Until one day, everything unraveled.

A photo arrived on my phone—a picture of Killian lying in bed, sound asleep. His face was peaceful, but what caught my attention was the strand of long, unfamiliar hair draped across his cheek.

In that moment, the truth became painfully clear. He had another woman in his life. And all the extravagant gifts—the diamonds, the haute couture dresses, the lavish vacations—were nothing more than his way of masking his guilt, a silent confession after every betrayal.

As I stared at the photo, my phone buzzed in my hand. The caller ID flashed his name—Killian, the man idolized as the perfect husband by the world.

"Honey," he began, his voice warm and familiar, "I bought you a gift to make up for missing our wedding anniversary."

I glanced up at the enormous mall screen where his image beamed down at adoring crowds, his every move inspiring envy and admiration. My lips curled into a bitter smile.

"Thank you," I replied evenly. "It’s just as well—I have a gift for you too."

His surprise was palpable even over the phone. "Really? Honey, you’re amazing! It’s my fault, yet you still went out of your way to prepare something for me. I’m so lucky to have you."

"You’re welcome," I said, my tone betraying none of the storm within me. "I hope you’ll like it."

Later that evening, I slipped the neatly folded divorce agreement into an envelope, sealing it with finality.

This would be my gift to Killian.

Killian invited me to his company, insisting on a grand gesture. Before an audience of employees and onlookers, he presented me with the pink diamond necklace, its brilliance reflected in the admiring gazes of the crowd.

He gazed at me as if the world began and ended with us. "Honey, happy fifth anniversary!" he declared, his voice filled with affection.

I smiled, but I didn’t respond. Because I hadn’t forgotten—our fifth anniversary was three days ago.

As he fastened the necklace around my neck, he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Honey, I’m sorry. There was an emergency at the company a few days ago—someone caused trouble, and I had to step in."

I nodded, signaling my understanding. His shoulders relaxed visibly, as if a weight had been lifted.

The applause erupted as we embraced in front of the crowd, a perfect image of a happy couple. But as his arms wrapped around me, I caught a faint, unmistakable scent lingering on his shirt—a sweet perfume that no man would wear.

A perfume that belonged to another woman.

I pulled back slightly and reached into my bag, retrieving an envelope. "I have a gift for you, too," I said with a soft smile, handing it to him.

Curiosity lit up his face as he accepted it, pressing the envelope against his chest like a cherished treasure. "Open it in fifteen days," I added, my tone light. "It’ll be a surprise."

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "A love letter, isn’t it? You’ve always been so romantic. I still remember how we promised in college to write each other a love letter every year, to keep the magic alive."

He sighed, his expression turning nostalgic. "It’s been ten years since we started dating. Honey, you’re amazing—you never forget the little things. I’m so lucky to have you."

I smiled and nodded, keeping up the charade.

For the past ten years, I had written him a love letter each year, just as he claimed. But they never left my drawer, gathering dust instead of memories. Now, as I thought about it, those letters deserved the same fate as my feelings—a quiet, decisive end.

The staff sighed in admiration around us, their voices full of playful envy.

“Mr. Barnes, you and your wife are the definition of true love! Ten years and still going strong!”

Another colleague chimed in, pulling a mock pout, “Please, Mr. Barnes, stop flaunting your love! It’s almost criminal how perfect you two are!”

Killian chuckled heartily, pulling me closer with an arm around my shoulders. Phones flashed as people captured our "perfect" moment, and within minutes, the photos and videos would flood social media, painting a glossy picture of the ideal couple.

Yet amidst the sea of cheerful faces, one stood out—Anastacia Harris, Killian’s assistant. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes betraying a smoldering anger.

After the spectacle, Killian leaned close and whispered, “Let’s celebrate properly. I’ll take you to that new French restaurant everyone’s raving about.”

I nodded, maintaining my smile, and excused myself to the bathroom.

As I washed my hands, a conversation drifted in from the hallway.

“Did you see that pink diamond necklace today? Oh my god, it’s enormous—800 million dollars! President Barnes really spares no expense for his wife!”

“I know! Ugh, I’m so jealous. When will I ever meet someone who treats me like that?”

Amid the giddy chatter, a sharp scoff interrupted.

Anastacia’s voice dripped with smugness as she flaunted her wealth.

“A necklace is nothing,” she declared. “My boyfriend was at that auction too, and he bought me an entire set of emerald jewelry.”

I stepped closer to the corridor, catching sight of her stretching out her left hand. On her ring finger, an emerald the size of a pigeon egg sparkled obnoxiously under the light.

“Wow, Anastacia, your emerald is stunning!” One of the women exclaimed. “That must’ve cost a fortune!”

Anastacia shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips. “Not really. The whole set cost only 900 million.”

The collective gasp that followed could have shattered glass.

“Nine hundred million?” someone whispered in awe. “That’s way more than what President Barnes spent on Penelope’s necklace!”

Anastacia nodded with exaggerated nonchalance. “Of course, it is. But what can I say? My boyfriend loves me enough to buy whatever I like, no matter the price.”

The women giggled and probed further. “Anastacia, who’s your boyfriend? Is he a billionaire? When will you introduce him to us?”

Anastacia’s tone turned dismissive. “He’s very prestigious, so meeting him isn’t convenient. But tonight, he’s taking me to the newly opened French restaurant for dinner. Just check my feed later; I’ll post everything there.”

Her words lingered in my mind as I made my way to the garage, where Killian was waiting in the car.

He greeted me with his trademark charming smile. “Ready for dinner, honey?”

I slid into the seat beside him. “Do you have work tonight?”

He shook his head, looking almost offended. “Of course not! I missed our anniversary, and I’m not letting work ruin this evening too. I cleared my entire schedule just to enjoy this meal with you.”

Halfway through the drive, however, Killian abruptly asked the driver to pull over.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “The branch manager just messaged me—there’s an urgent matter I have to handle. I’m afraid dinner will have to wait.”

I forced a smile, keeping my tone light. “I understand. Work comes first. I won’t eat without you.”

Relief washed over his face as he smiled back. “You’re the best, honey. I knew you’d understand.”

He hesitated, then added, “My car needs to turn around for the office. Could you take a taxi back on your own?”

I nodded, meeting his gaze, but his eyes darted away guiltily.

“Okay,” I said softly, watching him breathe a sigh of relief.

He kissed my forehead softly. "Honey, I’ll definitely come back early," he promised.

I simply smiled, stepped out of the car, and watched as his Maybach sped off—not toward the office, but toward the French restaurant.

That night, Killian didn’t return home until two in the morning. He moved quietly, tie in hand, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hint of disheveled carelessness.

When he turned on the light, his expression shifted to surprise as he found me sitting in the living room, wide awake.

He had once proudly declared at public events, "The true measure of a man isn’t just in his success, but in coming home to a light that’s been left on for him."

But tonight, faced with that very light, his first reaction was panic.

“H-honey, why are you still up?” he stammered, clearly caught off guard.

I picked up a small black box and held it out. “The maid found this while cleaning today. She wasn’t sure what to do with it, so she asked me to take a look.”

The box was worn, the edges frayed, and its surface dulled with age.

Killian’s slightly drunken gaze cleared, his eyes sharpening as they landed on the box. “This! This is from our college days, when we were dating!”

He hurried over, his excitement palpable, and sat beside me. Eagerly, he opened the box, revealing a collection of small, sentimental items—fragments of our shared history.

“This stack of movie tickets,” he said, picking them up reverently, “these are from every movie we watched together. I couldn’t bear to throw a single one away.”

He chuckled, a wistful smile crossing his face. “I remember one of those movie dates so clearly. I was so nervous. I wanted to hold your hand but didn’t dare, so when I finally did, I couldn’t focus on the movie at all.”

“And this paper rose—this was the first gift you gave me,” Killian said, holding the fragile keepsake gently. “Though, calling it a gift might be a stretch. You folded it, tossed it on the table, and I picked it up.”

He chuckled, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. “I remember I gave you 999 roses back then, and you refused them all. I convinced myself that this paper rose was your way of giving something back to me. Silly, wasn’t it?”

His eyes softened, a nostalgic light flickering in them, and for a brief moment, his handsome face radiated love—the kind that used to make my heart race.

I wanted to feel moved, to believe in the sincerity of the moment. But my gaze fell to his collarbone, where faint marks marred his skin.

I pointed, my voice calm but cutting. “Killian, why is your collarbone red?”

His reaction was instant—panic flashed across his face before he quickly buttoned his shirt all the way up, his hands fumbling. “Oh, that? Probably a mosquito bite. My neck’s been itchy all day, so I must have scratched it raw without realizing.”

I said nothing, just watched him in silence as he awkwardly fumbled through his excuse.

The smell of alcohol clung to him, and he announced that he was going to shower. But before he could leave, I stopped him.

“Killian,” I said, my voice steady, “do you remember the vows we made at our wedding?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

Even so, he recited them smoothly. “When we become husband and wife, we are one in this life. Between you and me, there is no betrayal, no change of heart, and no deception.”

He hadn’t forgotten. For a fleeting second, I almost wondered if he still meant them.

Killian stepped closer, his lips brushing against my forehead in a soft kiss. His eyes, brimming with what seemed like love, locked onto mine. “Don’t worry, my wife. I will never betray you, let alone deceive you. This is my promise to you.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with irony. Moments later, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me alone in the living room.

Not long after, the doorbell rang.

I opened it, and standing on the other side was his assistant—Anastacia.

Anastacia stepped into the room, her emerald jewelry gleaming under the lights. She wore emerald earrings that caught the light with every movement, three necklaces draped around her neck, and emerald bracelets that glittered on her wrists. The large emeralds on her fingers only added to the display of wealth. As expected, the jewelry bought at 900 million was nothing short of breathtaking.

When she saw me, she made a show of lifting her hair, subtly allowing the jewelry to sparkle in my face.

With a saccharine smile, she spoke in a tone that dripped with insincerity. “I’m really sorry, Miss Penelope, to bother you so late at night. Mr. Barnes left a very important document at the company, and I have to bring it to him.”

As she handed over the document, the sweet, cloying scent of her perfume filled the air. It was the same fragrance Killian wore—an overbearing, feminine sweetness that made my stomach churn.

I felt a wave of disgust wash over me, but I said nothing. Instead, I kept my tone even. “He’s in the shower. You can come in and wait.”

I stepped aside to let her pass. As she walked by, she didn’t bother hiding the smug look on her face. She must have thought I hadn’t noticed, but I did.

Once inside, she casually placed the takeaway bag in her hand on the table.

“Oh, and there’s this,” she added nonchalantly. “Mr. Barnes didn’t eat much tonight. I brought him a midnight snack.”

She lingered on the word “do,” a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her eyes sparkling with an unmistakable challenge.

The brand on the takeaway bag caught my eye, and my heart sank—this was the French restaurant Killian had promised to take me to.

Anastacia didn’t leave much to the imagination. She was practically laying out the fact that they had spent the evening together—at the restaurant I was supposed to go to, in the car that was supposed to bring me, and now, she had even brought him a midnight snack.

If this had been before, I’m sure I would have lost control. I would have been furious, maybe even burst into tears, demanding to know what was going on, throwing the food at her and telling her to leave. I might have dragged Killian into the room and confronted him then and there.

But now, I simply felt numb.

I had reached a point where I wouldn’t waste my time being upset or angry about something like this. I had made my decision: I was ready to walk away.

"Oh, then you’re quite thoughtful," I said calmly, my voice betraying nothing.

Anastacia was about to say something else when suddenly, Killian poked his head out of the bathroom.

"Honey, why do I feel like there are a lot of things missing in the bathroom? Where’s your bottle of woody-scented shower gel? I can’t find it, and I was planning to use it to shower."

His words hung in the air. Of course, things were missing—because I had been cleaning up my belongings.

I didn’t answer, and then, in an instant, Killian’s expression turned cold.

"Anastacia? What are you doing here?"

His eyes widened, and his voice shot up in panic, sharp and piercing.

Anastacia pressed her lips together in a feigned pout, her eyes brimming with faux innocence. Before she could speak, I spoke up for her.

"You didn’t take the document, so she came to deliver it."

Anastacia nodded eagerly. "Yes, that document is for tomorrow’s meeting. It’s very important."

Killian, now in his bathrobe, stormed out of the bathroom, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. His expression was clouded with frustration.

Without a second thought, he turned to Anastacia, his tone sharp. "Take your documents and come upstairs with me to the study."

Then, his gaze softened as he turned to me. "Wife, it’s late. You should go to bed first. I’ll handle this and come back."

I nodded quietly, doing as he asked, and walked into the master bedroom. I even turned off the lights as I lay down.

Meanwhile, I could hear Killian and Anastacia walking into the study. The soft click of the door locking echoed through the quiet house.

The curtains were drawn, and everything was sealed off.

I stared at the study, now concealed behind closed doors and windows, and couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

Did he really think I didn’t know what was going on?

What he didn’t realize was that I had installed a camera in his study long ago.

I turned on the computer and accessed the camera feed from the study. What I saw on the surveillance screen almost made me sick.