“For three years, my marriage to Bradly Gordon, the golden boy of the NHL, was nothing more than a freezing, sexless public image. On the eve of our third anniversary, I walked into his dark study and caught him masturbating to a picture of his late brother's widow, Chandler. The very next day, he moved her and her spoiled son into our home. Her son intentionally destroyed my late mother's belongings and the only photograph I had of my parents. When I confronted them, Bradly fiercely protected Chandler, violently shoving me into a sharp table. He even abandoned me at a crucial high-society dinner to chase after rumors of Chandler dating other men. Left entirely alone, I was publicly humiliated by my adoptive family and cast out into a freezing blizzard. I didn't understand how he could be so blindly devoted to his sister-in-law while treating his legal wife like garbage. As I lay half-dead in the snow, he was busy buying her an extravagant pink diamond. His cruel mockery echoed in my mind. "Do you really think a man can love a woman he doesn't touch?" That was the final straw. I stopped playing the meek, pathetic wife. I set a trap with a fake six-million-dollar antique hockey stick for her son to destroy, packed my bags, and left him a signed divorce agreement as his birthday gift.”