By, The Devil

The first time I met the devil was during divorce negotiations.

It began like a dream: infatuation, love at first sight, and unbridled passion. She was a beauty with brains, a university professor teaching mathematics. Me, a computer programmer who had a windfall with his current employer and got a handsome share of stock options as a joining bonus.

Our first real fight was just before marriage. She wanted a prenup, and, besotted as I was, I read the agreement like technical documentation and signed it. I wanted to get over all the humps so we could get to the good part. Then, we said our vows, promising to love and respect each other till the end of time… which was today.

Flanked by our respective lawyers, we sat poker-faced in the room that smelled of varnish. I managed a glance at her and found a stare with the crooked smile I loved so much. Now, it seemed like a sly one.

As the lawyers exchanged notes, I avoided her gaze and scanned the room.

“Did you read the prenup before signing it?” My lawyer ended my reverie.

“Huh? What do you mean? Of course I did!” I was more embarrassed than angry.

“All of it, in detail?”

“Well, yeah. What’s the problem?” I frowned.

A sly smile across my wife's face told me the devil had got me.

“Here,” my lawyer flipped open the agreement to a page and almost broke his index finger jabbing at a sentence he wanted me to read: In the event of an irreconcilable dispute, party B (her name here) will receive everything divided by half…

A quick math calculation told me I had to pay her twice what I owed!

“Fuck me!” I managed.

“Already did.” She drawled.