as she repeatedly read her own name. She wasn’t labeled a partner, a lover, or even a person; in Mark’s meticulous notes, she was merely an