My husband and I were driving home when a woman, dressed provocatively, suddenly appeared in front of our car, making us stop.

She slammed her fist against the window, demanding, "Get the fuck out, you bitch!"

I was still trying to process what was happening, confusion swirling in my mind, when I saw my husband, Tristan McAllister, get out of the car.

He walked over to the woman and wrapped his arms around her, attempting to calm her down.

"Shirley, please don't make a scene," he said, his voice full of apology. "I didn't ignore your calls on purpose. I was just really busy with the family dinner today."

My heart tightened.

I opened the car door, ready to step out and confront them, but just before I could move, Tristan reached over, using his free hand to push me back into the passenger seat.

"Don't come out! Don't scare her!" His voice was filled with urgency.

At that moment, Shirley Reynolds pointed a trembling finger at me, her face twisted with fury. "You slut, do you think Tristan belongs to you alone? Stop hogging him! If you don't let him answer my calls next time, I'll tear your face off!"

Here I was, the legal wife, stuck in the passenger seat like some mistress, forced to hide away.

It was like being struck by lightning.

After going through a tough labor that left me paralyzed and spending three years abroad for treatment, I was starting to recover when this woman—this mistress—came out into the open to confront me.

Tristan, as if trying to comfort his grandmother, left me and the car behind on the side of the road. He scooped his mistress up in his arms and walked away with her.

I had just gathered all the details about Shirley when her call came in.

"Don't think you can threaten Tristan with divorce to make him cut me off," Shirley sneered through the phone. "Let me tell you, you bitch, I don't give a damn whether he divorces you or not! Being his wife is just a burden, anyway. Besides, illegitimate children have inheritance rights. All Tristan's money and love are with me."

His money? This mistress was something else.

Fine then, let's make this a high-stakes game.

——

"Only shallow women like you care so much about the title," Shirley sneered. "I'll give that title to you. You can be his wife, but from now on, stay in your lane. Stop interfering in our relationship, Lauren!"

Shirley's words were more like a threat; the way she spoke made it seem as if she were the rightful wife. Her arrogance came from the confidence Tristan had given her.

A fire ignited in my chest as I gripped the phone tightly.

"If you really had any capability, you wouldn't be making a scene in front of me like some clown! Also, Shirley, the title wasn't given to me by you. It's something you'll never get, no matter how much you kneel to heaven and earth. The things you don't care about, do you think I would care?"

Shirley's anger flared, and she spat furiously, "You'll pay for what you fucking said. I'll make you see just how much your dear husband loves me!"

With a sharp click, she hung up the phone.

I sat there, frozen, holding the phone for what felt like an eternity.

Everything felt so surreal, like I was watching a nightmare unfold.

If Shirley hadn't confronted me, I would never have believed that Tristan—the man who swore to stand by me through thick and thin—could betray me.

I couldn't believe that the same husband, who gave up everything—spending all his money and draining the family's fortune to send me abroad for the best treatment—would now betray me with her.

I sent a message to my father's most trusted lawyer, Felix Armstrong, asking for help.

"I want to do property preservation. Help me check Tristan's finances. He's cheating on me."

Making that decision felt suffocating, as if a part of me was being torn away.

Tristan finally came back, his face full of guilt.

He sat across from me, unable to meet my eyes.

I stared at him, unable to believe the man sitting in front of me was the same one who had once held me close and promised we would never be apart.

I suddenly remembered when we were younger. Tristan was eighteen, picking a wildflower from the roadside.

With a shy smile, he had handed it to me, saying, "I'll always give you, Lauren Carmichael, flowers, and that means I will always love you passionately."

The memory hit me like a blade to the chest. The pain was so intense it almost drove me mad. My eyes filled with tears.

Maybe seeing me cry triggered something in him.

His eyes flickered with guilt, and he spoke, his voice small. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Tristan's words hung heavily in the air, and for a brief moment, our eyes locked.

But then, he quickly lowered his gaze, unable to hold my stare for more than a second.

"Is this how you explain things to me?"

I tried to keep my voice steady, but the tremor in my words betrayed me.

Tears shimmered in my eyes, threatening to fall.

"Shirley doesn't care about the title," Tristan said softly. "I'll try to balance both of your relationships."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

He actually thought I'd agree to share him with another woman?

I bit my lip, forcing back the emotions rising within me.

There was no point in losing my mind over being unloved. I had to stay composed.

I took a deep breath and spoke, trying to keep my voice even. "Let's get a divorce. I'll make it easy for you."

His gaze immediately hardened, his eyes firm and resolute. It was as if he were ready to fight this.

"I married you, and I'll be responsible for you for life. Besides, you suffered from complications during childbirth and were paralyzed for three years because of me. I'll spend my whole life making it up to you. Just please don't make things harder for Shirley."

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Making it up to me? By sleeping with another woman?"

He froze, his face falling as he processed my words.

Then, Tristan looked like he was about to crack under the weight of my questions.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled helplessly. "But I'll be honest with you. I love both you and Shirley. I can't let either of you go."

Before I could respond, his phone rang, cutting through the tension.

He fumbled it out, and when he saw the name on the screen, his expression tensed.

Tossing down one last line, he stood up quickly and said, "I won't divorce you."

And then he left.

I didn't need to ask.

Without a doubt, it was Shirley calling.

In front of her, he was like a puppy, ready to drop everything and run at her beck and call.

The love he once had for me? It was now all being redirected toward her.

I couldn't take it anymore. I went straight to my in-laws and told them about Tristan's affair.

They laughed it off, barely batting an eye.

"What man doesn't have other women, especially wealthy ones?" Arthur said, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. The union between the McAllister and Carmichael families is solid. No one can take your place as the first wife."

They thought I was there looking for sympathy, seeking their support.

But I wasn't. I was telling them something far more important. When respect vanishes in a marriage, it becomes nothing more than a struggle for control—control over assets, power, and pride.

I never wanted to stand against Tristan, but as they had said, this wasn't just about being stubborn—it was about standing up for myself.

I wouldn't let Shirley take everything from me.

I didn't waste time dwelling on it. I went straight to work at McAllister Group. A vital client needed attention, and it was their birthday. I went to the shopping center to pick out a beautiful emerald necklace for the occasion.

The attendant packed it up carefully and smiled politely. "That will be $290,000, ma'am."

I handed over my card without hesitation.

The attendant swiped it, then paused. "Ma'am, the balance on this card is insufficient."

I froze.

This was the unlimited card Tristan had given me five years ago, one I rarely used.

I was about to call him when I heard the unmistakable click of high heels approaching behind me.

"Tristan, pack up all your latest models for me."

It was Shirley.

She walked toward me with confidence, casting me a disdainful glance before pulling out a black card from her shiny new Hermes bag.

That black card? Tristan's main unlimited card.

I held the secondary card, with its limit controlled by the primary one.

The attendant greeted her politely, "Miss Shirley, the total is $5.68 million."

With a nonchalant flick of her wrist, Shirley swiped the card.

As the transaction went through, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling with an air of superiority.

The attendants scrambled to accommodate her, handing her a lighter with exaggerated politeness.

She took a slow drag, the smoke curling in the air, and then turned her gaze toward me, her eyes filled with contempt. "Where a man's money is, his heart follows. How dare you even step into a luxury store with no money?"

The smoke clouded my face, but I didn't flinch.

I returned her glare, calm and unbothered.

I reached for my phone, calm as ever.

"Hello, 911? Someone has stolen and fraudulently used my husband's card. Please send someone over quickly."

For a moment, Shirley froze, caught off guard.

But then her arrogance returned, and she resumed her provocation, daring me to do something.

"Just wait until Tristan gets here. I'll slap that smug look right off your face!" Shirley snapped, not wasting a second as she dialed Tristan’s number, her voice seething with anger.

"Tristan, your wife is causing trouble again. I'll give you 20 minutes to get here and slap her! If you're not here in 20 minutes, we're done!"

She didn't even bother to hide that she was the mistress. Unlike most women in her position, who usually conceal it behind sweet smiles and coy acts, she wore it like a badge of honor, as if no one could challenge her.

The police had just arrived when Tristan stormed in, panting, as if he'd been running through the streets.

Without hesitation, he shielded Shirley behind him, his gaze sharp as he looked at me.

"What's all this fuss about?"

Shirley, emboldened by his clear favoritism, pushed past him and slapped me hard across the face.

"You stupid bitch, who do you think you are, calling the police on me? I'm spending my man's money—that's my right. It's none of your business!"

Her sharp, manicured nails scraped my cheek, leaving a thin streak of blood. One slap wasn't enough for her, so she attempted another.

Before the second one could land, Tristan quickly pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her down.

"Baby, don't get upset. Let me handle this, okay?"

Shirley was like a wild animal, and he, the calm zookeeper, was trying to soothe her. But even then, Tristan never once shouted at her.

Fury erupted inside me, and I swung my arm back, aiming for Shirley.

But before I could make contact, Tristan grabbed my wrist mid-air, holding me back.

Tristan furrowed his brows, his face showing genuine concern, but his voice was pleading.

"Please, just go. Can you?"

He stood on the opposite side of me, his body protecting Shirley. There I was, humiliated and trapped in my own life.

The man who once vowed always to protect me, who swore no one would ever hurt me, was now helping the mistress do exactly that.

The pain hit me like a ton of bricks, sharp and crushing.

In a desperate move, I swung my arm at Tristan, letting all my anger out in a hard slap across his face.

"You're ganging up with your mistress to bully me!"

Tristan didn't fight back. The slap landed with no resistance, and Tristan just stood there, looking completely lost, unsure of what to do.

I could see it, though—his heart still sided with Shirley.

Shirley, pretending to be concerned, stormed toward me again. "Stupid bitch! You dare hit my man? I'll kill you, you fucking bitch!"

Tristan blocked her once more, his tone calm, as if dealing with a child.

"Okay, okay. It's fine. Don't be angry. She has no right to hit you. Only I can hit you. No one else has that privilege."

Right there, he held Shirley in his arms the entire time, gazing at her with so much affection that it made me feel invisible, as if we had never shared a life.

The police intervened, pulling us apart, and asked, "Is it true this card was stolen?"

With red eyes, I opened my phone and found our marriage certificate to show them.

"We're married. Another woman used my husband's card for over $5 million. We had no idea about this. How is this not theft?"

Shirley stood her ground, unfazed.

"I didn't steal it. This card was given to me by my boyfriend! Spending my boyfriend's money is my right!"

She turned to Tristan, her voice oozing confidence.

"Babe, you tell them! Did you give me this card, or did I steal it?" Shirley asked him as if she were completely in control.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, glancing at me for just a second.

That brief hesitation made Shirley furious, and she slapped his arm hard.

"What's this, Tristan? You can't even let her go?"

"No, no, Shirley, don't be so quick-tempered," Tristan said, his voice soft, his hand resting naturally on her waist.

He turned to the police and explained, "It's all a misunderstanding. I gave her the card to use. She swiped it with my permission. It wasn't stolen."

The moment those words left his mouth, I felt like a joke.

The police, sensing the emotional tension between us, sighed and gave their standard advice.

"This is a personal matter. Resolve it yourselves, and don't utilize police resources."

As the officers began to leave, Shirley called after them, her voice dripping with disdain.