My Husband Loved Me, But Betrayed Me Beyond Repair

Cayden Jenkins, the respected heir of the most prestigious family in Las Vegas, was renowned for his unwavering devotion to his wife.

For my birthday, he orchestrated a spectacle like no other. He purchased every last firework and rose in the city. As countless fireworks painted the night sky with brilliance, he leaned close, his voice tender yet resolute as he kissed me softly.

"My love," he murmured, "you will never have reason to envy another woman."

The vibrant red roses formed a majestic castle, their fragrance carried by the breeze up to the 33rd floor of our building. There, an unmissable declaration awaited: five bold characters gleaming in lights—[Kylie, I love you.]—a confession as grand as it was heartfelt.

When I fell ill with a fever, Cayden’s concern bordered on obsession. He threatened to summon every private doctor in the city to ensure my swift recovery. Our wedding photos even adorned the massive LED screens in the heart of the city, celebrating a love the world envied.

But moments ago, the foundation of that perfect picture cracked.

I was reaching for his coat to help him, an ordinary gesture of care. Something slipped out of the pocket and landed on the floor—a condom. Not just any condom, but the strawberry-flavored kind I despised.

——

I froze, the weight of realization sinking in.

For a fleeting second, I considered leaving it where it had fallen. But despite the knot forming in my chest, I bent down and picked it up.

The pink packaging gleamed softly in the light. A faint whiff of its greasy strawberry scent wafted up, sharp and cloying. My fingers trembled as I held it. Something about this packaging felt disturbingly familiar.

A memory surfaced, vivid and unbidden.

Last month, during a visit to Cayden's company, I encountered his newly hired secretary, Sydney. She had been carrying a courier box when she hurriedly brushed past me, distracted and flustered.

"Are you okay?" I asked instinctively as the box slipped from her hands, scattering its contents across the polished floor.

Startled, Sydney froze for a moment before quickly crouching down. I had already bent to help her gather the small, colorful packages when she noticed me.

"Mrs. Jenkins!" she stammered, her face turning crimson. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you."

Her reaction had been amusing then—harmless, even. As I handed her one of the packages, she snatched it back with a flushed face and a sheepish smile.

At the time, I had laughed inwardly. A young secretary buying something so personal at the office? How reckless and endearing.

But Sydney’s next words now cut through my mind like shards of ice.

"My boyfriend asked me to get these," she had said with a coy smile, her eyes glimmering with a hint of pride. "We go through them so quickly—every three or five days, we need a new box."

And then she leaned closer, a playful grin softening her tone. "Mrs. Jenkins, please don’t tell anyone. It’s our little secret."

The image of her flushed face and the identical packaging in my hand merged into a single, damning truth. My chest felt hollow, my hands and feet numb.

"Baby, what are you thinking about?"

Cayden’s voice jolted me back to the present. Fresh from his shower, he approached me, steam still clinging to his warm skin as he gently embraced me from behind.

His arms wrapped around me, but the chill in my body only deepened.

"Why do you look so pale?" he asked softly, concern lacing his tone.

I didn’t answer. My throat was dry, and the damning pink package felt heavier than ever in my hands.

Cayden’s brows furrowed as he pulled me into his arms, his voice laced with worry.

"What’s wrong, baby? Who upset you?" he asked, his tone rising with protectiveness. "Did someone at work make you angry? Just tell me, and I’ll fire them on the spot!"

I looked up slowly, meeting his concerned gaze. After six years of marriage, Cayden had always been this way—gentle, doting, and unwaveringly attentive.

Whenever I was even slightly unhappy, he’d buy every rose in the city to cheer me up or splurge on grand gestures like a private cinema just for me. He’d always go to extraordinary lengths to see me smile.

People often said he was the epitome of a wealthy man spoiling his wife, and they weren’t wrong. Sometimes, I even thought his devotion was excessive. I used to tease him about it, smiling helplessly.

"If you keep this up," I’d say, "you’ll end up like King Charles II of England. People will start calling me a femme fatale."

But Cayden would always brush it off, his eyes filled with tenderness as he held me close.

"If you're Cleopatra," he’d reply, "then I’ll gladly be Julius Caesar. He crossed the Rubicon for her, and I’d spend my entire fortune just to make my Kylie happy."

Those sweet words from the past still echoed in my mind, but now they felt like a cruel joke. People change. Or maybe they just reveal who they’ve always been.

The bitter thought tugged at the corners of my lips, forming a bleak smile as I raised my hand, holding the pink package between us.

"What is this?"

For a moment, Cayden’s expression faltered. Panic flickered in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He forced a casual tone.

"Baby, where did you find that? I’ve never seen it before."

I pointed at the coat lying beside me. "It fell out of your pocket."

His face went blank for a second before he slapped his forehead in mock frustration. "Oh, that’s my fault! I must have grabbed it by mistake during the last team-building trip."

He smiled apologetically, his explanation came quickly.

"During the outing, a colleague ordered fried chicken, and I was thinking of grabbing a pack of disposable gloves. I must’ve picked this up instead and forgot about it. I must’ve accidentally brought it home without realizing it."