While they were fooling around, Tristan tugged the strap of her swimsuit and let it fly.

The tie came undone in an instant.

Cassandra shrieked, but before anyone could see, Tristan swept her into his arms and barked,

“Turn around! Don’t look!”

The waves crashed as he carefully retied the string, his fingertips lingering across her bare back.

She flushed, breathless. Their eyes met—heat sparking in the air.

And I… I watched from the shadows.

Fully armed, masked, like a rat hiding in the dark, spying on my own wife glowing in the sunlight—pregnant with my child—while another man held her without restraint.

She didn’t resist. She looked like she enjoyed it.

Beside me, Ella shifted angrily, ready to charge out, but I seized her wrist and shook my head.

After a long hesitation, I dialed Cassandra’s number.

From a distance, I saw her screen light up.

She glanced at it, let it ring once, twice—never answering.

Tristan caught sight of the word Husband and scoffed, turning away. “You promised to stay with me. Don’t let him distract you—and don’t distract me. Otherwise, we’re no longer best friends.”

Cassandra smiled, lifted her phone, and let it drop into a glass of water. Raising a brow, she teased,

“Your Majesty, satisfied now?”

Tristan finally nodded. Cassandra leaned in, fingers darting to his side until his laughter filled the sea breeze.

By the time I lowered my phone—the one I had been using to record—my tears had already soaked my mask.

Six years of love. And this is what it came to.

Cassandra… I hope you’re ready for hell.

Later, after they tired of their games, the group sat down. Tristan’s voice drifted toward me with the wind:

“On the night of Cassie’s wedding, I got drunk and joked about marrying whoever came first. She panicked—showed up in her wedding dress and Gareth’s tux.”

Laughter rippled around him.

I froze. That tux—my custom suit. She’d told me it was stained and lost at the cleaners.

Tristan smirked. “We played house, bowing to heaven and earth like when we were kids. I teased that after that, I couldn’t remarry—but I wanted a child. Guess what this fool did?”

Cassandra only smiled, sipping her tea, silent.

Encouraged by the crowd, Tristan beamed. “She took me seriously! She actually dragged me to do embryo culture!”

He nudged her. “Cassie, tell them. Where’s the baby?”

Cassandra tipped back her cup, her eyes dark.

“What’s in my belly right now is Tristan’s IVF child.”

Boom. My mind went blank.

Ella spat curses beside me, but all I could see was Cassandra’s cold, unbothered face.

Every memory twisted like a knife. She had lied about her “infertility,” lied about needing IVF.

I believed her. I trusted her.

I still remember the day the embryo was implanted—how she caressed her stomach, whispering tenderly,

“My dear, Mommy will make sure you and Daddy are the happiest people in the world.”

She wasn’t talking to me. She never was.

Tristan’s voice cut through my haze, laced with mockery:

“Cassie is brilliant. I don’t have to lift a finger, and I still get to be a father. Gareth did all the dirty work.”

I couldn’t bear another word. I turned to leave—

when suddenly, a massive wave struck, and the cruise ship lurched violently.

Tristan was standing too close to the edge, speaking animatedly. With a shriek, he was thrown into the sea.

Before anyone else could react, Cassandra grabbed a lifebuoy and jumped straight in after him.

I froze.

She was pregnant. She couldn’t swim. She’d once clutched my arm during a ferry ride, whispering that she was terrified of water.

Yet here she was, plunging headlong into the waves for him.

I couldn’t watch her play the hero for another man. I turned away and headed directly for the hospital where she had her IVF treatment.

When I saw the sperm donor’s name—Tristan—something inside me snapped.

Cassandra, you’re finished.

Later, after I’d submitted the evidence to the law firm, Ella hurried over, face grim. She shoved her phone into my hands.

The video shook with movement. On the beach, Tristan knelt, sobbing, forcing air into Cassandra’s lungs. When she coughed back to life, he crushed her in his arms.

“Cassandra, I can’t lie anymore,” he cried. “I love you! Fool, I’ve always loved you!”

The crowd cheered as they clung to each other, soaked and trembling, mouths pressed together in a fevered kiss.

The mermaid had saved her prince. Their love was unshakable. They even had a child together.

And me? Just the pitiful green bubble, popping uselessly in the sunlight.

The second video cut in. Tristan carried Cassandra into a hotel, bridal style.

At that exact moment, a message lit up on my phone: Honey, my phone’s broken. I’m using a friend’s. I’ll be sleeping at my bestie’s house tonight. Good night~

I stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, I sat up.

“Ella,” I said evenly, “frame that sperm donation certificate. And hire a brass band. Make sure they’re the loud, nosy kind.”

She blinked. “What are you planning?”

“Simple,” I said, savoring each word. “I’m bringing a wedding gift to the hotel—brass band blazing—to celebrate my wife’s remarriage.”

When everything was ready, I went live. With a sorrowful face, I told the stream:

“Brothers, I’m in agony. My wife swears she and her male best friend are just friends. Am I being paranoid?”

The comments poured in.

[You’re too insecure. Men and women can be pure friends.]

[Streamer’s just petty.]

I shook my head, sighing.

“No, no, not petty. She learned her lesson after the last conflict. If there really is an affair, I won’t hesitate. I’ll even arrange her wedding myself!”

The livestream exploded. The hashtag “One Woman, Two Husbands” shot up the hot list.

By the time I slipped into the hotel with the troupe, the audience count had broken records. Using a trick I’d learned online, I swiped a room card.

We pushed the door open.

Inside, chaos—clothes scattered, two half-naked bodies entwined.

I slapped a hand to my mouth and shrieked theatrically:

“Wow! Such good friends! Playing tortoise-and-honey games—so fun to touch, so fun to eat!”