After the company cafeteria changed chefs, my husband, Xavier Hennessey, kept complaining that the food tasted awful lately.

Out of sympathy, I chose to prepare a special lunchbox for him on his birthday. I dedicated the entire morning to the kitchen, meticulously making each dish.

Xavier was thrilled when I brought it to him, and after a few bites, he couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.

Unfortunately, an unfamiliar intern happened to walk in right at that moment.

She said, “Sorry to interrupt,” but the look she gave me was off, almost assessing.

I didn’t think much of it at the time.

I should have.

Then, not long after, the new intern went online and hung me out to dry.

[What a shameless slut! She’s even carrying another man’s child and still comes to the office to seduce my husband. She’s been pregnant for months and not working. Must be desperate and lonely at home. No wonder she’s desperate for attention. Who’s this Vivian Summer’s husband in the photo? Your wife is cheating on you, did you know? Come get her.]

Staring at a candid shot of me—God knows where she found it—now stamped with a big 'slut' label, I let out a half-smile and dialed my husband's number.

“I hear you’ve got yourself an intern wife? Xavier, you’re fired."

——

Xavier picked up in a second.

He still appeared to be at his desk; sharp keystrokes echoed in the background.

“Vivian? What’s wrong?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, my eyes stayed on Ysabelle’s posts, the intern who had posted about me.

If the finance team hadn’t just given me the girl’s social handle, I wouldn’t have even known someone like this was right under my nose.

Every line in her Instagram stories oozed a gold-digger’s superiority. Even her profile motto read: 'Marry a rich man.'

Only when Xavier started to sound anxious, asking over and over what had happened, did I speak, unhurried.

“That intern you hired, Ysabelle Lawson. I ran into her at the office today,” I said, keeping my tone steady.

I didn’t bring up the photos directly.

I simply forwarded a screenshot of her Instagram to him, including her little motto: “Marry a rich man.”

“Your little intern barged into your office at lunch without knocking. Then, before the workday was even over, she turned around and posted me online, saying I was seducing you,” I added, the words cool as glass.

There was a pause on the other end, a few seconds of stunned silence.

When he spoke, Xavier’s voice had gone low, the anger tamped down but audible.

“Vivian, don’t worry. I’ll take care of Yssa,” he said.

“And how exactly are you going to handle it?” I asked with a soft laugh, my hand drifting, without thinking, to my rounded belly.

Because I was five or six months pregnant, Xavier had been considerate of how difficult it was for me to get around. He told me to stop running back and forth to the office and rest at home.

Today was only an exception, because it was his birthday, and I wanted him to taste my cooking again, to have something warm from home.

And yet that small gesture had brought on a storm of gossip.

Just moments ago, I saw that the post had already hit the hot search. Following the thread, I clicked on Ysabelle’s social media account.

The comments were filling up with people who knew nothing about the situation.

Some people cursed me without knowing anything.

Some asked, “Which company has such a blind boss?”

I scrolled through Ysabelle's page again. The latest post, taken half an hour ago, was a selfie taken downstairs at our company.

The caption read: [Work hard, get closer to your goal.]

The location tag was unmistakably the address of Xavier’s company.

How blatant.

She might as well have displayed a banner saying she was Ysabelle Lawson and that this was her workplace.

“And she says you’re her husband. I’d like to know how you intend to look at that?” I asked, letting the question hang.

There was a loud thud on the other end, as if something had been slammed onto his desk.

Xavier took a deep breath and said, “Vivian, she’s just a young girl. She doesn’t know any better. Yssa made a mistake before, and I thought I’d taught her a lesson. I didn’t think she would cross the line again.”

“Don’t worry. If she can’t handle this properly, I’ll have her pack up and get out immediately,” Xavier said, his assurance firm, every word hammered into place.

At that, the corner of my mouth lifted.

Even after all this, he still wanted to keep that intern?

Just then, a faint cramp pinched my belly. My baby seemed to sense my mood and gave a gentle kick.

Steeling myself, I said evenly, “Xavier, I can let it go that she spread rumours about me. But she called the child in my belly a bastard.”

I drew a tighter breath and added, “You know me. I can’t tolerate being wronged. And I certainly won’t allow my child to be insulted for no reason.”

On his end, I heard him spring to his feet; the chair legs screeched across the floor with a harsh scrape.

“Babe, don’t be upset,” he said quickly. “It’s not worth it in your condition. Where are you? I’ll come to you right now.”

“No need,” I cut him off, my tone cool and controlled. “She’s a new intern—young and bound to make mistakes. Just make sure she understands that you’re my husband, not someone she can toy with.”

He agreed without hesitation. “Alright, Vivian. Anyone who bullies you or our child, I won’t let them off. I’ll have Finance settle things with the company and tell that intern to leave.”

“Just firing her isn’t enough,” I said, glancing at the wedding photo hanging on the wall, the frame glinting in the light.

“Xavier, I want you to handle this cleanly. Make that intern post a clarification, apologize to me across the entire internet, and fire her.”

I softened nothing as I finished, “I don’t want to see anything like this happen again.”

He swore he would take care of it.

However, about half an hour later, my phone lit up with a call from Ysabelle Lawson.

“Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped without preamble. “You damn bitch! You think you can have my husband fire me? Just because your family’s got a bit of filthy money? Don’t act like I don’t know who you are! My husband works for your company, but he’s not your family’s slave! If you keep pushing him, don’t blame me when I set the whole internet on you! That post earlier? That was just a warning. Next time, you better watch out, or your bastard child might not be so lucky…”

I waited until she ran out of steam.

Then, keeping my voice like ice, I said, “Do you really not know that phones have call recording? Yssa, I held my tongue because you’re an intern. I wasn’t going to stoop to your level. But now, that’s different. You’ve hurled baseless insults at me and my child. I can have a lawyer pursue your legal liability.”

She didn’t sound the least bit afraid.

If anything, her tone turned mocking.

“Oh, I’m so scared… Please, for an old woman like you, you’re awfully confident. My husband already said he’ll protect me no matter what! As for you, just wait for the mob to tear you apart.”

When the line went dead, my chest rose and fell, a slow ripple of breath.

It had been years since I’d encountered someone this outrageous.

I was just about to call Xavier to ask how things were progressing when, all at once, the work group chat exploded.

Yssa had started a barrage of messages. One after another, she posted long, flowery paragraphs. The gist, she claimed, was that the uproar online was all a misunderstanding.

[That day, I had just broken up with my boyfriend. He left me for another woman, and I was too emotional. That’s why I said what I said online. As for that candid photo of Vivian Summers, I didn’t even know it was you. I thought it was just some random picture I downloaded online… I’m really sorry for the harm this has caused you, Vivian.]

Scrolling down, I found Yssa’s apology strikingly sincere.

Even so, the dissonance jarred me. I couldn’t reconcile this meek, contrite voice with the woman who had just screamed at me over the phone.

With a few weightless lines, she had brushed herself clean of blame.

I drew a long breath.

“Fine,” I murmured to myself.

I had no intention of sparring endlessly with a young girl.

So, I chalked it up as a small hiccup in life and let it go.

...

The next day, however, reality snapped back.

I recalled removing my bracelet and leaving it in Xavier’s office, so I asked the driver to pick it up. However, at the company entrance, I discovered that my fingerprint and facial recognition access had been deactivated.

It was absurd.

My own company, and I no longer even had the right to enter.

So, I pulled out my phone and called Xavier.

“What’s going on? Did you reset the building access?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, I heard a rustle, and then a man’s low, muffled grunt.

Only after he let out a long breath did he fumble up the call.

“Vivian, what did you say? I’ve been busy. I didn’t catch that…” he said, sounding distracted.

But that strange sound had already put me on high alert.

Cold spread through my veins.

I knew that sound of his voice too well—the way he only sounded when he was aroused, in bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice winter-cold. “Who’s with you right now?”

Before he could answer, a thought struck me.

Swiftly, I opened the surveillance backend on my phone, and in the next second, my world caved in.

As expected, the office blinds were fully drawn.

In the sealed room, Xavier sat in his chair while a young woman worked her hands over his shoulders.

I recognized her at once.

Ysabelle Lawson, the very intern who had been hurling insults at me yesterday.

My fingers clenched tightly, and heat stung the corners of my eyes.

Xavier had lied to me.

No wonder he was always so patient with her, defending her repeatedly, even when she had clearly crossed the line.

Now, I understand. They had been involved all along.

He stammered on the other end, trying to come up with an excuse.

“It’s nothing, babe. You misheard. I’ve been sitting too long, so I was massaging my own shoulders,” he said lamely.

“Really?” I said quietly. “You did it all by yourself? No pretty little helper around?”

On the screen, he furtively waved Yssa away.

She slipped out of the office, reluctant.

“See? No one here,” he said then, switching to a joking tone as if to lighten the air. “If I had that kind of time, I’d go to a massage parlor, wouldn’t I?

He tried to sound playful, lighthearted. "Vivian, why are you calling right now? Is something wrong? Do you want me to come keep you company?”

I stared at the man on the feed. He was the same one I knew, yet somewhere along the way, he had rotted.

He lied to me so casually. Every other time, I’d believed him.

Who knew how many times he’d fooled me already?

For a moment, I just breathed.

I forced myself to breathe and sound calm as I asked. “Why was my building access canceled?”

Then, unexpectedly, a memory resurfaced from a recent get-together with my friends, their gentle warnings echoing in my mind.

“These days, the real danger isn’t mistresses,” one of them had said, wine glass in hand. “It’s men who live off their wives. Be careful with your husband.”

“We all know Xavier treats you well, practically worships you,” another added.

“But you can’t ignore a man’s pride and ambition,” a third chimed in.

“Especially after he found out you're a rich heiress. With him being pressed under your heel like that, what man would enjoy it?”