There are things in life you can control, and others you can’t.
Your wife deciding she’s “done” with you because she wants “more,” falls into the “others category.
Laura always wanted more—more vacations, more clothes, better stuff.
And she apparently found someone she thought could keep up with her tastes: Trevor King, a real estate agent in town.
But somehow, in the divorce, Laura got everything: the house, the dog, and half my 401(k).
Me?
I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment, scraping by on what little was left of my savings.
But Laura forgot one thing… The house had been my project from the beginning.
The night I realized I could get revenge on my cheating ex changed everything.
Life on Sale
Laura’s spending habits weren’t just excessive—they were a compulsion.
She didn’t just want nice things; she needed status symbols. Designer handbags, five-star vacations, custom furniture—every piece of it was carefully curated to make her life look perfect on Instagram.
I tried saving where I could—skipping Starbucks, cutting back on groceries, turning off lights.
I even installed a smart home system to control everything: the thermostat, the garage door, the lights, the locks. If we weren’t using something, I’d shut it off remotely to save money.
But Laura hated it.
“Carl,” she’d sigh, “you can’t budget your way to happiness.”
In the end, she left me for Trevor. And during the divorce, her lawyer gutted me even though she was the one who cheated.
She got the house in Brightwater—five bedrooms, marble countertops, a pool she never used—and, of course, our dog, Max.
I ended up in a small apartment with secondhand furniture and a dwindling savings account.
I thought I’d cut every connection to that old life, but there was one loose thread.
The smart home system I installed?
Yeah, it was still linked to my phone.
Trevor King
Trevor King wasn’t excessively rich, but he looked the part.
He was a decent real estate agent—good enough to afford a mid-range Mercedes and the occasional tropical vacation, but not enough to be swimming in luxury.
Trevor dressed sharp and talked big, but people like Steve and Karen knew the truth.
“He leases his car,” Steve told me once. “And the ‘vacation condo’ he brags about? It’s an Airbnb he rents a few times a year.”
Still, Laura thought Trevor was an upgrade. He was flashy enough to fool her and had just enough money to fund some of her habits.
But not all of them—and certainly not without consequences.
The First Glitch
The first time I messed with their house, it was by accident.
I was sitting on the couch, scrolling through my apps, when I noticed I still had access to their smart thermostat.
On a whim, I set the heat to 50°F one Sunday morning.
A few days later, Karen, a mutual friend, told me all about it over coffee.
“Trevor was losing his mind! He couldn’t figure out why the heat wouldn’t stay on. Laura was furious—they argued about it all through brunch.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
This could be fun.
Expanding the Game
It wasn’t long before I realized the thermostat wasn’t the only thing I could control.
Since I’d installed the smart home system myself, everything was still linked to my account.
The garage door opener. The security cameras. The lights.
Even the fridge could send alerts if the door was left open for too long.
None of the devices showed any suspicious activity. As far as Laura and Trevor knew, everything was working perfectly.
Except, of course, for the fact that I was in control.
Flickering Lights and Warm Beer
I started small. The lights.
Just before Trevor and Laura came home from dinner one night, I turned every light in the house to full brightness. When they opened the door, the place lit up like a stadium.
Then, the next morning? Pitch black—even when the switches were on.
I could almost hear Trevor cursing through the walls.
Next, I disconnected their fridge for just long enough to spoil the milk and warm their beer.
Karen told me about it the next day.
“Trevor was pissed! He thought the fridge was defective. Laura wanted to replace it, but Trevor said they couldn’t afford it.”
I smiled to myself.
This was just the beginning.
Cracks in the Facade
Winter dragged on, and so did my little game. I timed everything perfectly.
When Laura slept in on weekends, I set the thermostat to 45°F.
When they were out for the evening, I blasted the heat to 85°F.
I had the garage door open at random, then close again—just enough to make them think someone was trying to break in.
Karen kept me updated without even knowing it.
“They’ve hired three electricians and two HVAC guys,” she told me one day. “No one can figure out what’s wrong with the system. Trevor’s ready to rip the whole thing out.”
But that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was the bills.
Burning Through Money
Trevor had just enough money to look wealthy, but not enough to sustain Laura’s lifestyle. And with the energy bills piling up, cracks were starting to show.
“They’re fighting all the time,” Karen said. “Trevor says he’s spent enough on repairs, and Laura’s insisting they replace the whole system.”
The mental image of Trevor scrambling to keep up was the best kind of revenge.
He was learning the same thing I had: Laura’s expectations are impossible to meet.
New Year’s Eve Meltdown
The final act came on New Year’s Eve.
Laura and Trevor were throwing a big party—one of those events designed to impress everyone. Steve and Karen invited me, but I politely declined.
I had other plans.
Around 9:00 p.m., I logged into the app and set the temperature to 45°F.
It didn’t take long for Karen to text me.
“This party’s a mess. Everyone’s freezing, and Trevor can’t fix the heat!”
Then came the best message of all:
“Trevor just gave the Wi-Fi password to everyone so they can use the network. What a moron.”
With that, I had my opening. I reconnected to the smart system and dropped the temperature to 35°F—just in time for the midnight countdown.
The Fallout
The next morning, Karen filled me in over breakfast.
“Trevor and Laura had a huge fight after the party,” she said. “She’s blaming him for not fixing the house, and he’s blaming her for spending too much.”
I grinned. “Guess things aren’t so perfect, huh?”
She chuckled. “Not even close.”
Stay Warm, Lovebirds
That afternoon, I opened the smart home app one last time.
There it was—the house, still under my control.
The lights. The fridge. The thermostat. Every piece of technology I’d put in place, still at my fingertips.
Raising my beer to the empty room, I lowered the temperature to 40°F, just enough to make them uncomfortable.
With a smirk, I offered a final toast:
“Stay warm, lovebirds.”
It was petty, I know, but I couldn’t help getting my little form of justice.