I’m the public lover of Tara Brewer, the underworld queen. She often dotes on me and treats me like I'm her most precious treasure, and she goes as far as to claim that she wants to give birth to ten children for me.

But when I'm getting beaten up by others while completely drenched in my own blood, Tara doesn't recognize me at all. Instead, she turns to comfort her beau, Brandon Holden.

"That filthy bastard has crossed you, honey! You can just beat him to death! I'll be your safety net!"

Only then do I realize that Brandon is Tara's lover this whole time.

As soon as Tara's words fall, she snatches the boxing gloves from Brandon and begins punching my face, which has a mixture of blood and tears streaking down my cheeks.

At the same time, she says icily, "Don't worry. Once you're dead, I'll inform your wife so that she can pick up your corpse."

Though my vision was blurry, I kept my eyes glued to the woman in front of me. She seemed familiar and like a complete stranger at the same time.

Just last night, this dazzling, showy woman had held my foot, kissing it and saying how much she loved me in an affectionate voice.

And yet, now, she wanted me dead on the spot.

Pain crashed over me all of a sudden.

It felt like my arms had been ripped off. Blood streamed down my face, stinging my eyes. It hurt so much that I clenched my jaw and could not even scream.

"His face is all messed up and swollen! That's what he gets for not knowing who he was dealing with. Messing with Brandon… Who brought him in? Where's his wife?"

Everyone in the gym shook their heads, their eyes full of unspoken pity.

No one knew that the woman who had just beaten me half to death with boxing gloves was none other than my own wife, Tara Brewer.

I had only come here to deliver the company seal to Tara. But by some twisted coincidence, I walked in on her hosting a private party for her lover.

The moment I saw Tara, I thought she'd recognize me. I thought she'd save me from Brandon Holden.

But she'd only glanced at me before looking away.

Brandon had only casually said, "I should get some exercise in after that big lunch. I've never tried using a person as a punching bag before. Bet it feels pretty good."

So without even looking at me properly, Tara put on the gloves and started hitting me along with him, punching me repeatedly.

It was as if the metallic smell of blood from my body and mouth gave them a rush of adrenaline—they got even more into it, their eyes gleaming with bloodthirst.

Barely alive, I dangled in midair, swaying like a lifeless ragdoll. A pool of bright red blood spread across the floor.

Clenching my teeth, I forced out a hoarse rasp with everything I had. "Tara…"

Narrowing her eyes, Tara stopped mid-swing. Something stirred in me as I thought she'd realized it was me. I felt a bitter ache deep down.

The next second, she kicked me hard in the stomach, disgust evident in her voice. "Do you think you can seduce me looking like that? Disgusting. Beat him up!"

At that, countless punches and kicks rained down on me. I felt like I had been run over by a truck a hundred times.

The vicious, twisted look on her face made me tremble uncontrollably. I was the one she cherished above all else, the one she clung to every night.

I'd been by her side from her days as a delinquent all the way until she became who she was now. We'd loved each other for five years.

We were husband and wife legally, and in every other sense, so why was I being accused of seducing her? And why did she want to beat me to death?

With how much pain I was in, it was as if my body was being ripped apart. All I could do was watch Tara walk away, smiling sweetly at Brandon as they left.

My breathing grew weaker. Then, everything faded to black.

The gym staff, afraid that I might actually die and that the gym might end up having the police constantly come over to ask questions, eventually called an ambulance for me.

All the while, they kept asking me who my wife was.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The woman who had just been holding Brandon's hand was my wife.

Before leaving this morning, Tara had mentioned she had a contract to sign at a high-end club.

Then, with a gentler expression, she kissed the corner of my lips and said she'd be back later to eat dinner with me.

These kinds of social obligations were common for her, so I didn't think much of it. But when I turned around, I noticed she'd left the seal in the room. In a panic, I rushed out after her.

I did think it was a little strange when I saw her car stop in front of the gym. But I was too focused on delivering the seal to think twice, so I barged in. That was when I got grabbed by a man named Brandon.

Without a word, I was suspended in the air. I struggled violently, shouting that I was Tara's husband.

But Brandon and the people behind him merely sneered. "Tara has a husband named Eric Robles, and the other is Mr. Brandon Holden, who's standing right in front of you.

"Who do you think you are? And don't you dare say you're Eric!"

Brandon grabbed my chin, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "You're just another sick idiot dreaming about my wife. If you like her so much, maybe she should personally send you to your grave."

Mocking laughter erupted all around.

It was then that I realized that every time Tara said she had to sign contracts at night, she was actually sleeping with this guy.

I didn't want to believe that my wife's devotion to me was nothing but an illusion. She'd spent millions to light up the city sky with fireworks just to make me smile.

Last year, she even gave me an island for my birthday, telling me I could do whatever I wanted with it.

This past Valentine's Day, she bought two buildings overnight just to make me smile, saying I could collect rent to be able to give our future children allowances.

And she didn't hesitate to give me a kidney after my car accident. She had shown me so much proof of her love, so how could she have betrayed me behind my back like this?

Clenching my teeth, I shook my head hard. Alas, my firm belief in our relationship was shattered the second I saw her lean in to give Brandon a tender kiss.

"Babe, this jerk pisses me off. Can I turn him into my punching bag?"

"Sure, you can do whatever you want, as long as you're happy."

Tara pinched his face affectionately, her eyes sparkling like a sky full of stars. Seeing that through my soaked hair, I felt my blood slowly run cold.

So Brandon wasn't lying. He really was Tara's husband.

Then Tara appeared with boxing gloves. I held a sliver of hope that she would notice me as I watched her.

If she just glanced back at me, she'd see that the one hanging there to be a punching bag was the one she held close to her heart. Yet, her eyes were fixed on Brandon the whole time.

As if I were an inflatable punching bag, I got knocked down by her over and over again, only to spring back in the end. Blood was everywhere, and breathing itself became a painful ordeal.

And yet, what kept replaying in my mind was her straddling me and swaying happily as she said, "Honey, we should have a daughter first. If she looks like you, I'll spoil her like she's the one and only little princess in the world."

It was then that I realized her "one and only" was just a lie. I slowly lost consciousness. Every part of me hurt, and it felt like I was swaying on a boat at sea.

Urgent shouts rang in my ears. "Sir, hang on! The hospital's just ahead!"

Hearing that, I struggled to open my eyes.

The paramedic was a young lady. Seeing my bloodied face made her panic, but all she could do was comfort me. "Sir, we'll reach the hospital after we pass the outdoor banquet that the Brewer family is hosting. Hang in there!"

I fixed my gaze on the outdoor banquet ahead. Brandon, in a tailored suit, was right next to Tara. The two held each other close.

The way they gazed at each other betrayed their undeniable affection for one another. Tears rolled down my face. I closed my eyes. Grabbing the paramedic's wrist, I croaked, "Save… me!"

The next second, a commotion broke out at the banquet, resulting in the road ahead getting blocked. The ambulance couldn't move.

Blood gushed from me like water from a broken dam.

The paramedic rushed out of the vehicle, shouting at the crowd, "Someone's dying! Please clear the way!"

Alas, the air was filled with jubilant cries. "Happy fifth wedding anniversary to Tara and Brandon!"

Every word hit me like lightning from above.

No wonder she never celebrated our wedding anniversary. That day was reserved for Brandon.

It was funny how I'd been kept in the dark for five years, as I'd fallen for her claim of wanting to keep a low profile again and again.

It wasn't that she didn't want to celebrate it. It was that I didn't deserve to be celebrated.

With my eyelids drooping and my breathing growing faint, the paramedic started crying out of desperation.

Seeing how bloody I was and how close I was to death, she borrowed an electric scooter from a kind stranger and rushed me out of the ambulance.

We were so close to the venue that I even heard Brandon ask, "Babe, what's that thing on the scooter? It's gross…"

"That's just a dead hunk of garbage. Don't look at it. It'll taint your eyes." Tara spoke gently, in the same tone she had used to propose to me years ago.

Back then, she had said, "Eric, I love you to death. Marry me! I'll take care of you for the rest of your life!"

Only now did it dawn on me that Tara's so-called care was just a way to kill me all along.

By the time we reached the hospital, I was bleeding out, and my breathing nearly stopped. The doctors rushed straight into the operating room, carrying O-negative blood packs.

"How much more blood do we need?"

"1,600 mL. There's just enough in the hospital blood bank!" a nurse answered, wiping sweat from her brow.

The next second, the operating room doors were slammed open. A group of men in black stormed in, guns pressed against the doctors' heads.

Tara stepped in, her brows deeply furrowed. Looking flustered, she barked, "Send all O-negative blood to the operating room across the hall! No one takes my husband's blood!"

I tried to reach for her sleeve with my bloody hand, to tell her that her husband was right here. But clearly, the husband she meant wasn't me. It was Brandon.

The doctors exchanged uneasy glances. One of the nurses said, "That man just has a small cut on his pinky. Blood transfusion isn't needed…"

Ignoring every word, the cold-faced Tara threatened them with her gun.

Holding back the pain and bitterness in my heart, I managed to cry out, "I am—"

She slapped me across the face, knocking me down in the process. Her eyes were dark and cruel as she snapped, "Shut up! Keep talking, and I'll make you my husband's living blood pack!"

After hitting me, she glanced at her blood-stained hand in disdain. With a cold snort, she grabbed the blood packs and walked out.

Holding my face, I lay there in a daze, feeling like my whole body had already been torn apart.

Three years ago, she spent three million dollars to buy a single pack of blood for me at the hospital.

Now, she was also the one taking away all the blood needed to save my life with a gun in her hand.

She was the same person, and the situation was the same. Only now, she was protecting Brandon instead of me.

Although the doctors were scared stiff, they couldn't just stand by and watch me die.

At that moment, a nurse dragged in a volunteer. Panting heavily, she blurted out between pauses, "I found one… This person is O-negative…"