But even the perfect husband can be tempted to cheat on his wife.

When he heard the door open, he casually wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing. He walked over and planted a kiss on my forehead.

The scent of his body wash hit me first, warm and familiar. But then there was something else—something sharp, light, and floral. Not mine. My heart felt like it dropped a little lower, and my gaze turned cold.

"Why are you back so late, babe? Didn't the driver bring you home? It's freezing out there, so don't walk around, or you're gonna catch a cold and end up with another headache."

He crouched down, and before I could react, he was already slipping off my shoes and swapping them for slippers. His hands paused when they touched my toes—cold as ice—and instinctively, he cupped them in his palms, warming them up.

I used to feel something in sweet moments like this. Warmth. Delight. But now? Nothing.

"Just walked around the neighborhood for a bit. It's close. I wasn't cold."

When he was sure my feet were warm, he slid the slippers on and straightened up.

"Guess what I got you this month," he whispered, leaning in with a playful smile like it was some big surprise.

But I didn't even blink, just answered, "A high-heel brand."

Because, of course, he wasn't the kind of guy who just bought gifts.

He bought brands.

Thanks to his frequent so-called "surprises," I now owned stakes in at least a hundred companies.

If I'd lingered a second too long on some ad or product, contracts just showed up the next day.

Last time, it was high heels.

He chuckled, all amused, and flicked my nose like I was some kid he adored.

"Whoah, my wife's getting too smart now! Guess I gotta be more careful with surprises next time, huh?"

I wiped at my nose, trying to erase the touch of his finger.

"You've given me so many surprises—it's my turn now to prep some for you."

"Heather, it's been, what, 20 years since we met? Wow, feels like just yesterday..."

"I've got something for you, too. You'll get it in three days. Don't forget to check."

The way his eyes lit up was almost painful. He pulled me into his arms, voice bubbling over with excitement.

"Oh, my wife has really grown. You're even gonna give me gifts now, yeah? Oh, you're gonna make me cry, babe."

"We've got so many more decades ahead of us. I'm gonna document every moment I get with you, tell it to our kids, and maybe even carve it into my headstone someday."

I stayed quiet. His sweet voice buzzed in my ears, but it felt distant.

Oh, Heather, there's no time left for us. No another decade.

Later that evening, after dinner, he handed me the contract for the high-heel brand and asked me to sign it.

"Babe, I've already spoken with the brand. They've got some limited-edition designs this season, and I told them to set aside your size. Tomorrow, I'll take you to see them. They're all your style."

His eyes sparkled with anticipation, the excitement written plainly across his face.

I signed the papers without looking up, my voice flat.

"Alright. Thanks."

He was busy staring at his phone, completely missing the way my expression hardened.

"Heels are nice, but they're not exactly comfortable. Let the driver take you from now on, okay? Or if I'm home, I'll drive you myself," he said, absentmindedly scrolling.

"Heather, you don't have to do all this for me—"

He cut me off before I could finish. "Shannon, you're my whole world. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you happy."

"Besides, with how amazing you are, if I don't spoil you, what if someone else steals you away?"

As he spoke, he locked eyes with me, his gaze burning.

His hair, streaked with gray from donating bone marrow for me, caught the overhead lights like a badge of honor.

But none of it—none of these gestures, these gifts—were what I needed. And he'd never understand that.

Love wasn't there anymore. No need for someone to steal me away. I'd leave on my own.

After staring at me for two seconds, his gaze returned to his phone.

I forced a faint smile. "Still working at this hour?"

"You used to leave work at the office no matter how busy you were," I casually pointed out.

Heather's fingers froze mid-typing, and he glanced up at me, guilt flashing across his face.

"Oh, things have just been hectic lately, babe. It'll be over soon, I promise. Go get some rest now, okay?"

As I walked past him toward the bedroom, I stole a glance at his phone.

The screen showed a crying emoji—a message from another woman.

Another lie.

But I didn't say a word. I just went to the bedroom and sank into bed.

Opening my Instagram, I switched to a dummy account and searched for the page of Jennifer Herman—a barely-known actress.

Two hours ago, she'd posted a new update.

In her post, she flaunted a pair of unreleased heels from the same brand Heather just handed over to me earlier tonight.

The comment section was brutal.

People accused her of wearing fakes, saying she couldn't afford the real thing and was just trying to act rich.

She claimed she was actually the brand's yet-to-be-announced ambassador. Apparently, her boyfriend had already finalized the deal, and the contract was ready to be signed. Even the high heels in the photo were gifts from the brand.

Nobody believed her, though.

It wasn't unusual for someone like her to buy knockoffs.

But she refused to admit it and argued with the commenters.

I scrolled through the comments one by one until a newly created account caught my attention. The user was claiming to be working at the brand.

[I know her boyfriend. He's one of the execs. He made the call for her to be the brand ambassador. In fact, the shoot starts tomorrow.]

Skeptics quickly fired back.

[She's an up-and-comer at best. No way she has a boyfriend like that. Gosh, does she think she's the next Shannon Walsh?]

[Nice try, but creating a dummy account to clear your name? If there are no shoots tomorrow, oh, well, you better prepare to be humiliated. And good luck dodging a lawsuit for leaking the designs!]

But within a minute, that same account posted a photo of the signed endorsement contract.

Then, as if to silence everyone, the user dropped a statement.

[Well, see the shoots tomorrow for yourself.]

I shut off my phone and rubbed my aching temples.

When I headed to the bathroom, I overheard Heather on a call.

"What's the photoshoot team doing? If they can't get do this, fire them!"

"I told you to prioritize the shoot! Do I need to repeat myself?! Drop everything else!"

"If the materials aren't out by tomorrow, none of you are coming back to work, you understand?"

The owner of that dummy account backing Jennifer... was my husband.

At that moment, it felt like all the strength was drained from my body. I leaned against the wall, silent tears streaming down my face.

When Heather noticed me, I was still trembling, struggling to pull myself together.

He looked so afraid that his face turned pale, scooping me up like he was about to rush me to the ER.

He didn't even bother to put on his shoes.

I steadied myself with one hand against the doorframe, took a shaky breath, and shook my head. My voice cracked as I choked on my words.

"I-I'm fine. I... I just got emotional reading a sad novel. Don't worry about me. Go ahead finish your work."

He pressed his face against mine, nuzzling me softly.

"How about you stop reading sad stories, hmm? Didn't I tell you, I want to make you the happiest woman in the world?"

"All those heartbreaks in those stories aren't real. But our happiness is."

Not real?

Then why does it hurt so much just to breathe?

Maybe his reaction had somehow made him feel closer to me.

But his phone wouldn't stop vibrating, buzzing with one message after another.

And he gave me a smile, an awkward one.

"Just a little more work. I swear, I'm almost done."

I didn't respond. Barefoot, I walked back to the bedroom alone.

By midnight, I heard the door shut. Oh, he'd broken his promise again.

He left the villa in the dead of night.

I didn't need to ask where he was going.

I just threw on a black coat, pulling it tight around me as I trailed behind him like a thief.

After wandering for a while, he stopped in front of another apartment in the neighborhood.

I watched as he rang the doorbell, and it revealed a woman. Jennifer. She was wearing this ridiculously revealing outfit—a tight, black bodysuit. That bitch even pressed my husband against the doorway.

"Thanks for speaking up for me, Mr. Walsh. I owed you one, so I've got a little gift for you."

"But... you'll have to unwrap it yourself."

Jennifer took my husband's hand and guided it to the ribbon at her waist, her seductive intentions painfully clear.

I gasped for air like I was drowning. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't breathe.

I watched them step inside together, all wrapped up in each other, and I ran. Like a coward. Straight back home.

I lay awake all night, my eyes open until the first light of dawn, and finally, Heather called.

"Babe, you up? Work ran late last night, didn't wanna wake you, so I didn't come home. How about I pick you up? We'll go shopping! Today's on me—anything you want!"

God, how could this man juggle between two women...

And still say the same sweet words to me like he still meant them?!

I splashed cold water on my face to pull myself together. By the time I came downstairs, he was already waiting in his car.

The moment he saw me, his face filled with concern, as though it physically pained him to see me.

"Babe, why do you look so tired? Did you not sleep?"

"You know what, babe, let's skip it. I'll just have everything sent here. You can take your time and pick whatever you like."

I bit my lip, refusing his thoughtful offer.

For this last gift, I wanted to see with my own eyes what kind of "surprise" he had prepared for me.

At the boutique, he had me sit on a couch while he dashed around, coming back with all sorts of drinks—milkshake tea, coffee, everything I used to love.

But today, I couldn't bring myself to take even a sip.

When he noticed, he didn't get mad. Instead, he blamed himself.

"It's all my fault. I shouldn't have worked so late last night. I know you hate the cold and the dark, yet I left you all alone."

"Punish me if you want, babe. I'll accept it."

Then he grabbed my hand and tried to press it against his face like he wanted me to slap him.

But I pulled my hand away.

"I'm fine. I just don't feel like drinking."

The brand manager was watching the whole thing and couldn't help but comment like he was jealous.

"Mr. Walsh, you really are the ultimate husband' I've never seen a man dote on his wife like this! No wonder you're so successful!"

He chuckled and handed Heather a cigarette.

But Heather shook his head with a polite smile. "I don't smoke. My wife hates the smell—it bothers her."

The manager smiled awkwardly in return.

"Alright, I'll have someone bring over the packaged shoes now."

Whoever was watching or what people thought—Heather didn't mind them for my "happiness."

The staff looked at us with envy, sighing at how reality could sometimes feel like a romantic novel.

When the shoes arrived, the staff brought over a huge pile.

Heather rolled up his sleeves and knelt down in front of me, swapping out each pair himself.

One by one, he helped me try them on.

Every time, he couldn't resist complimenting me. "You look perfect in everything. Should we just buy them all? You could wear a new pair every hour."

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen to see the caller ID, and his expression shifted. Without a word, he stepped outside to take the call.

Minutes passed. Too many. But he still wasn't back. Finally, I got up, put on the shoes I came in with, and followed him out.

The second he saw me, he tried to casually cover the screen of his phone with his hand.

"Babe, what are you doing out here? It's cold! Go back inside, and keep trying those shoes on. I'll be right back."

"No, it's fine. You're busy, and I'm not feeling well anyway. I'm heading home."

I left so quickly that he didn't have time to stop me.

But when I turned the corner, I stopped. I stayed hidden, watching everything in the boutique.

A few minutes later, I saw him hang up, hand the shoes over to the staff, and instruct them to send everything to the photography studio.

Then, right in front of everyone, he wrapped his arms around Jennifer and kissed her. Not just a quick kiss—a long one. Deep, too. It went on for five minutes.

When they finally pulled apart, my husband even flirtatiously pinched her butt.

The same staff who were gushing over me earlier didn't even flinch.

Like they've seen it all the time.

So, yeah, I guess I'm the only one who didn't know about my husband's affair.

The shoot started, and Heather stayed right there, watching his mistress pose the entire time.

The manager smirked knowingly and teased him.

"Damn, she looks so perfect! Where'd you find such a gem?"