Deception and Love: I Won't Be Sad to Leave

Deep into the night, the man beside me breathed deeply and evenly, sound asleep.

Yet, I tossed and turned, unable to find rest.

Just moments ago, Arthur Ford's phone suddenly lit up, revealing a message from Lyla Jennings on the screen.

Before this, out of trust for my partner, I had never looked through Arthur's phone, but this time, as if possessed, I opened the message.

A provocative image confronted me, shaking my core beliefs—Lyla, in a skimpy lace camisole, shyly nestled in Arthur's arms.

[I miss you already, even though you just left.]

My heart plummeted to the depths of disbelief as I stared at the man sleeping beside me.

Lyla was Arthur's secretary, having joined his company six months ago.

She always spoke in a gentle, endearing manner and was very likable, and Arthur had never given her more than a glance, maintaining a professional distance with subordinates.

Unbeknownst to me, behind the scenes, they had gotten together.

Turning over, I dimmed the phone to its lowest brightness and swiftly scrolled through their conversation history.

The more I read, the more shocked and chilled I became, covering my mouth to stifle any sobs.

Each unabashedly intimate message felt like a slap across my face, burning with betrayal.

Now I finally knew where Arthur was working late on all those nights.

Upscale restaurants, hotels, even Lyla's small but cozy apartment...

They discussed where to meet without any reservations, all while I was in the dark.

In the photos, they were tightly nestled together, as if they were the closest people in the world.

Perhaps he was sure I wouldn't go through his phone, so the chat history of the past six months was laid out before me in its entirety.

Lyla's approach gradually shifted from tentative to provocative, and Arthur, who had initially been hesitant, began to respond. It was hard to believe that this was the same self-disciplined Arthur I knew.

A wave of nausea surged in my stomach.

The images on the screen were so piercing I had to squint, relentlessly scrolling until I stopped at the very first photo Lyla sent.

It was from two months ago, a shot taken from above at 11 PM, showing her flushed from drinking, revealing her pale skin and delicate collarbones.

[Do I look good?] She had asked.

It took Arthur three minutes to reply. I didn't know what he thought about during those minutes, but it no longer mattered.

Because his reply was simple: [Beautiful.]

It was my birthday that day. At eleven o'clock, he had just finished working overtime and came back to blow out the birthday candles with me.

When I finished making a wish and looked up, I saw Arthur staring at his phone for a long time.

When I asked him about it, he suddenly turned his head and quickly typed a few words, saying that something had come up at work.

So, there was no overtime.

I could almost see Lyla's satisfied smirk.

It was utterly disgusting.

My hand, clutching the phone, trembled with betrayal and anger, a surge of emotion so strong I could tear them apart.

Arthur and I had been together for seven years since we were twenty and married for three, and this year marked our tenth anniversary.

In ten years of love, our passion rarely faded. Arthur's thoughtfulness and care made me never doubt his sense of responsibility and loyalty.

But now, these chat records were a harsh slap in the face.

Arthur, how could you do this to me?

...

When I loved, I loved deeply, but I tolerated no betrayal.

So, the next day, when Arthur used his old excuse of needing to work late, I simply told him in a calm voice to come home and sign the divorce papers.

A chaos of sounds came through the phone, including a woman's gasp.

Within half an hour, the black Maybach pulled up downstairs, and he hurried up to our apartment.

The living room was filled with my packed suitcases.

I sat on the sofa, a printed divorce agreement on the coffee table in front of me, already signed with my name.

Arthur steadied himself and walked over to me. His voice strained as he tried to suppress his panic.

"Avery, what's going on? What is this all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden?"

I gave him an ugly smile. "Arthur, stop pretending. You can't play with fire and not get burned.

"I've seen everything."

His body shook, and his facade quickly crumbled.

"Avery, please let me explain."

Arthur lunged forward, grabbing my hand, the composure he always maintained now gone.

I calmly withdrew my hand, wiping the spot he touched, and curled my lips into a smirk.

"Alright, go ahead and explain."

How would he explain? I watched the bewildered Arthur with amusement, finding the situation absurd.

"With photos and chat records available, what kind of ridiculous story are you going to make up? Sleepwalking? Split personality?"

"I, I..." he bent over in agony, clutching his head. "I didn't intend for it to start like this...

"I genuinely love you, and I do love you. It's just... it's just..."

"You just took the wrong path for a moment and got momentarily bewitched, right?"

"Yes, yes, it's my fault. I did something wrong, and I'm sorry. Avery, can you forgive me?"

His eyes were red as he clutched my arms, choking up.

"Avery, I love you."

I found it amusing, so I couldn't help but laugh.

"Avery?"

"Arthur, that's enough," I said, pushing him away, my eyes filled with disappointment.

"I love you too, but did I cheat?

"Did I sleep with my assistant? Did I spend the night out and share a bed with someone else? Did I get tangled up in a flirtation with another person?

"Was I lost in someone else's photos on your birthday?"

With each accusation, his face grew paler.

He could only clutch at the hem of my shirt, looking at me with pleading eyes.

I picked up the divorce papers and thrust them into his arms, my voice cold.

"Sign it, Mr. Ford."

Just like when we got married, I called him Mr. Ford.

But if that time was about joy, this time, it was about endings.