On Valentine’s Day, my husband had yet to return home.

I went to his company, only to catch him on his knees in his female boss’s office.

I froze in place, nausea rising in my chest.

But my husband slowly wiped the corner of his mouth and explained impatiently.

“Don’t misunderstand. Monica Lewis just gave birth—she was feeling uncomfortable, so I had to…”

I cut him off coldly. “Isn’t a breast pump for that?”

The boss, Monica, leisurely buttoned her shirt and clung to Ryan Carter’s arm.

“Machines can’t compare to the warmth of a person. Ryan tried so hard just now—I feel so much better. This time, let him go home early!”

Facing her provocation, I forced down my anger and forced a smile.

“You’re right. I overreacted just now.”

They didn’t know I was plotting something bigger, something that would ruin them completely.

…

“Since today’s Valentine’s Day, I’ll let Ryan go home early. But you probably didn’t cook dinner, right?”

Monica calmly adjusted her clothes.

Her flushed face lifted as she smiled at me.

“Ryan ate well here already. I doubt he can stomach what you made…”

Ryan reached out to touch me, but the strange scent clinging to him made me step back coldly.

He frowned, growing more impatient.

“Can’t you be more generous? Can’t you have some sympathy for a mother?”

“Emily Johnson, Monica is my boss. I can’t just stand by and let her suffer, can I?”

Monica’s syrupy voice rang out as she smugly brushed her fingers across Ryan’s lips.

“Little sister, I felt wonderful just now. When you have a baby, you can let Ryan help you too. He’s a good man—you’ll be happy with him.”

She raised her brows at me triumphantly, as though pushing me toward suspicion.

I looked at her quietly and simply nodded.

By the time we got home, it was nearly midnight. Ryan collapsed into bed, sound asleep.

But I ended up retching violently in the bathroom.

Disgust. Overwhelming disgust.

Monica was ten years older than both me and Ryan, yet she always used the excuse of being “an older sister” to make him do things.

On our wedding day, she happened to give birth.

With a single phone call, she summoned Ryan to the hospital, where he stayed by her side for an entire month—

eating with her, sleeping beside her, washing her body, cleaning up after her.

The nurses at the hospital all thought Ryan was her husband.

I once asked him through tears if I had any place in his heart.

He said,

“Monica’s husband is away for work all year. I’m just helping her on his behalf. Don’t overthink it.”

The day I burned with fever, Ryan was out having dinner with Monica.

Every time I needed him, he was at her house.

My thoughts drifted back to the present.

Looking at the wedding decorations plastered across the house, I let out a bitter laugh.

The bright red symbols I had stayed up late cutting mocked my foolishness.

Numb, I tore them down one by one.

This time, I swore, I would get evidence of their betrayal and expose them completely.

The next day, our company held a team-building event.

When it was time for our group’s yoga performance, Monica insisted on partnering with me, demanding difficult moves.

I didn’t want to agree.

“Monica, your stance isn’t stable. You’re not suited for—”

Before I could finish, Ryan snapped at me.

“Don’t underestimate Monica! She might look fragile, but she’s probably a hundred times stronger than you!”

The air fell silent.

People around us murmured.

“First time I’ve seen a man defend someone else by humiliating his own wife. Incredible.”

I looked at Ryan’s handsome face, sighed helplessly, and endured.

During the performance, Monica deliberately let go, making me crash onto the hard grass below.

The moment my chin hit the ground, two of my front teeth flew out.

I thought they might help me up.

But instead, they doubled over laughing at my misfortune.

Monica sneered.

“Little sister, did you just eat dirt? That’s hilarious!”

“With your teeth gone, will your words whistle through the gaps now?”

Ryan laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

Struggling to rise, I realized my forehead was bleeding as well.

I glared at Monica, demanding an explanation.

She pouted pitifully, hiding behind Ryan.

“Little sister, don’t stare at me like that—you’re scaring me…”

Ryan shielded her with his body.

“Emily, calm down. Don’t be so aggressive!”

“You fell because your skills are poor. Don’t blame Monica.”

“Look at your petty attitude. Losing teeth serves you right!”

I swallowed my fury.

“She’s never even practiced yoga, yet she insisted on partnering with me and made me fall. I’m the victim here—can you get that straight?”

Monica’s eyes shimmered, like a wounded deer.

Seeing her flushed nose, Ryan scolded me for being too harsh.

In front of everyone, he pulled Monica into his arms to comfort her.

After the event, I overheard their conversation.

“Ryan, you scolded Emily for me just now. Aren’t you afraid she’ll be mad? If she refuses to let you into the bedroom tonight, don’t suffer. Just come play at my place… my husband isn’t home, you know what I mean…”

Inside the private room, Monica straddled Ryan’s lap, teasing him endlessly.

She leaned in to kiss him, but Ryan held the back of her head and deepened it.

His eyes burned with desire.

“Are you sure? Emily’s missing teeth now—I don’t even want to sleep with her anymore.”

His words pierced me like knives.

Maybe I should have stormed in and confronted him,

but reality left me paralyzed, listening to their cruel laughter.

Monica cooed, “I’ll wait for you tonight.”

Ryan whispered something suggestive in her ear.

Her cheeks flushed pink as she playfully hit his chest.

Watching them heat up, my stomach churned.

I forced myself to stay calm and snapped photos of their intimacy.

Then I called my best friend.

“Sophia, help me find Monica’s husband.”

Within minutes, she had dug up information.

His name was David Miller. He was serving overseas in the military.

A righteous man, and the type who despised adulterous women.

I curved my lips into a smile.

This would be interesting.

Afterward, Ryan began showing open disdain toward me.

He used “helping Monica through postpartum depression” as his excuse to stay at her house.

One night, while I was sleeping deeply, Monica bombarded me with messages.

Half-asleep, I opened my phone—

and what I saw made my eyes burn red.

In the video, Monica wore barely anything, hanging off Ryan’s body.

There were indecent things scattered across the floor.

My vision went black.

They had finally crossed the line.

I didn’t even have the energy to be sad or angry.

Silently, I saved the video.

Then another message came.

“I was just feeling down after giving birth, so Ryan came to help me. Tell me, who do you think he really loves?”

Her words were a blatant provocation.

Clenching my fists, I sent the video to David.

“If you don’t come back soon, someone’s going to steal your wife.”

The next day, at the company gala,

I wore a beautiful gown.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward me—

including Ryan’s.

Monica followed his gaze and met my eyes.

Jealousy flickered across her face as she sized up my dress.

She scoffed.

“Young women dressing like this, bare arms and legs—it’s disgraceful to the company image!”

I kept my expression calm. “Monica, this is professional attire.”

Her gaze turned venomous as she stepped closer.

“Professional? I think it shows where your mind is.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing here. What’s wrong, isn’t your husband enough for you? Now you’re seducing other male colleagues too?”

I frowned, confused.

I never even talked to the men at work.

But she fabricated accusations out of thin air.

“Stop pretending, Emily. I saw you straddling a male colleague the other day! What, isn’t Ryan enough? On the surface you look innocent, but behind his back, you’re nothing but a shameless flirt!”

Her words were sharp, vicious, and certain.

I felt insulted and raised my hand to push her away.

But Ryan slapped me across the face.

Pain exploded.

My ear rang as a handprint burned across my cheek.

He towered over me.

“You slut! No wonder you’ve been avoiding me lately—you’ve been getting your fill outside, haven’t you?”

Shock rattled me.

Just on her word alone, Ryan struck me.

I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen.

“You whore! I’m divorcing you!”

Monica, satisfied with her scheme, laughed in the shadows.

She patted Ryan’s back soothingly.

“There, there. I’ll help you vent your anger.”

She waved, and two burly security guards stepped forward.

They twisted my arms painfully behind my back.

Fear chilled me as I struggled in vain—

the difference in strength left me helpless.

Ignoring my cries and the horrified stares of guests, they dragged me into a side room.

I tried to escape, but Monica slammed the door shut.

In the darkness, her smile twisted.

“They say unfaithful women stink. Do you smell it?”

The guards smirked.

“Yeah, reeks.”

“Ugh, wouldn’t touch her even if she were free!”

Monica raised her stiletto and kicked me hard in the stomach.

“You hear that? Since they said it, I’ll help disinfect you.”

“Better brace yourself.”

Pain wracked my body as I curled up on the floor.

“Emily, you’d better endure it. I’m doing you a favor—keeping your filth from polluting the air.”

Monica’s vicious laughter filled the room.

She opened a bottle of bleach, the acrid, corrosive stench overwhelming the air.

I shuddered.

“Stop! If you dare touch me, my friend will expose your video with Ryan to the public!”

“And I’ve already told your husband, David. He’ll be here soon to deal with you.”