I thought Owen might be dealing with a work issue, so I approached him, ready to comfort him.

But as soon as he saw me, he said into the phone, “Alright, wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”

I frowned. “You’re going out? In this rain?”

He nodded. “Yes, there’s an issue at the company I need to handle.”

My heart clenched. “What kind of issue could be so urgent?”

“It’s important—something to do with the bid proposal,” Owen explained.

He didn’t elaborate, and even if he did, I wouldn’t have understood.

Still, I insisted, “I’ll come with you. The rain’s too heavy—it’s not safe.”

A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes before he quickly shook his head. “No need. Stay home and take care of Allison. I’ll be back soon.”

Watching him leave, I couldn’t sit still. Grabbing my car keys, I followed him.

The storm was fierce, with wind and rain lashing against my car. Owen drove cautiously, so it wasn’t hard to stay on his trail. Fortunately, he didn't notice me.

With my mind in turmoil, I forgot to feel scared, focusing solely on the taillights of his car ahead.

After about twenty minutes, his car pulled into the parking lot of the Royal Banner Hotel.

I parked a little behind him and watched as he stepped into the elevator, pressing a floor number before the doors closed. My heart pounded as I stepped into another elevator, unsure if I’d even be able to find him when I got out.

But when the doors opened, I froze.

There he was, passionately kissing a woman. His large hands gripped her waist, pulling her close with urgency and intensity.

The door to the hotel room finally opened, and the two of them stumbled inside, still entangled.

I moved closer, my trembling hands picking up the keycard they had dropped in their haste.

They were like starving animals, devouring each other as if they hadn’t eaten in years.

Standing outside the door, I swiped the keycard shaking hands.

The room was dark, but the moment the door opened, the lights turned on, flooding the space with brightness.

Startled, the two of them froze on the sofa, turning to look at me.

I knew I must have looked terrible—soaked from the rain, my face pale and ghastly pale.

Owen took several seconds to recover, frantically pushing the woman away from him.

I recognized her immediately—it was the busty woman from his office.

Unlike Owen, she didn’t panic. Instead, she looked at me with a smug, provocative smirk.

At that moment, I wanted to cry. But instead, I laughed.

I wanted to storm in and tear her face apart. But instead, I fled, like a guilty party caught in the act, as if I was the one who had been unfaithful.

I heard Owen calling my name, but his voice felt distant, like it wasn’t reaching me.

Once in my car, I wiped the raindrops on my face. Who am I? Where am I? What am I even doing?

Then, in a flash of lightning, I sped onto the road.

I’d always heard in movies that before they die, their life flashes before their eyes. But as I raced through the storm, my mind was blank—I didn’t have time to think of anything.

I didn’t die, though.

They said Owen chased after me and pulled me from the wreckage of my mangled car, his hands covered in blood.

Now, lying in the hospital bed, visitors came and went in an endless stream.

My sister scolded me, “What’s wrong with you? Running out in the rain to watch a movie with Owen? Are you out of your mind?”

Is that what Owen told her? How amusing.

Since I woke up, I hadn’t spoken a word to him.

After a few minutes, my sister left, and silence returned to the room.

Then Owen walked in, carrying a container of porridge.

I watched him awkwardly pour it into a bowl, even more awkwardly trying to feed me. His clumsy actions made me scoff.

“Owen, let’s get a divorce,” I intoned coldly.

He froze for a moment, then acted as if he hadn’t heard me. “Eat something first. We can talk about the rest later.”

I sneered and knocked the bowl of porridge out of his hand.

"How long has it been?" I asked coldly.

Owen lowered his head like a guilty child. "Not long. This was the third time."

The third time.

During my surgery, I’d naively thought: if it had been a one-time mistake—a drunken lapse—maybe I could forgive him. But now I realized how foolish I had been. This wasn’t a momentary weakness; it was a pattern.

The thought of it made me feel physically sick.

I wasn’t obsessed with cleanliness, but I couldn’t tolerate a relationship sullied like this.

"Alicia, I was wrong," he whispered.

I shook him off with all my strength, pulling the IV needle from my hand in the process.

Blood dripped from my hand, and the wound from my surgery had reopened, but I felt no physical pain. The emotional agony was so much worse.

Curling into a ball under the blanket, I sobbed uncontrollably. Owen didn’t dare touch me; he called a nurse to treat my wounds instead.

Owen had always been handsome—just over thirty, exuding charm and masculinity.

Before, looking at his face filled me with pride and affection. Now, all I felt was disgust.

“Be good, it won’t hurt anymore,” he murmured as he gently blew on my wound, his eyes glistening with emotion, trying to win me over.

I turned away, avoiding his gaze.

“Go pick up Allison,” I said flatly. I couldn’t stand the sight of him and just wanted him gone.

Seeing that I had finally spoken to him, his eyes lit up with relief. He leaned down to kiss my forehead before leaving.

The warmth of his lips lingered on my skin, but it only made me feel filthy.

I lay there in turmoil, my thoughts chaotic.

A few moments later, someone walked in from outside.

Long curly hair, a face like a social media influencer, and a curvy, statuesque figure wrapped in a tight business suit. It was her—the woman Owen had been cheating with.

Her name was Viviana, the HR manager at Owen’s company.

When did mistresses become so brazen? She had the audacity to show up at my hospital room, flaunting her triumph.

I stared at her, silent.

She carried a brand-new Louis Vuitton handbag, clearly uninterested in staying longer. Standing just next to the door, she looked down at me with disdain.

“I assume you already know who I am,” she said, her tone dripping with arrogance, as if she were the rightful wife.

Was this confidence purely from money? I knew her family owned a car dealership, and she had a well-connected uncle in government.

Did that give her the courage to demand I step aside for her?

“And who are you?” I asked flatly.

Her smug face twisted in irritation, clearly not expecting my calm and dismissive response.

She stepped closer. “I’m Viviana. Owen’s... lover.”

I almost laughed out loud. Lover? She had the audacity to use such a romantic term. Did she even understand what it meant?

“Alicia, I’m not here to waste time. Leave Owen, and I’ll give you one million dollars.”

I chuckled. “Then I’ll give you two million to leave Owen.”

She hadn’t expected me to push back. Clearly, she thought I was just a pitiful little housewife.

Sneering, she curled her red lips. “What a joke. All your money comes from Owen.”

I smiled faintly. “We’re still married.”

My tone was calm, but inside, my heart ached bitterly. Only the marriage certificate was left between Owen and me.

“Miss Smith, you want me to divorce Owen?” I asked, feigning curiosity.

She narrowed her eyes, obviously wary.

“But what if he doesn’t want a divorce?” I continued. “Maybe you should take some photos or videos the next time you’re in bed with him. Show me those, and I might finally give up.”

She froze, her face contorted in fury.

“You shameless woman!” she spat before storming out of the room.

Once she was gone, I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

So even mistresses have their pride.

The room still carried an unpleasant stench that turned my stomach. I pressed the call button.

When the nurse came in, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Please open the windows," I replied calmly. "There's a foul smell in here."

Not long after, Owen returned—but without our daughter.

He placed a thermos and his car keys on the table, his expression tense.

I could guess why—Viviana must have already gone to him.

I sneered internally. So this was what it felt like to have a once-intimate husband shared with someone else. It was like a beautiful cake falling into dog poop.

But Owen wasn’t an impulsive boy anymore. He suppressed his anger as he poured soup from the thermos, speaking in an even tone.

"I dropped Allison off at Mom's place."

"Which mom? Yours or mine?" I quirked my eyebrow.

He looked up, his brow furrowed. "Of course her grandmother's house."

His tone carried a sharp edge.

I half-closed my eyes and said flatly, "There’s a nurse here to look after me. You can go back too."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he hesitated. Finally, he asked, “Did Viviana come to see you?”

“She did,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Did she tattle on me? Tell you I suggested she film your little trysts so I could see them myself?”

The bowl of soup he was holding slammed heavily onto the table, splashing broth everywhere.

He stared at me, his eyes flickering with anger. "Alicia, do you plan to use those videos to force me into leaving with nothing? Or do you want to blackmail me?"

"What else?" I replied coldly. "A man who cheats is like cash smeared with excrement—who would want to keep holding it?"

For a moment, he was speechless, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I suddenly felt weary of it all.

"Owen," I said quietly, "your mistress had the audacity to confront me in my hospital room, and yet your only concern is whether I’ll go after your money. Is that who I am to you?"

The brightest moon was only seen in the darkest night; the closest of bonds could turn to the coldest of relationships.

When the sweetness of a marriage was gone, what was left was bitterness—more venomous than between enemies.

His eyes grew red as his grip on my arm loosened. He rubbed his face and muttered, "I’m sorry."

Did I need his apology?

---

Owen and I were college classmates. He was a senior when I was a freshman.

One of my dorm mates, Thalia, had started dating one of his friends and often dragged me along to their gatherings. That was how I first met him.

He always had an aloof demeanor, rarely speaking much, yet he stood out in any crowd.

On Thalia’s birthday, I arrived late, bundled up in a thick down jacket. As soon as I stepped into the private room, my glasses fogged up. Someone pulled me to sit down beside them.

There was a woman at the table who seemed to target me for no reason. I didn’t even know her, yet she kept making snide remarks, practically accusing me of being some public flirt.

I was so angry I was on the verge of tears.

Someone patted my shoulder comfortingly. Following the hand upward, I realized it was Owen.

No wonder that woman had been going after me—it was because of him.

I excused myself to the restroom. Standing at the sink, I took off my glasses and saw that my eyes were red.

"You look like a little rabbit, hiding here to cry," a voice said unexpectedly.

Startled, I turned around to see Owen leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers.

With his pale complexion, long lashes, and flushed lips, he looked like a character out of a poem—as graceful as jade, unmatched in the world.

That was when I realized he had been using me as a shield.

I put my glasses back on and made them leave, but he blocked my way.

With a nudge, he extended his arm toward me.