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.

Nyla, going along with him, kissed his forehead, then turned back to me with eyes as cold as ice.

"Get lost right now, or I'm calling the police!"

She turned and shouted sharply at Fiona, "Call security and have them throw this lunatic out! Who knows what dangerous things he might do next? What if he hurts the other guests?"

The crowd was fully stirred up now. "Hurry up and kick him out, or we'll lodge a complaint!"

Fiona didn't dare hesitate any longer and quickly called security over the walkie-talkie.

Two burly security guards immediately appeared, grabbed my arms from both sides, and dragged me toward the entrance.

I struggled desperately, my elbows aching from the scuffle.

In the chaos, Craig slipped quietly next to me at some point. Then, when no one was looking, he tripped me.

I was already off balance, so that easily sent me crashing hard to the floor.

"Oh dear," Craig exclaimed, feigning innocence. "Why are you trying to frame me? I was just trying to help you, yet you deliberately threw yourself onto the floor so you could blame me?"

My ankle swelled almost instantly, and my knee was badly scraped with blood seeping out. The pain made my face turn pale. I tried to stand up, but failed.

Nyla just stood there, watching coldly, as if I were a complete stranger.

In that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I no longer held any hope for her.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone, wanting to call for an ambulance. But I'd only just unlocked it when Nyla lunged forward and snatched it away.

"What are you trying to do? Call the police?" she lashed out first. "I'm telling you—we all saw exactly what happened. You threw yourself down on purpose. Don't even think about framing my husband or the hotel."

"I have a blood-clotting disorder. Call an ambulance now!" I shouted through the pain.

But Nyla didn't budge. Instead, she hurled my phone across the lobby.

Fiona, afraid of getting into trouble, hesitated and didn't move.

Completely alone, I could only endure the excruciating pain and try to crawl toward the phone using my uninjured leg for support.

Suddenly, a luxurious leather shoe stomped down hard on the back of my hand.

Craig looked down at me from above. "Sign a statement admitting that this was all your own fault, and I'll call you an ambulance. Otherwise…"

He pressed down even harder.

A searing pain shot through my hand. Mixed with the pain in my knee and ankle, I nearly passed out. I couldn't utter a word, and my whole body shook violently from both the pain and the rage. My vision began to blur.

Just when I thought I was about to pass out, rapid, heavy footsteps echoed from the hotel entrance. It was Uncle Eric striding toward us.

"Oy, nephew! I found it! That bitch Nyla really has been cheating on you!" he shouted. "She's booked rooms here more times than you have in the past few years. She even had the nerve to give your VIP card to that boy toy of hers! I'm going to skin her alive!"

Uncle Eric—the hotel's biggest investor—had walked in with several senior executives and security guards in tow.

But when he saw me kneeling on the floor in such a miserable state, his voice abruptly cut off.

Fiona, who had been so arrogant just moments ago, went completely pale. Trembling, she called out nervously, "Mr. Fuller… Sir…"