"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?"

He let out a scoff, his eyes trailing lazily down Jennifer's thigh, still exposed below her over-the-knee boots.

"That is impressive? The best part—oh, you haven't even seen it yet."

The manager smacked his lips, clearly envious.

"When I hit your level, I'm keeping a hundred just like her!"

"But hey, your wife isn't bad either. Even without makeup, she's a stunner."

The second that the manager mentioned me, Heather's face hardened.

"Don't even think about touching my wife! Unless you're ready to lose everything!"

The manager quickly backtracked, nodding and stammering apologies, swearing he'd make sure I'd never find out anything.

But at this point, I don't care anymore.

I turned and bolted, desperate to get out of there, only to bump straight into a delivery guy rushing in with boxes.

"Mrs. Walsh—"

"Shh!" I cut him off. "Don't tell anyone you saw me! Unless you're looking for a new job!"

I didn't even know how I got back home. When I finally looked up, I was already standing outside the door.

One of my shoes was missing, and I looked like a mess.

When I checked the time, I realized eight hours had gone by since the shoot started.

I ran to the closest convenience store and cleared the shelves of every bottle of alcohol they had.

After paying, I stepped outside—and as if fate wasn't done screwing with me, I ran into my husband's mistress.

The way her eyes lit up when she saw me—ugh. That smug little gleam.

But her words? Sickly sweet.

"Oh my god, you're Mrs. Walsh, right? I've been such a huge fan of yours for ages! I even sent gifts during your wedding livestream! I can't believe we live in the same area!"

"You know, I used to be really jealous of your love story. I mean, who wouldn't dream of a husband like yours? And guess what? My dream came true!"

She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear in this fake, innocent way.

Her voice dropped to this conspiratorial whisper like we were best friends sharing secrets.

"My apartment here? It's a gift from him—basically just like a little 'hello' present, you know?"

"Anyway, hey, can I add you on IG? We should totally hang out sometime—maybe get facials together or something!"

I didn't want to let her see me break, so I kept my face blank and showed her my username.

After adding me, she hooked her arm through mine like we were best friends. As if it was a joke, I walked into the neighborhood together with my husband's mistress.

She kept chattering in my ear, talking about how her boyfriend gave her an apartment, a company, and even scripts written just for her.

I just nodded along. Finally, at my front door, I managed to escape, muttering a quick goodbye before shutting myself inside.

The second I was alone, I cracked open a few bottles of alcohol, hoping to drink myself into oblivion.

But it didn't take long before my phone buzzed with a message. From her.

[Hey, Shannon, do you like roses? Today's shoot went so well, and my boyfriend says he's buying out every rose in the city to celebrate! That's a lot, right? I can send some to you if you'd like!]

I stared at that shameless message for a moment before deleting it without replying.

By the time Heather got home, I'd already had quite a bit to drink.

He froze in the doorway, his eyes wide. He didn't even take off his shoes, just rushed to the kitchen to make some hangover soup for me.

I grabbed his hand as he passed by and pulled him toward me like a brat.

"Babe, I want roses. Can you get me some? Like right now."

He let out a chuckle. But his eyes—they were empty.

"Why the sudden interest in flowers? Can I get them for you tomorrow, babe? I've got so much to do tonight, you know?"

"Did you drink too much?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head bitterly.

"You can't, can you? Oh well, never mind. Go ahead finish your work."

"Babe, what's wrong? Didn't you sleep well last night? How about you head to bed early tonight? I'll make you soup for your hangover first, but after that, I've really got to get back to the company."

He kept asking me what was wrong, but I didn't say another word.

What was the point? Nothing I said would change a damn thing.

He watched me sip the hangover soup he made, and then just like that, he left me alone without a word.