It was eleven at night, and I was getting ready to head out for my overnight cleaning shift to help make ends meet.

That's when a video popped up on my feed.

The title read: Show Off Your Old Awards and Certificates!

The comment section was buzzing, but one reply stood out above all the rest.

"I was never good at school, so does it count if my husband had custom awards made just for me?"

Unlike everyone else posting yellowed paper certificates from their childhood, the photo this woman shared showed an entire wall of awards cast in solid gold.

Each one was studded with colored diamonds spelling out things like World's Most Adorable Sweetheart and Most Enchanting Little Vixen.

I shook my head in amazement. Rich people really did flex differently when showing off their love.

I was about to scroll past when, egged on by a flood of jealous and admiring comments, the woman posted another photo.

A kiss shot of the happy couple.

My fingertip froze in midair. Every drop of blood in my body went cold.

Against the backdrop of that lavish interior, the man's profile was unmistakable. I would have recognized it anywhere.

It was my husband. Edmund Mason. The one who was supposed to be out driving a cab right now.

...

The comments were going wild.

"Oh my God, do men like this actually exist? Gorgeous, loaded, AND obsessed with his wife? No way this isn't photoshopped!"

To prove it was real, the girl secretly started a livestream.

On screen, a tall man in an apron moved around a gleaming kitchen, his back to the camera. He must have sensed someone watching, because he turned and smiled, soft and warm.

Edmund's face filled the screen.

The girl's voice came through in a giddy whisper.

"See? My husband spoils me rotten. This penthouse is worth tens of millions. He gave it to me as a birthday present."

"Okay, gotta go! Hubby's making me a late-night snack!"

The livestream cut off abruptly. Viewers flooded the chat with envy.

I was the only one whose heart was turning to ice, inch by inch.

I picked up my phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. Finally, I couldn't stop myself and dialed the number I knew by heart.

The line rang for a long time before he answered. When he did, Edmund's voice carried that familiar, carefully manufactured exhaustion.

"Louisa Sullivan. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just wondering what you're doing."

He let out a tired chuckle.

"What do you think? Driving the cab, same as always. Just dropped off a fare. Made about a hundred bucks."

"Is Felix asleep? Be careful heading out tonight. Oh, and happy anniversary. Once I've paid off the debt, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I glanced at the clock. It was already past midnight.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a woman's petulant whine drifted through the phone.

"Babe, you promised you'd focus on me tonight! Why are you still on the phone? So mean! I'm gonna cry!"

Edmund's breath hitched. A thread of panic crept into his voice.

"There's a female passenger. Sounds like she had too much to drink. I have to go."

"And Louisa... try not to call while I'm working. It's not safe."

He hung up before I could respond.

I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. Not safe. Was that really the reason, or was he afraid of upsetting someone?

I set the phone down and looked around the cramped studio apartment.

Five years of marriage, and this was still our home. The same place we'd moved into as newlyweds.

The furniture was so old I'd lost count of how many times I'd patched and glued it back together.

When I married Edmund Mason, he'd just gone bankrupt. Millions in debt. And he came with a two-year-old son his late wife had left behind.

During the day, he worked his regular job. At night, he drove a cab to earn extra money.

I couldn't work full-time because someone had to take care of Felix, and I felt so guilty watching Edmund run himself ragged that I never let him lift a finger around the house.

Every night after the boy fell asleep, I'd head to a nightclub to mop floors and scrub toilets, hoping to shoulder even a fraction of the burden.

The jeans I was wearing had been washed so many times the cuffs were fraying. I couldn't bring myself to buy a new pair.

The Club Manager images from that video replayed in my mind: the multimillion-dollar mansion, the trophy encrusted with gold and diamonds, and Edmund cooking for someone else.

I couldn't name what I was feeling.

"God, you're so loud! Do you even know what time it is? Why haven't you left yet?"

My seven-year-old stepson, Felix Mason, emerged from his bedroom, rolling his eyes like a jaded little adult.

"Dad works himself to the bone to support this family, and all you do is sit around being lazy and bothering him."

"Your cooking is terrible, you're broke and ugly, and all you ever do is embarrass me. You're nothing compared to—"

He stopped himself.

For five years, I had raised that boy as my own.

I didn't know when it started, but somewhere along the way, Felix had come to despise me. I'd always assumed he was grieving his late mother. But in that moment, something in his unfinished sentence caught my attention.

"Compared to who?"

He refused to answer. He just spat, "None of your damn business," and slammed his bedroom door shut.

I was going to be late. I reminded him through the door to lock up and go to bed early, then hurried out.

By the time I finished scrubbing the vomit from the last private room, daylight was flooding in through the windows.

My back ached so badly I could barely stand straight. I was about to collect my pay and clock out.

The club manager slammed his palm on the desk and barked at me.

"I just did an inspection. Your cleaning last night was completely unacceptable. And you have the nerve to ask for money?"

"Go back and redo every single room. Otherwise, you're not getting a cent."

I stood there, stunned. I had cleaned every room twice, making sure each one was spotless before moving on to the next.

I couldn't let a whole night's work go to waste. But I also needed to get home to make Felix breakfast and take him to school.

I sent Edmund a message on WhatsApp.

This time, he replied almost immediately.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take him. You've been working hard, Louisa."

Halfway through re-cleaning, I went to the restroom to rinse out a rag. That was when I heard the manager's voice coming from the men's room next door. He was on the phone.

"Mr. Mason, don't you worry. By the time she's done re-cleaning every room, it'll take her hours."

"I guarantee Miss Pruitt will get to sleep in as long as she wants. She won't be disturbed."

"Heh, it's the least I can do. Can't just pocket your three hundred grand for nothing."

I leaned against the cold wall. My knees trembled with pain.

But that pain was nothing compared to hearing Edmund's voice on the other end say, "Good work."

My hands moved on instinct. I pulled out my phone and opened the home surveillance feed.

The girl from last night's video walked out of our bedroom in a silk camisole.

The hickeys on her neck were impossible to miss.

She draped her arms around Edmund's neck, her voice syrupy and coy.

"Did you drop Felix off at school?"

"Baby, since nobody's home, can we go another round?"

"Cut it out. Get some more sleep first, then I'll take you back. If Louisa finds out, she'll make a scene."

Edmund said no, but he didn't push her away.

The girl curled her lip in contempt.

"So what? That washed-up frump is nothing but a free nanny you brought in to take care of Felix for my sister. The marriage certificate isn't even real."

"I'm not your little sister-in-law anymore, you know. I'm your legally recognized wife." She poked his chest playfully. "So when are you going to get rid of her? I want to live with you out in the open."

Edmund paused. Then he reached over and gently stroked her hair.

"Taking care of a kid is exhausting. Louisa grew up rough, so she's better suited for that kind of thing."

"All you need to do is exactly what you're doing now: enjoy yourself, and be my carefree little princess."

A roar filled my skull. The phone shook violently in my grip.

Staring at the girl's familiar face, it finally clicked.

Edmund's first wife, the one who died in a car accident. This was her younger sister.

Audrey Pruitt.

Because there was no money, our wedding had been a modest affair—just a few tables at a small banquet.

I'd long since cut ties with my family, so every guest there was a friend of Edmund's.

Audrey had come too.

She'd lifted her chin and spoken to me in a tone that was less request than command.

"You'd better take good care of our Edmund and little Felix from now on."

At the time, I'd told myself that a sister-in-law was still family. Even though her words left a sour taste in my mouth, I said nothing.

Now, looking back, the arrogance in her eyes was unmistakable. She'd looked at me the way a lady of the house looks at the hired help.

I stumbled home in a daze and found the front door slightly ajar.

Edmund sat on the couch. A man in a tailored suit stood beside him, his tone deferential.

"Mr. Mason, Miss Pruitt has been taken home safely."

"It's just... yesterday was your anniversary with Louisa, after all. Are you sure you don't want to give her something a little more... substantial? You bought Miss Pruitt a luxury condo for her birthday."

Edmund shook his head, indifferent.

"No need. Louisa's the type of woman who crawled out of some backwater nowhere. If she ever found out there was money, she'd get greedy—start bleeding me dry, funneling cash back to her family."

"The only reason I picked her in the first place was because she had experience with kids, no connections, no background. Easy to manage. And she wouldn't mistreat Felix."

"As long as Louisa stays in line and raises Felix to adulthood, I'll consider giving her some kind of settlement."

"As for Audrey—I made a promise to her sister that I'd take care of her. I can't let her suffer. Besides, spending money on Audrey keeps it in the family."

Edmund and I had met by accident.

That year, my father and stepmother had tracked me down, trying to drag me back to the countryside to marry me off. They wanted to use the dowry to build a house for my younger brother.

The groom they'd picked was a man pushing sixty.

I fought with everything I had. In my darkest moment of desperation, Edmund happened to pass by and saved me.

He'd put himself between me and them, staring coldly at my father and stepmother as they writhed on the ground.

"She's a person. Not a tool for satisfying your selfish desires."

His first wife had just passed away. He'd been drowning in grief, with no idea how to care for a two-year-old on his own.

So he started asking me for advice—me, with my background in early childhood education.

I'd been forced to raise my younger brother since I was a child. As a way of repaying Edmund's kindness, I often helped him look after Felix.

My stepmother's cruelty. My father's neglect.

They had carved something deep into me—a desperate hunger for love and a bone-deep belief that I didn't deserve it.

And Edmund was the first person who had ever shown me respect. The first person who had ever protected me.

Even knowing he was millions of dollars in debt, even knowing his heart still belonged to his dead wife, I said yes when he asked me to marry him.

I even quit the job I loved so I could take better care of Felix.

But I never imagined that five years of devotion and sacrifice would amount to this.

In his eyes, I was nothing more than a free nanny.

In his heart, I didn't even rank as high as his dead wife's sister.

I was just an outsider.

While I stood there, frozen, Edmund's startled voice cut through the silence.

"Louisa—when did you get back?"

He shot the man a look, signaling him to leave.

There was a thin thread of guilt woven into his voice.

"Louisa, that's a buddy of mine from the taxi company. We just finished a night shift together, came back for some tea."

I didn't say a word. The whole thing was almost laughable.

What kind of cab driver wore a designer suit fresh off a department store rack?

I moved toward the bedroom, but a bolt of pain shot through my knee. My leg buckled, and I nearly hit the floor.

Edmund caught me and guided me to the couch. He looked at my swollen, bruised knee with what was meant to pass for concern.

"How did it get this bad? Did that manager give you trouble again?"

He set a container of cheap takeout in front of me, his expression heavy with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Louisa. This is all my fault."

"You never let yourself splurge on this place. Think of it as my anniversary gift to you. Once I've paid off the debt, I'll make it up to you properly."