While driving to work, I noticed droplets of liquid clinging to the car windows. Touching them, I found the texture slightly sticky, and they carried a faint fruity scent.

I never use anything like this, so I called my husband. "Did you spray some air freshener in the Porsche? Why does it smell like fruit?"

On the other end of the line, he hesitated for just a second before offering a sincere explanation. "Remember that class reunion I went to? One of my buddies drank too much and threw up in the car. I didn’t want you to be upset, so I sprayed some perfume to cover it up."

After hanging up, I grabbed a cloth and wiped the car windows clean.

On the passenger seat, two strands of golden curly hair were stuck to the sticky residue.

Frowning, I rolled my eyes. Tsk. His “buddy” was sexier than me.

——

I own several luxury cars, all gifts I bought for myself before getting married. After our wedding, my husband, Miguel, never purchased a car of his own. If he needed one, he’d just ask me for the keys.

However, I had specifically reminded him that I needed the Porsche this week for some business engagements. I even had it professionally cleaned beforehand. Yet here it was, dirty again after just one outing.

Frustrated, I frowned at the sticky streaks on the car window, feeling increasingly uneasy. I had met all of Miguel’s friends before—they were typical engineering types, each more awkward than the last. At their age, they were either balding or wearing wigs—none of them would dye their hair blonde. And at this length? They could pass for an idol.

Could Miguel be cheating on me?

The thought surfaced but I quickly dismissed it. Miguel was the head of pediatrics at a local private hospital. His schedule was packed with appointments, leaving him little time for anything else.

He even always said, “Time is life. Wasting even a minute means one more patient losing hope.”

Besides, our daughter was hospitalized at the same facility. I visit her regularly, bringing supplies and checking in often. If Miguel wasn’t working, he was with our daughter watching cartoons.

A man so dedicated to his family and job couldn’t possibly have time for an affair. Still, I couldn’t ignore the golden hair strands clinging to my cloth.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the car’s dash cam recordings.

To my surprise, the footage from the past few days was completely erased. The phrase covering one’s tracks flashed through my mind.

Then I remembered the camcorder I had taken to a recent exhibition—it was still in the car, likely left on by mistake.

When I powered it up, the battery was dead. After plugging it in to charge, I immediately checked the footage. Luckily, the recording was intact.

Skipping to the day Miguel had driven the car, two figures soon appeared on the screen: Miguel and an unfamiliar man.

My nerves eased as I realized I might be overreacting. Tossing the camcorder aside, I was about to start the engine when Miguel’s voice caught my attention.

“We’re doctors, not lawyers, so I thought I’d ask you since we’re meeting today. I remember you dealt with a tough divorce case for a while, right?”

Clearing his throat, he continued, “Hypothetically speaking, if the wife isn’t at fault, is there a way to ensure she walks away with nothing after the divorce?”

“I’m just asking casually—don’t read into it. A friend of mine has been having marital issues recently,” Miguel added defensively.

The man in the passenger seat burst out laughing, then replied, “Classic line—‘asking for a friend’? Bro, you’re acting suspicious.”

“We’re close, right? Just tell me the truth. You’re cheating and you want a divorce, but don’t want to part with your money, am I right?” The man smirked. “Though, if I remember correctly, weren’t you the one who chased after Sherry in the first place? Now you’re done with her?”

“And if I’m not mistaken, isn’t this car hers too? With such great conditions, sometimes love isn’t essential—we’re all adults here. You know what I mean, don't you?”

Hearing the other man’s candid response, Miguel sat up straighter. Taking a deep breath, he explained, “You don’t understand. At first, I thought about enduring it. After all, she’s invested quite a lot in the hospital where I work. But feelings aren’t something you can force. You’ve been divorced so you should get it.”

Miguel stared intently at the car logo on the steering wheel, his tone tinged with resentment as he continued, “Yes, she’s rich, but money isn’t everything. It can’t buy love.”

“I’ve had enough of her domineering attitude. She orders me around like a servant. I feel like I’m not her husband—I’m just a dog she keeps!”

My foot froze mid-air above the gas pedal.

But he wasn’t done. He grew more animated as he rambled, “Do you understand that feeling? I’m a man! A man!”

“Thankfully, I met someone. She reignited my passion, made me feel alive again, like a real, flesh-and-blood person. Her daughter is sick too, with the same illness as my daughter. But she doesn’t have the money...”

“And Sherry? She has more money than she could ever need. So I was thinking...”

The man beside him immediately caught on. “So, you want a divorce? And you’re planning to use your wife’s money to save your current lover’s daughter?”

I turned to the screen, staring at the footage in disbelief.

Miguel hesitated for two seconds, then nodded firmly. “Can you help me? I really think of you as a brother. Once I get the money, you’ll definitely get a share!”

“I’ll connect you with the lawyer who handled my divorce. Just say I recommended you. For now, I’ll head back, and we’ll keep in touch,” the man said.

The sound of the car door closing echoed, leaving the screen in silence for a long time.

My mind went blank. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.

Miguel drove straight to the hospital. As the sports car was parked by the curb, a young girl in a hospital gown climbed in casually.

“Dr. Richardson, this car isn’t as comfortable as the old one,” she said, her soft, coquettish voice sending alarm bells ringing in my head.

This bastard—was he having an affair with a patient? And if she was in pediatrics, wasn’t she underage?

My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, trembling with force.

Miguel reached out to affectionately ruffle her hair, speaking in a tone so gentle it made my skin crawl. “Chloe, be good. I won’t drive this car anymore, okay? Whichever car you like, I’ll drive that one instead.”

Before I could fully process the scene, the passenger door opened from the outside.

“Chloe, are you causing trouble for your godfather again? Did you take your meds on time today? You’ve got surgery coming up, so you can’t slack off.”

The voice was so saccharine it could drip honey.

Miguel immediately straightened up, pretending to adjust his hair. “No trouble at all. Chloe has been good. I just brought her out to relax a bit before the surgery.”

“Let’s go, Tricia. The restaurant’s already booked.” He smiled.

The young girl shifted to make room for the two of them, squeezing herself into a corner.

Tricia climbed into the passenger seat, settling in. Her golden curls glinted on the screen.

It was her.

I had met her once before at the hospital. At the time, Miguel mentioned that her daughter was battling the same illness as ours and was also on the waiting list for a kidney donor. I even felt a pang of sympathy for her situation and, as kindred souls facing similar struggles, assured her that if a donor kidney became available, I would cover the cost of her daughter’s surgery.

But now, from what Miguel had said, a donor was already secured. So why hadn’t he told me? Why wasn’t he saving our daughter?

The whole reason I invested in the hospital and helped him secure the director position was to ensure our daughter would be first in line for treatment.

In the end, all my efforts had only paved the way for those two scumbags! The fury of betrayal consumed me, surging through every fiber of my being.

With trembling fingers, I pressed the fast-forward button, skipping through their meal.

After dropping the young girl back at the hospital, Miguel returned to the car with Tricia. Together, they drove to the most secluded corner of the parking garage. Once the car doors were locked, the two immediately clung to each other, passionately kissing.

"Trish, your new hair color is stunning," Miguel said, his voice thick with desire.

Like a beast freed from its cage, he growled between his movements.

Every expression on his face was something I had never seen before.

At a critical moment, Miguel triumphantly took out a small bottle. "Let's try this. Last time you said it hurt—this will make it better."

In his eagerness to open the bottle, the liquid splashed onto the windows, leaving sticky streaks everywhere.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I grabbed the cleaning cloth and hurled it against the glass in disgust. The fruity scent lingered in the air as I stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.

Those two despicable people planned to trample on me and my daughter for their so-called happiness.

Dream on!

Switching to another car, I made a quick call to my assistant. “Cancel today’s meetings and handle the clients for me. Print out the financial details of the hospital investments over the past few years.”

“Also, have the lawyer contact me—I need to discuss something.”

If Miguel wanted me to walk away with nothing, he’d better be prepared for a fight.

As a major shareholder in the hospital, I had access to its administration.

I opened the app and messaged the hospital director. “Please look up a patient named Chloe. She supposedly has the same condition as my daughter. Could you send me her medical records? I’d like to understand more.”

The response was swift, and within two minutes, I had a complete file on the girl.

Using this as a starting point, I reached out to a friend to dig into Tricia’s background.

Just as I sent the request, the hospital called. “Ms. Gomez, did you and Dr. Richardson decided to make a donation? Thank you so much! Chloe’s mother is deeply grateful!”

“If it weren’t for Dr. Richardson this past year, Chloe wouldn’t even have been able to stay in the hospital. You and your husband are so kind—you’re bound to be blessed for it!”

“Dr. Richardson is even representing the hospital at the upcoming medical conference to present surgical solutions for this condition. It’s rare to see such dedicated doctors these days.”

I frowned, puzzled. “This past year, Miguel has been covering that child’s hospital expenses?”

“Yes! Her biological father is in prison and is supposed to be released in a few days. It’s such a tragic situation...”

After hanging up, a message from Miguel came through.

[Did you make it to the office, honey? It’s forecasted to rain today—don’t forget your umbrella, or I’ll worry.]

[If you need anything, call me anytime. Love, your husband.]

To avoid raising suspicion, I swallowed my rage and replied in my usual tone.

[I’m here. Busy with social engagements today. Remember to eat on time—your work is important, but so is your health.]

He sent back a “Love you” sticker, followed by a photo of himself seeing a patient.

The live photo even had the hospital’s announcement system calling out patient numbers in the background.

Too bad I no longer cared if he was overworked. His routine updates were likely just a tactic to keep me from suspecting anything, giving him free rein to indulge with that woman at the hospital.

Not long after, my friend sent me a document along with a voice message detailing Tricia’s background.