His Secret Mistress Lived Under My Roof

Three years ago, Vincent Weiss saved my life. The accident left him with severe separation anxiety disorder, and from that day on, he had to be with his female buddy at all times.

When I was hospitalized and called him, he said his female buddy was on a business trip and he couldn't leave her side.

On the day of our wedding, I called him. He said his female buddy was sick and he couldn't leave her side.

Even the day I went into labor and hemorrhaged, when I called him, his voice cracked with panic, thick with emotion, yet he still said his female buddy had gone back to her hometown and he couldn't leave her side.

Then, on the day I was discharged, I passed by a VIP room. Inside, a man was kneading a woman's legs with practiced ease.

A few of his buddies stood around, laughing and teasing：

“Our boy Vincent, now that's true love. Staged a car accident three years ago so Gay Henson would think he developed separation anxiety saving her.”

“That way you two could be together every second of every day.”

The man smiled and nodded, his tone casual：

“Gay can't stand being away from me. This was the only way to settle things once and for all, so I could focus on Eudora and the baby she's carrying.”

The next second, my phone rang.

“Babe, my separation anxiety's been getting worse lately. I won't be able to come home for a while. Be good and wait for me, okay?”

I lifted my gaze and looked at the man.

Vincent Weiss, you never have to come home again.

……

For the first time, I didn't reply to Vincent's message right away.

I just stood there, head bowed, staring at the chat window in silence, my eyes turning red.

It had been so long.

Our message history was pathetically sparse.

“Honey, today's our seventh wedding anniversary. Remember to come home early!”

“Eat without me. Eudora's working late tonight. I need to stay with her.”

“Honey, I'm at the hospital on an IV drip. Can you come keep me company?”

“Eudora needs surgery. I have to be with her.”

Every single reply he'd ever sent circled back to the same person: his best female buddy, Eudora Gilbert.

Every time I needed Vincent most, he repeated the same refrain about his condition, over and over.

Reminding me, always reminding me, that only by staying at Eudora's side could his disorder remain stable.

And every time, the guilt would swallow me whole.

If it weren't for me, Vincent would never have gotten sick.

If it weren't for me, his life and career wouldn't be so constrained.

Time passed.

I'd grown used to it.

But now the naked truth had been ripped open right in front of me, without warning, without mercy.

Vincent Weiss had been lying to me all along.

I stumbled out of the hospital in a daze. A taxi honked：

“You getting in or not?”

My phone buzzed.

Another message from Vincent.

“You didn't forget, did you? Today's a really important day. I've invited some friends over tonight, so make sure you dress up nice.”

I stood frozen.

A calendar reminder popped up on my phone. Today was my birthday.

Vincent remembered.

Something trembled deep in my chest.

The taxi honked again：

“Are you getting in or what?”

“Yes.”

Maybe I'd heard wrong back there? Maybe it was all a misunderstanding?

Clinging to that last sliver of hope, I got in the car and went home.

I'd barely finished my makeup and changed when the front door swung open.

It was Vincent and Eudora.

Eudora slipped off her coat with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times, held it out to Vincent, and said without a shred of hesitation：

“Hang this up for me.”

The next second, she let out a soft cry of pain, clutching her knee, her face twisted in agony.

I watched as Vincent rushed to her side, panic written all over his face, scooping her into his arms and lowering her gently onto the couch.

Then he turned to me and tossed out an order：