The hotel calls me on the phone and tactfully reminds me that since I've forgotten to pay for the condoms I've used last night, they've deducted the sum from my VIP card.

I'm a little perplexed, to say the least. Last night, I've taken on an overnight shift till late night, so I've never been to the hotel.

So, I question my wife, Nyla Burdette, who's the only one that knows about my VIP card number. She just looks at me in confusion.

"Honey, it costs over a thousand dollars to spend a night in that hotel! Why would I stay there, to begin with? There must be something wrong with the hotel's system!"

I no longer waste my breath on Nyla. My oldest uncle, Eric Fuller, is the investor of that particular hotel, so I call him right away.

"Uncle Eric, help me investigate who Nyla has taken to the hotel last night! I want to catch them in the act!"

Nyla Burdette, my wife, nearly made me laugh out loud with her excuse.

When my uncle, Eric Fuller, took over as the CEO of the hotel, he called me right away and told me that, for my birthday gift, he'd specially reserved a lifetime VIP card that waived all room charges.

The card was bound to me, and no one else could use it.

But now the hotel was calling me, saying that I'd checked into the presidential suite last night and had even used the condoms in the room.

I triple-checked with them, and the front desk firmly insisted that it was me—Bryce Sheehan—who had checked in.

I couldn't swallow this indignity, especially since when I first mentioned wanting to go try out the hotel, Nyla had rolled her eyes at me and snapped, "Isn't the house big enough for you? Why must you insist on staying in a hotel? I've never seen someone as wasteful as you!"

But Uncle Eric had gifted me this VIP card. Why shouldn't I be allowed to use it?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got, so I drove straight to the hotel.

With Thanksgiving around the corner, the lobby was packed with guests checking in. I waited nearly half an hour before the front desk finally had a moment for me.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Sheehan. You called me this morning," I said, trying to hold back my anger.

The receptionist, whose name tag read "Fiona", looked up in confusion. "Mr. Sheehan? Didn't you go back to your room already? You even requested no housekeeping earlier."

My expression darkened instantly.

She continued, "Mr. Sheehan even called to activate the Do Not Disturb service just ten minutes ago. He said he didn't want to be interrupted."

My whole body trembled with rage. How dare that homewrecker use my name to book the room?

"I'm the real Mr. Sheehan! Bryce Sheehan!" I said through gritted teeth.

She looked me up and down impatiently. "Sir, if you don't have a booking, please leave. We have a lot of guests today. Please don't make a scene.

"Mr. Sheehan checked in with his wife using a VIP card. I've never personally met him before, but Ms. Burdette is a regular here. How could I be mistaken?"

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. My wife had turned into someone else's wife. How ironic.

Just then, the elevator dinged open. A man stepped out wearing the latest season's Bulgari suit. On his wrist was the luxury watch I'd won at an auction for 1.8 million dollars.

From what I knew, the man was Craig Dickson, Nyla's junior from college who had just graduated.

Fiona looked like she'd seen a lifeline as she pointed at him. "That's him right there. Now that the real Mr. Sheehan has arrived, I suggest you leave quickly and stop causing trouble."

Craig's expression stiffened the moment he saw me, but he quickly forced a fake smile. "Hey, what a coincidence! You're staying here too?"

I shook off his hand coldly. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation, Craig Dickson? Why did you check in with my name? Why are the condoms you used being charged to my account? Why are my shoes on your feet? And since when did my wife become your wife?"

My voice echoed through the entire lobby. The noisy crowd instantly fell silent, and all eyes focused on Craig.

He glanced around, his eyes turning red-rimmed. "What are you talking about? My wife got this VIP card for me because she felt bad that I always had to travel for work. She bought these shoes for me, too."

"As for the condoms…" he added, scratching his head innocently. "I used them with my own wife. Is there a problem with that?"

He suddenly looked at me with pity. "Bro, are you not satisfied with the sex life you have with your wife, and that's why this triggered you? Should I call a therapist for you?"

The crowd immediately began whispering.

"Look at how shabby he looks. No wonder women don't like him."

"The VIP card starts at 300 thousand dollars. He doesn't look like someone who could afford it."

"Why does a high-end place like this let just anyone in?"

I was just wearing casual clothes today—nowhere as bad as they were making it out to be.

I couldn't be bothered with the whispers. Instead, I turned to Craig and sneered. "I never realized how much of a smooth talker you were."

Then, I turned to Fiona. "Did you verify his identity when he checked in?"

She stammered, "He said he forgot his ID, but Ms. Burdette is one of our regular clients, so…"

"So you just broke the rules?" I cut her off sharply. "Your hotel's security is practically nonexistent."

She was rendered speechless.

Craig immediately jumped in to play the good guy. "Bro, she's just the receptionist. Why make things difficult for her? As the saying goes, people stay in hotels that match their status. Stop causing a scene and making a fool of yourself here."

His words clearly implied that I didn't belong here.

Just then, his phone rang. The screen visibly showed the word "Wifey".

"Answer it," I said coldly. "Put it on speaker. Let me hear how Nyla is going to spin this."

Craig answered the call smugly. But the moment he put it on speaker, his tone turned panicked.

"Honey, get to the hotel quickly! There's a lunatic here insisting that I'm not your husband and is trying to get me kicked out…"

Nyla's furious voice came through immediately. "What lunatic dares to bully you? Don't worry. I'll be there right away!"

As it turned out, to her, I was the outsider.

The onlookers stared at me with open disdain. Someone even stepped forward to comfort Craig. "Don't waste your time arguing with a lunatic."

Craig thanked them softly, then turned to me with fake concern. "My wife will be here any minute. She's got a temper, so you'd better leave now.

"She gave me this 300 thousand dollar VIP card just like that. That's how much she spoils me. If you stick around when she gets here, there's no knowing what she might do to you."

His words sounded like he was giving me advice, but in truth, they were nothing but blatant provocation.

I trembled with rage, wanting nothing more than to rip his hypocritical expression off his face right then and there.

Nyla arrived even faster than I'd expected. She stormed into the hotel, and the moment she saw me, her gaze turned fierce.

She roughly shoved me aside, then grabbed Craig's hand tightly. "Don't worry, I'm here now."

She stroked his hair tenderly and gently. It was practically blinding.

The hotel's marble floor was polished so slickly that her shove sent me stumbling backward, and my lower back slammed hard into the armrest of a couch behind me.

If it hadn't been for the couch, I would've crashed straight to the ground.

Meanwhile, Craig wrapped an arm around Nyla's neck in open provocation and pulled her into a long, passionate kiss.

"You're the best, honey," he said breathlessly. "Hurry up and explain things to this guy. He doesn't believe a word I'm saying!"

Only then did Nyla turn her gaze to me. There wasn't a trace of guilt in her eyes, only pure disgust.

Nyla let go of Craig's hand, strode straight toward me, and slapped me hard across the face.

"Have you no shame, Craig Dickson? Just because you wanted a full-time position after your internship and tried to hint at sleeping your way in—and I rejected you—you've been holding a grudge ever since. And now, you even dare to harass my husband publicly?"

I clutched my swollen, burning cheek, staring at her in disbelief.

The woman in front of me felt terrifyingly unfamiliar. Just before I came to the hotel, she'd still been pretending to know nothing over the phone, gently telling me not to overthink things in that usual patient manner of hers.

And now, just a short time later, she could lie through her teeth without batting an eyelid and even raise her hand against me.

So she really had two faces all along.

Looking back, the signs were always there. She only lit up when I bought her the latest designer items, but when it came to the scientific research achievements I had poured my heart and soul into, she scoffed at them and claimed they were nothing but junk.

Her concern for me had only ever been for my bank account.

Perhaps she had never loved me or tried to understand the real me at all.

A wave of calm rose from somewhere deep inside me, overpowering all my anger.

I lowered the hand clutching my face and looked directly at her. My voice was so steady that it surprised even me.

"Nyla Burdette, say that again. Tell me—who am I? And who is he?"

A flicker of panic flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by an even stronger, more unapologetic defiance.

"You really are a lunatic! Didn't I make myself clear enough? He is my husband, Bryce Sheehan! And you? You're just an intern who failed to sleep your way to the top, Craig!"

She looked me up and down, her tone dripping with contempt. "Just look at yourself. You're nearly 40 years old, aren't you? How could I possibly marry someone like you? Can you please have some self-awareness?"

The people around us immediately broke out into whispers again.

"Wow. He's stuck in a miserable life himself, so he's jealous of others' happiness."

"Not only is he a lunatic, but he's full-on delusional too. How scary."

"That young couple is so unlucky to get harassed by a psycho like this."

I stayed silent, watching their performance.

It seemed like Nyla was determined to protect Craig no matter what, even if it meant dragging me through the mud. But did she really think she could rewrite reality just by running her mouth?

I slowly pulled out my ID and marriage certificate from the bag I always carried. "These should be enough to prove my identity."

The expressions on both of their faces froze instantly. Craig's eyes widened in disbelief as he urgently tugged at Nyla's sleeve.

Nyla lunged forward, roughly snatched the documents from my hands, and without even looking at them, hurled them straight out through the hotel's revolving doors.

"Aren't you done yet?" she snarled, veins bulging at her temple as her performance became even more convincing. "You already forged a fake ID last time to gross me out, and now you've escalated to forging marriage certificates too?"

"Can you please have some shame, Craig? Do you think I won't call the police and report you for harassment and forgery of government documents?"

The glares from the people around us had already shifted from disdain to pure disgust, and they started yelling for Nyla to call the cops.

I was truly in awe of Nyla's quick thinking. The moment I produced evidence, she immediately labeled it as fake.

At that moment, I even wished that the marriage certificate was indeed fake.

Craig visibly relaxed. He pulled Nyla into his arms again, then spoke to me in a tone that sounded sympathetic but was actually laced with malice.

"Bro, you've been under so much pressure from your abusive wife that you've developed mental issues. I can introduce you to a good psychiatrist and an excellent divorce lawyer."

He deliberately emphasized the word "divorce". After all, if I did get divorced, he could rightfully take my place.