While driving home with my wife, a strikingly handsome man suddenly appeared, forcing our car to stop.

He smashed the window and barked at me to get out.

Confused, I froze—until my wife jumped out and wrapped her arms around him, whispering in a soothing voice:

“Stop it, sweetheart! I didn’t mean to ignore your call. I was just busy with the family dinner.”

My heart skipped a beat. I reached for the door handle, but she pressed me back with her free hand, hissing:

“Stay put! Don’t scare her!”

The man jabbed a finger at me, spitting curses:

“You bastard! Do you own Victoria? How dare you monopolize her like this?”

“If you stop her from answering my calls again, I’ll kill you!”

And there I was—the lawful husband—pinned in the passenger seat, treated like some illicit intruder.

I felt as if lightning had struck. For three years, I had fought to recover abroad after a car accident—an accident that saved her life. Now, back at last, the so-called mistress was parading as the wife, while I was reduced to a shadow. Victoria abandoned me in the car, strolling away with her arm hooked through his, as though coaxing a spoiled elder.

Later, after digging up information about the man, the phone rang. Victoria’s lover spoke, arrogant and sharp:

“Don’t threaten Victoria with divorce to break us apart. I don’t care at all!”

“Status means nothing to me. The illegitimate child has inheritance rights, and all of Victoria’s love and money are mine.”

Her money? A curious claim for a mistress. This was no low-level affair—it was a declaration of war.

——

“Only shallow men like you cling to titles!” she sneered.

“I’m giving you the title now, so keep quiet and stop interfering with me and Victoria.”

Her words carried not the tone of a mistress but of a wife ordering me into silence.

Her arrogance came from Victoria’s blind devotion. My chest burned. I gripped the phone until my knuckles whitened.

“If you were truly capable, you wouldn’t crawl to me like a clown!” I roared.

“And Andrew—my status wasn’t handed to me by you. It’s something you could never earn, even if you begged the heavens. You think I value what you don’t?!”

The mention of Andrew stung her. She snapped back in fury:

“You’ll pay for that! I’ll prove just how much your wife loves me!”

She hung up.

I sat frozen, phone still in my hand, dazed as if trapped in a nightmare. None of it seemed real. If that man hadn’t stormed into my life, I would never have believed Victoria—the woman who had once staked everything on me—was unfaithful.

How could the wife who had emptied her savings to send me to a world-class hospital now betray me? My chest tightened as if torn in half. With trembling fingers, I messaged Susan Emerson, my father’s most trusted lawyer:

“I want to preserve the assets. Check Victoria’s accounts. She’s cheating.”

The moment I sent it, pain tore through me, sharp and suffocating.

That night, Victoria finally came home. She sat across from me, silent, stiff, her eyes cold.

I stared at her, searching for her face. My mind replayed a distant memory—her at eighteen, plucking wildflowers by the roadside and handing them to me with a radiant smile:

“I’ll always give Lucas Emerson flowers, just as I’ll always love him.”

The memory cut deep. My eyes burned red with grief, the pain unbearable.

Victoria’s gaze faltered. The arrogance drained away, replaced by guilt. Her lips trembled, her eyes helpless. Finally, she whispered:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The words hung heavily in the air. She looked into my eyes only for a fleeting moment before lowering hers, crushed under the weight of guilt.

“Is this really what you’re telling me?”

I forced a calm expression, but my voice cracked, and tears blurred my vision.

“Andrew doesn’t want a formal relationship. I’ll do my best to balance things between you two,” she said.

The words stabbed me like knives.

She actually wanted two men to share one wife? My lips trembled. There was no sense in arguing about not being loved. I swallowed the fury, steadied my tone, and said,

“Let’s divorce, then. I’ll make it easy for you.”

She stiffened, panic flickering in her eyes, and shook her head with fierce resolve.

“If I married you, I’ll never divorce you. Never.”

“You were paralyzed for three years after saving me overseas. I’ll spend my whole life repaying you. Just… please don’t make things difficult for Andrew.”

I let out a hollow laugh.

“Repay me? By sleeping with another man?”

Her face went pale. My words crushed her into silence, leaving her staring at the ground in shame.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry. The truth is, I love you and Andrew. I can’t give up either of you.”

The suffocating air broke when her phone rang. She fumbled for it, glanced at the caller ID, and muttered nervously, “I won’t divorce you,” before rushing out.

Of course, it was Andrew.

In front of him, she was obedient, pliant, always at his beck and call.

Everything she once did for me, she now gave it to him.

I told my in-laws about Victoria Hayes’s affair.

They only laughed, brushing it aside:

“Every woman has her secrets, especially rich ones. Don’t worry—the Hayes and Emerson families are bound together. No one can steal your place as the first wife.”

They thought I was pleading for support.

But I was warning them. Once love and loyalty rot, all that’s left is the scramble for profit.

I had never wanted to fight Victoria, yet as the saying goes, even if you starve, you still fight for your dignity.

I would not let a mistress take everything from me.

I threw myself into work at the Hayes Group without pause.

One day, needing a gift for an important client’s birthday, I went to the mall to buy the latest luxury watch.

The clerk carefully boxed it up and smiled.

“Hello, sir. That will be 290,000 dollars.”

I handed over my card.

A moment later, the clerk’s voice faltered.

“Sorry, sir, insufficient balance on this card.”

I froze. This was the unlimited card Victoria had given me five years ago. I hardly used it. Just as I reached for my phone to call her, the sound of polished leather shoes clicked behind me.

“Chris, pack up all your latest models for me.”

It was Andrew Young.

He strode up, exuding arrogance, and glanced at me with contempt before producing a sleek black card.

Victoria’s primary card.

The one with the true unlimited limit.

The card in my hand was only a supplementary one—its balance strictly controlled.

The clerk’s demeanor shifted instantly.

“Mr. Young, your total is 56.8 million.”

With theatrical flourish, he swiped the card, then casually drew a cigarette from his pocket.

The clerk bent over himself like a servant, rushing to light it.

Andrew exhaled a stream of smoke in my direction, eyes gleaming with ridicule.

“Where a woman’s money goes, so does her heart. Imagine walking into a luxury store with no money. Pathetic.”

His smoke stung my face, but I stared back, unflinching. Slowly, I pulled out my phone and spoke into it.

“110? I’d like to report fraudulent use of my wife’s credit card. Please send officers immediately.”

For the first time, Andrew’s expression faltered. His smugness cracked for a brief moment, though he quickly straightened and sneered, trying to recover his composure.

“When Victoria arrives,” he said with icy pride, “she’ll slap you down herself.”

He immediately called Victoria, his voice filled with rage:

“Victoria, your man’s causing trouble again. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get here and put him in his place! If you’re late, we’re finished!”

So brazen—he didn’t care if the world knew he was a mistress. Unlike others who pretended with false innocence, he flaunted it. His very attitude screamed: Yes, I’m a mistress. I’m proud of it. And who can say otherwise?

The police had barely arrived when Victoria rushed in, breathless. She instinctively placed herself in front of Andrew, shielding him, her eyes fixed on me with hostility.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Encouraged by her protection, Andrew swaggered forward, lifted his hand, and struck me across the face.

“You bastard! How dare you call the police on me!”

“I’m spending my woman’s money—it’s natural! What’s it to you?”

His nails cut a bloody mark across my cheek. Still unsatisfied, he lunged again, fists raised.

I raised mine in defense, but two police officers restrained me.

Victoria wrapped her arms around him from behind, her voice soft and coaxing.

“Baby, calm down. Let me handle this, alright?”

He roared like a furious beast, yet she stayed gentle, as though soothing a spoiled child. Not a single harsh word for him.

Instead, she turned to me, frowning, pleading.

“Please, just leave.”

Her stance was clear—against me, protecting him. I was humiliated in front of everyone.

The woman who once swore to love me, who vowed never to let anyone hurt me, now stood with her mistress to trample me. Pain boiled over, and before I knew it, my hand lashed out, striking her.

“You and your mistress are bullying me!”

She didn’t fight back. She absorbed the slap; her face stung, but her heart still leaned toward Andrew.

Outraged, he charged again, shouting:

“You bastard! You dare lay a hand on my woman? I’ll kill you!”

Again, Victoria held him, soothing his anger.

“Okay, okay, it’s fine. Don’t get upset.”

“Then why did he hit you!” he fumed.

Through it all, she clung to him, holding him tight, their bodies pressed together like lovers.

The police stepped between us, finally demanding proof.

“Is the card theft true?” one asked.

Rage surged inside me. I opened PayPal, produced our marriage certificate, and showed it to them.

“We’re legally married. My wife’s card is in another man’s hands. He’s spent over fifty million dollars without my knowledge. If that’s not theft, then what is it?”

Andrew sneered confidently.

“I didn’t steal it. My girlfriend gave it to me! Of course, I can spend her money.”

He turned to Victoria with smug assurance.

“Honey, tell them. Did you give me this card, or did I steal it?”

She froze, her eyes flickering toward me, hesitation breaking through for a single second. That second enraged him. He slapped her arm sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Victoria? Can’t bear to let him go?”

“No, Andrew, don’t get upset,” she soothed, clinging to his waist. Then she faced the police, her voice steady.

“It’s a misunderstanding. I gave him the card. It wasn’t stolen. He has my permission to use it.”

With those words, I became the fool.

The police, realizing this was more emotional conflict than crime, gave us a cold warning.

“Resolve your personal issues properly. Don’t waste police resources.”

As they prepared to leave, Andrew suddenly stopped them, his voice sharp with indignation.

“Don’t go! This man made a false report and damaged my reputation. I’ll hold him fully accountable!”

Victoria tugged his arm, her voice low and coaxing.

“Let it go. Don’t make things worse. Please—for my sake.”