Martin rushed to explain,：“Babe, just let me explain……”

I cut him off, my voice ice-cold.：“Explain what? That the cake wasn't for Eleanor? Or that the worn-out wife on that card isn't me?”

“Martin, I'm keeping the cake. Thank you. Three years of marriage, and this is the first cake you've ever given me.”

He scrambled for an excuse.：“Eleanor Butler is a new assistant at the company. Just a coworker, nothing more. Everyone in the office chipped in for the cake, and the card was just a group joke.”

I laughed, hollow and sharp.：“That card is in your handwriting. You think I can't recognize it? Since when does the office chip in for a cake and throw in the boss's personal autograph?”

His eyes darted away. He rubbed his nose, playing helpless.：“Babe, don't do this.”

“Fine, I wrote the card. But it was a joke.”

Watching him double down with that stubborn, shameless look on his face, I was so angry I almost laughed.

I pulled out my phone and brought up a screenshot.

It was from a woman's social media. Her face wasn't showing, but around her neck hung a Van Cleef & Arpels clover necklace.

The caption read,：“Thank you to my boss for the early Valentine's Day gift. So spoiled!”

Underneath it, Martin's like.

The second he saw the screenshot, his face changed completely. He raised his voice.：“You went through my phone?”

A couple of days ago, Martin had come home drunk. When I was doing his laundry, his phone slipped out of his pocket.

I'd never thought to go through his phone before. I trusted him completely.

But that night I noticed he'd switched to a new phone at some point, and the case was a little cutesy, nothing like the Martin I knew.

Once I opened it, what I found made my stomach drop.

I stared straight at him, not flinching from his anger.：“Yeah, I went through your phone. Otherwise I'd still have no idea what a wonderful time you've been having behind my back.”

Martin forced down his rage and kept lying.：“That necklace I gave Eleanor was a knockoff. A couple hundred bucks, that's it. Don't overthink this……”

Before he could finish, I held up another screenshot.

Also from Eleanor's social media. A brand-new white Mercedes. The caption read,：“Finally got a car of my own. Thank you, babe!”

Martin's face went dark. He mumbled,：“That's a company car……”

I cut him off and shoved the photo of the purchase contract I'd snapped from his phone right in his face. “A company car? Then why is the invoice under her name?”

Martin went silent.

With all of this laid out in front of him, not even a fool would buy his lies.

I took a long breath.：“Martin, I have been married to you for three years.”

“You said you couldn't afford a house. So we rented.”

“You said you couldn't afford a wedding. So I agreed that signing the marriage certificate was enough.”

“When you started your company, I gave you every last cent of my savings for your seed money.”

“On my birthday, you wouldn't even buy me a thirty-eight-dollar mousse cake. Too expensive, you said.”

“But you turned around and bought another woman a necklace, a luxury car, and a fancy cake.”

“Martin, tell me. What am I to you? A clown you keep around for your own amusement?”

I didn't wait for an answer. I turned and walked into the bedroom, and the tears I'd been fighting finally fell.

I had to hold it together. Now wasn't the time to bring up divorce. With what I had on him so far, filing now wouldn't hurt him badly enough.

I was going to drag him all the way down. Three years of marriage, and I would make him answer for every single one.

Early the next morning, he knocked on the bedroom door, careful and soft. ：“Babe, the company's sending me on a last-minute trip. I'll be back in about a week.”

“Take some time to cool down. We'll talk properly when I get back.”

I didn't answer. After he went downstairs, I stood by the window and watched him climb into the white Mercedes.

The moment Martin was gone, I logged into his phone cloud backup.

His password hadn't changed. Still our wedding anniversary.

Everything was there in the cloud: every chat log, every photo, every video. Most of them were about Eleanor Butler. The earliest message dated back to last March.

“Baby, it's getting cold today. Bundle up!”

“You're so sweet, hubby. Love you!”

Last March. He'd told me the company had landed a major project. Working until the small hours every night, sometimes sleeping at the office.

Now the truth was obvious. He'd been in the thick of a new romance with Eleanor.

I kept scrolling.

“Does your wife know you transfer money to me every month?”

“She doesn't handle the finances. No way she'd find out. Relax, she's too stupid to notice.”

“But what if she finds out about us?”

“Then we divorce. Honestly, ever since I got with you, I've been done with her. Just looking at her face makes me sick.”

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. I wanted to tear Martin apart with my bare hands.

Everything I'd given him, and to him it was just proof I was gullible.

How had I ever been blind enough to fall for this man?

Over the next two days, I gathered every piece of evidence I could think of.

Martin's bank statements showed that starting last March, he'd been transferring twenty thousand dollars a month to Eleanor like clockwork.

On our anniversary last year, he'd sent me a fifty-dollar digital gift. And I'd been so stupidly happy about it the entire day.

On my birthday, he'd been at some off-site meeting. Didn't even call.

On Eleanor's birthday, he'd booked a Michelin-starred restaurant. Twenty-three thousand on the card.

But the thing that broke me was a photo I found in his cloud backup: a purchase contract for a condo at Moonview Bay.

Martin had taken me there once to look at the units. I'd fallen in love with a river-view apartment the second I saw it.

I handed him my savings for the down payment. Spent months counting the days until it was finished, dreaming about moving in.

Then he told me the developer's funding had collapsed. The project was dead. The down payment was gone.

And I'd been fool enough to comfort him. Told him not to make himself sick over it.

Now, staring at the names on that purchase contract—Martin Delgado and Eleanor Butler—I finally understood. I was the biggest joke under the sun.

I was nearly done compiling everything when a friend request from Eleanor popped up on my phone.

The moment I accepted, she started sending photos.

Their fingers laced together. His face in profile while he slept. The soup I'd spent hours making for him, dumped into a trash can.

I knew exactly what she was doing. Trying to provoke me. I didn't give her a single word.

The harder she pushed, the quieter I stayed.

And the quieter I stayed, the more it gnawed at her.

A guilty conscience doesn't fear a fight. It fears being ignored.

Sure enough, three days later, she couldn't hold back anymore.

The doorbell rang, and Eleanor Butler appeared on my doorstep.

She was younger and prettier than in her photos, her belly slightly rounded. Four months along, at least.

She looked me up and down with open appraisal, not bothering to hide her contempt, and said in a tone dripping with superiority:“I'm Eleanor Butler. Mind if we have a little chat?”

She didn't wait for my answer before stepping right into my home.

Her gaze swept the outdated decor, and that mocking look deepened.“Juliana, you've been married to Martin for three years and this is where you live?”

When Martin and I got married, he told me the company was in a critical growth phase. No money for a wedding, let alone renovations. We rented this apartment, and every piece of furniture in it was secondhand.

When I didn't respond, Eleanor continued:“I won't waste your time. Some things are better said face to face.”

“Martin and I have been together for two years. We're truly in love. Being with you makes him miserable — unhappy every single day.”

“If you really loved him, you'd let him go.”

Then she deliberately thrust out her small bump, preening as she told me:“I'm pregnant. Four months.”

“And you? Three years of marriage and you couldn't give him a single child.”

“Juliana, do you know what matters most to a man once he's made it?”

“Legacy. An heir. Someone to carry on his bloodline.”

“What you can't give him, I already have.”

“So tell me, what exactly do you have left to compete with?”

“Walk away now while it's still civil. That's got to be better than dragging this out until it gets ugly for everyone. Don't you think?”

She pulled a divorce agreement and a check for a hundred thousand dollars from her bag, set them both in front of me, and smiled:“Consider the check my way of compensating you.”

“After all, you've put in the years with Martin. You deserve something for your trouble.”

I flipped through the divorce agreement. It required me to leave the marriage with nothing.

I laughed coldly:“Did Martin send you here?”

“And if I don't sign?”

The mockery on Eleanor's face thickened:“Martin doesn't know I'm here. This is between us women. He doesn't need to know.”

“Signing or not signing won't change anything. He sleeps next to me now. In three years of marriage, how many times did he even touch you?”

“If you hadn't bankrolled his startup back then, you think he would've married you at all?”

“Juliana, wake up. Martin never loved you.”

Eleanor pointed at the wedding photo of Martin and me hanging on the wall, that same smug smile on her lips:“You've been keeping that spot warm long enough. It's my turn now.”

Eleanor had come here today to force my hand.

Whether this was Martin's idea or she'd taken it upon herself to show up and provoke me no longer mattered.

I looked at her, expression blank:“You done?”

“Martin and I are still legally married. That baby in your belly? The law calls it a child born out of wedlock. If you want the less polite version, it's an illegitimate child.”

“This hundred thousand dollars. Is it from your own savings, or did Martin give it to you?”

“Because if it came from him, that's marital property. And you'll have to pay it back.”

“Oh, and that condo at Moonview Bay? Purchased with income earned during our marriage. Legally, half the title belongs to me. So don't assume that just because your name's on the deed, the place is yours. Understood?”