"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.

"Don't leave! This bitch called the police falsely and slandered my reputation. I'm going to make her pay for this legally!" Shirley's voice was sharp, full of fury, and loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

Tristan, clearly panicked, rushed to calm her down. "Let's just forget about this, okay? Don't make things worse. Please just give me some face."

"No!" Shirley screamed, her voice cracking. "Are you loving her more than you love me? If that's the case, then you two can live your life together. I'll just get out of the way!"

She was throwing a tantrum now, like a child who wasn't getting her way.

It was almost painful to watch.

I never could've imagined that the man I once adored, Tristan, the man I thought was gentle and patient, would cheat on me with someone like her.

Shirley was everything I wasn't: low-class, volatile, and utterly self-centered.

Terrified that Shirley might leave him, Tristan reluctantly turned on me. "This is your fault. You should go reflect on yourself for a few days."

His words hit me like a slap in the face, and I felt my heart sink.

It was like he wasn't even the same person anymore, and it made me wonder if I had ever really known him.

Under Shirley's insistence that I had falsely accused her and slandered her to the police, they took me away.

Once I was shoved into the back of the police car, Tristan rushed over, trying to comfort me, his voice almost frantic.

"Shirley has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Just avoid her next time, okay?"

I didn't even look at Tristan.

I just gave him a cold stare, too exhausted to argue.

It wasn't worth saying anything to him anymore.

...

At the police station, I immediately contacted Felix, my attorney, and asked him to slip the divorce papers into the paperwork somehow, tricking Tristan into signing them.

Seven days later, I was released exactly on the anniversary of my son's death, the one I had lost due to complications during childbirth.

Every year on this day, Tristan would always come with me to visit our son's grave, but today, I put all the bitterness aside.

All I wanted was to show my son that, even after all this time, his parents still hadn't forgotten him.

The maid told me that Tristan hadn't come home in a week. He's obviously still with Shirley.

I called him, but it was Shirley who answered the phone.

"Oh, the bitch is out already? What the hell do you want with my man?"

I was about to curse her out, but Felix arrived just in time. He handed me the divorce papers that Tristan signed.

Since we were already divorced, there was no point in wasting any more words on the mistress.

"Today's the anniversary of his son's death," I said calmly, my voice icy. "If he wants to come, fine. If he doesn't, it doesn't matter."

Right there, that set her off.

Shirley immediately opened a video call and shoved the screen at me.

"Stupid bitch, you better look closely. Tristan's son is perfectly fine. If you dare curse our child again, I'll kill you!"

The video call lit up with Tristan sitting at the dining table with two children—an older girl around two years old and a younger boy, about one. There was a birthday cake on the table, and Tristan was holding both children in his arms.

"Come here, let Daddy hold you."

When he saw me in the video, he froze for a moment.

Guilt flashed in his eyes, but he never once blamed Shirley for exposing everything.

I stood there, stiff and motionless, watching.

Even though I had already severed ties with him, seeing this still pierced my heart.

So, while I had been overseas receiving treatment for the last three years, he had two children with Shirley.

Then, out of nowhere, Shirley spoke again, "Oh, I just remembered!"

With her artificial sweet voice, she jibed, "You must be talking about your son who died at birth, right? How pitiful! Today is also our youngest son's birthday. Tristan doesn't have time to visit someone who has passed away. Go cry at the grave by yourself."

With a loud click, Shirley hung up the phone.

I sat there, frozen, still holding the phone in my hand.

Less than a minute later, Tristan sent me a message:

[Lauren, you've always been so understanding. Let me go with you tomorrow to visit our son's grave, alright? Please believe me. I still love you.

I stared at the message, my chest tightening, then let out a bitter laugh.

'Tristan, you'll never understand pain until it hits you. I'll make you feel everything you've put me through,' I said inwardly.

Right then, I forced myself to remain calm and turned to Felix. "Don't tell anyone about the divorce for now. I have other plans."

That night, I booked a flight abroad in secret. Quietly, without a trace, I vanished from Tristan's life.

Shirley didn't stop at just causing trouble; she took it to social media, taunting me for the world to see.

"Look at you, defeated and running away. What a joke! You're such a disgrace to yourself!"

It felt like a punch to the gut, but I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of reacting.

Meanwhile, Tristan was nearly losing his mind.

He searched for me everywhere, hiring private detectives across the globe to track me down.

And then, the kicker.

Tristan posted a reward notice offering 30% of McAllister Group's shares to anyone who could find me. Later, it was bumped up to 50%. But...nothing. No leads, no news.

A whole year went by before Tristan, of all places, ran into me at Disneyland. He was there with his kids, and I was with my son. When he spotted us, he froze for a moment, his eyes locking onto the baby in my arms. His face softened, and I saw a hint of relief in his eyes as he hurried toward me.

"Lauren, baby, I finally found you," Tristan said, his voice thick with emotion.