#Irish’s POV

That morning, the cold air stung my skin as I stepped out of the bedroom. But the chill in the air was nothing compared to the searing heat suddenly burning in my chest. Grace was standing in our living room, her smile bright as she adjusted Bobby’s tie—my husband’s tie.

Time seemed to stop. My eyes locked onto her skillful hands, her fingers brushing against Bobby’s chest with a tenderness that should have been reserved for me. Morning was far too early for a "friend" to drop by, especially for something so intimate.

“Oh, Irish, you’re awake!” Grace exclaimed with a sugary sweetness that made my stomach churn. Her smile was wide, as if nothing was amiss. “I just wanted to thank you for letting Bobby help me last night. If he hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep well.”

I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Bobby, without hesitation, explained, “I brought Grace here last night. You were already asleep, so I didn’t get the chance to tell you.”

My heart dropped. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his voice, just a flat explanation, as if I was supposed to accept his unilateral decision.

“I’m only here until the AC in my apartment is fixed,” Grace added. “Don’t worry, I won’t be a bother.”

“Consider this your home too,” Bobby replied with a smile that should have been mine. He even tucked a strand of Grace’s hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made me want to scream.

I couldn’t bear to listen any longer. I felt the anger bubbling inside me, but I swallowed it down. I walked into the kitchen, trying to escape the scene that was tearing my heart apart. My hands busied themselves with breakfast ingredients, but my mind spiraled. Their laughter echoed from the dining room, as if I didn’t exist.

I slammed a pan harder than I intended, the loud clang drawing Bobby’s attention. He came over, wrapping his arms around me from behind, attempting to soothe me. His touch, which used to bring me comfort, now felt cold and filled with pretense.

“Let me cook. You sit down, sweetheart,” he said gently, trying to take the spatula from my hand.

I let it go without a word and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him to finish what I had started. My absence only gave Grace more room to get closer to Bobby. I heard her voice offering to help, but Bobby firmly refused, telling her to sit with me instead.

Grace sat across from me, a small smile on her face. “Irish, if you don’t like me being here, I can leave now.”

I didn’t even have a chance to respond before Bobby interjected, “Grace, don’t misunderstand. Irish isn’t mad at you; she’s just upset because... her dreams haven’t come true yet.”

I glared at him, shocked by his words.

Meanwhile, Grace put on a somber expression, pretending she cared. But I could see the hidden satisfaction behind her act.

To ease the tension, Bobby offered, “I’ll come home early tonight and take you shopping. You can buy whatever you want.” Bobby always thought money could fix everything, but he was wrong. I didn’t need expensive gifts or shopping trips. What I needed was his attention and loyalty—two things he no longer seemed capable of giving.

He seemed to have forgotten how I had accepted him when he was just an ordinary employee, earning a modest salary and living simply. Back then, he gave me his whole heart. His time and effort were devoted entirely to me.

Now, with his high-ranking position at the company, he had started to neglect his loyalty and treat me like a pet—one that only needed to be fed and housed.

“But Bobby,” Grace chimed in, “don’t we have an appointment with Dr. Frans today? I need to get my liver checked.”

I saw Bobby flinch, clearly remembering the appointment. “You’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said to me. “Grace needs support. Her condition is quite serious.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the pain stabbing my heart. “I understand,” I replied softly.

He smiled, relieved, and pulled out his phone to transfer money to my account. “Use this to treat yourself. Invite your friends, okay?”

I nodded without a word. As he stood and prepared to leave with Grace, I noticed how he no longer kissed my forehead before going—a small gesture that used to make me feel loved. Now, even that was gone.

After Bobby left, I called Uncle Jack, asking for permission not to come to the restaurant. “I have something to take care of,” I said briefly.

I went to the civil registry office with determined steps. When I arrived, I filled out the divorce application form. Each letter I wrote was a small step toward freedom.

The clerk at the counter looked at me sympathetically as I handed her the document. “Are you sure, ma’am?” she asked softly.

I nodded. “There’s nothing left to save.”

But my journey didn’t stop there. I continued to the immigration office to change my passport. The name on the form was no longer the old Irish. I chose a new name, a symbol of the new life I would build without Bobby.

“Two weeks from now, you will no longer be a citizen of this country, ma’am,” the clerk said as she handed me my new identity papers.

Irish's POV

When I arrived home, the house was eerily silent. Bobby wasn’t back yet. My eyes were drawn to the guest room door, which was slightly ajar. My steps faltered for a moment before my legs involuntarily moved closer, as if a magnet was pulling me toward it. There, I was met with a reality I had never wanted to face.

The crumpled sheets on the bed immediately led my mind to a conclusion I refused to believe. As I stepped inside, a familiar scent filled the air—Bobby’s cologne mixed with another unmistakable smell. My body trembled violently. The image of them sharing the most intimate act in this room struck me like a blow, leaving me weak. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the cold floor. It felt like every joint in my body had lost its strength.

As my mind spiraled into chaos, my eyes caught sight of something unusual—a phone lying carelessly on the bed. Bobby never left his phone unattended. It was one of his most prized possessions. But now, it seemed as if it meant nothing. Could it be because he felt that everything important to him was already by his side?

With trembling hands, I picked up the phone. I typed in the passcode—my birthday, which for some reason, he still used. However, as I accessed it, my heart shattered all over again. Every memory of me had disappeared from his gallery. The photos were replaced with pictures of him and Grace.

Then, a notification popped up from his work group chat. A surge of curiosity pushed me to open it.

against Grace, obviously.]

And then Grace’s comments pierced deeper, as if she intended to drive the knife further into my heart.

[I’ve even spent the night at Bobby’s house. His wife didn’t mind at all.]

[Haha, what a foolish wife.]

Grace: [Bobby and I are like royalty, and his wife is our maid.]

[Hahaha, Grace, you’re insane! If she ever finds out, you’re doomed.]

Grace: [She won’t. She’s an orphan. She might sulk, but she’ll still stay with Bobby. And Bobby would never leave me. I’m certain of it.]

[Such a sad life...]

My chest felt tight reading those messages. They laughed at my misery. But the most painful thing was that Bobby didn’t defend me—not even once. They all assumed I would stay with Bobby despite all this betrayal.

Suddenly, my phone rang. Uncle Jack’s name appeared on the screen.

"Irish, you’ll still be here on the 25th, right? We’ve got a big catering order, and we need your help."

I hesitated for a moment. The date was too close, but I knew this might be my last job at the restaurant before leaving it for good.

"Alright, Uncle. I’ll do it," I finally replied.

For days, I didn’t go home. After finishing my shifts at the restaurant, I spent my time at the library, gathering materials for my studies in London. There was so much to prepare that I almost forgot about the house.

But one morning, Bobby unexpectedly showed up at the restaurant. His face was filled with anger.

"Have you forgotten that you’re married? You have responsibilities to take care of me!" he snapped.

I looked at him coldly. "Isn’t Grace there? I thought the two of you would be fine without me."

"Irish! Grace isn’t a maid. She’s recovering and can’t do household chores. She needs plenty of rest to prevent her liver from relapsing. You should understand that, instead of running away like this!"

"I’m busy, Bobby."

"Busy? You’re becoming disrespectful! Is this how you repay everything I’ve done for you?"

"Bobby, you’re not the only one with priorities. I have mine too. I won’t always cater to your demands, especially when they involve Grace!"

"Ah… so you’re jealous of her?"

I scoffed. "Not at all."

"Your attitude says otherwise."

"And what then? Will you leave her when the truth comes out?"

"Come on, Irish. We’re married. Grace is just a colleague—nothing more."

I smirked sarcastically. "Oh, really?"

"Fine. To ease your anger, I’ll take you to the party tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to my friends. You want to be recognized as my wife, don’t you?"

"I don’t have time."

Bobby growled in frustration. "Ck! I’ve tried. But if this is how you want to act, then do whatever you want!"

He stormed off, leaving me in a whirlwind of emotions.

The next day, fate seemed to mock me. It turned out the party I was catering for was the same party Bobby and Grace were attending. They stood side by side, wearing matching outfits, looking every bit like a couple.

"Miss, could you please pour some soup into my bowl?" a woman’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the bowl and poured the soup. But with my shaky hands and unstable emotions, the soup spilled onto her hand.

"Oh my God! Can you even do your job? My hand is burning!" she yelled.

I quickly apologized, grabbing a tissue to wipe her hand while repeatedly saying sorry. The commotion caught everyone’s attention.

"Isn’t that Bobby’s wife?" someone murmured.

I lifted my head, and Bobby’s gaze locked onto mine. His face was hard, still harboring anger from yesterday. Grace, standing beside him, clung to his arm, flaunting her position in my presence.

"Bobby, is this what Irish meant when she said she was busy?" Grace taunted with a smug smile.

"Let her be. It’s her choice," Bobby replied coldly.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Irish's POV

"Don't be like that. Now that Irish is here, let's take a photo together," Grace said in her sweet yet manipulative tone. Her hand gripped my arm firmly, ignoring the clear resistance written all over my face. She dragged me toward the altar, ensuring that all eyes in the room focused on me.

The room buzzed with murmurs that pierced through me like daggers.

"Is Bobby's wife really just a caterer? Goodness, look at her—how embarrassing." "Grace is so much better—beautiful, elegant, a true woman of class. How could Bobby end up with someone like her?" "Maybe he married her out of pity. They’re clearly from different worlds."

Each word felt heavier than the last, but the smirk on Grace's face told me this was her intention all along. She wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone. The worst part? Bobby—my husband—stood there, doing nothing. He looked uncomfortable, as if being near me was a disgrace.

I couldn’t take it anymore. With steady steps, I returned to my spot behind the catering table. But Grace, her smirk never faltering, followed me.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to sound professional, though my voice trembled with suppressed rage.

Grace's smile turned sweeter, yet her eyes were filled with malice. "Just a small favor. Would you mind delivering that cake to the altar?" She gestured toward the towering, intricately decorated cake being pushed in by one of my colleagues, who looked visibly nervous.

This was another trap, I knew it. But for the sake of professionalism and Paman Jack’s reputation, I stepped in for my colleague. Pushing the cake-laden trolley toward the altar, I moved through the crowd that didn’t hesitate to throw more hurtful remarks my way.

"Wow, she’s really professional. Still delivering the cake for her husband and his mistress!" "Shameful. If it were me, I’d have run out of here long ago."

I clenched my fists tightly, fighting the anger bubbling inside me. It took everything not to shove the trolley over and watch the cake crash to the ground. But I couldn’t let myself or Paman Jack’s name be tarnished.

After positioning the cake on the stand, the CEO of Bobby’s company took the stage. His voice boomed through the room as he congratulated Bobby and Grace for winning the biggest tender of the year. But then his next words shattered my already fragile world.

"This celebration also marks the engagement of Bobby and Grace!"

Cheers erupted, filling the room. Grace feigned shyness, while Bobby, ever the charmer, playfully tapped her nose. Grace giggled before throwing her arms around him.

"C’mon! Kiss! Kiss!" the crowd chanted.

Under their encouragement, Bobby and Grace shared a deep kiss right before my eyes.

I froze. The air seemed to leave my lungs. Everyone knew Bobby’s status—they knew I was his wife. Yet no one cared. For the first time, it hit me just how far apart Bobby and I really were. He thrived in this glittering world, while I was nothing more than a caterer in an apron. But it was me—me—who had stood by him through everything.

Paman Jack approached me, his comforting hand resting on my shoulder. "Do whatever you need to feel better, Irish. Don’t worry about me."

His words lit something in me. Gripping the cake knife like it was a weapon, I marched toward the altar. Every step silenced the crowd. The knife in my hand felt like a samurai’s blade, poised to cut through everything standing in my way.

When I reached the cake, I sliced it into rough pieces with deliberate intensity, not caring about ruining its pristine appearance. I picked up a large slice and smeared it across Bobby’s face.

"Congratulations on your engagement!" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, I turned to Grace and did the same, smearing another slice across her flawless makeup.

The room fell into a shocked silence. The sound of the knife clattering to the floor echoed sharply, breaking the stillness. Without another word, I turned and walked away, head held high. Behind me, my fellow caterers followed suit, leaving the party in solidarity.

Back at the restaurant, my friends enveloped me in a warm hug. Their comfort unraveled the tight knot of emotions inside me, and I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. My chest ached, as though my grief had seeped into my very bones.

But my anguish wasn’t over yet. Bobby stormed into the restaurant, his face twisted with fury. He grabbed my arm, dragging me outside.

"You ruined everything, Irish!" he yelled, his voice venomous. Without warning, he slapped me hard across the face.

I held my stinging cheek, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my heart. With a bitter smile, I met his eyes. "What was I supposed to do, Bobby? Stay silent and still while watching my husband propose to another woman?"

"It was just a joke!" Bobby snapped defensively. "You didn’t see me give Grace a ring, did you? I did it to get ahead in my career! The CEO thinks Grace and I are a couple—that’s the only reason I played along!"

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh, staring at him with disgust. "And how does the CEO know about your ‘relationship’ with Grace, Bobby? He knows you’re married, doesn’t he? He knows your wife is still alive!"

Bobby’s silence was telling. He couldn’t answer. I stepped closer, locking eyes with him. "You sold my dignity, Bobby. You threw away everything we built together for your selfish ambitions."

I turned to leave, but Bobby grabbed my wrist, spinning me back around. "Irish, wait—"