"Mr. Russell spent a lot of money on Bianca. Everyone in the industry praises him for choosing power over beauty. Hahaha!"

"Exactly," the man with a big belly said, lifting his wine glass.

"Bianca, why don’t you toast to Mr. Russell, too?"

I stopped walking and froze just as I was about to open the door.

Andrew was allergic to alcohol. In fact, he never drank. Even at business events, I was always the one who drank for him.

I stared at the wine glass in front of Andrew and watched Bianca act cute, saying, "I don’t drink so. Andrew wouldn’t let me."

"Isn’t that right?" she said again, clinging to his arm.

Then Andrew picked up the wine glass. His face was cold as he looked at the man.

"Bianca won’t drink, Sir," he said.

"If there’s a toast, Mr. Johnson and I will drink instead."

I watched Andrew drink the entire glass. The room burst into laughter. Bianca blushed and praised Andrew like he was her hero. He then smiled gently before he pinched her cheek.

It felt like my body was being cut open by a dull, rusty knife. The pain was slow and deep and the wounds were ugly and raw.

I saw the blood in my mind, bright red and flowing. I felt like I was falling apart, yet I still wondered if maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was a reason.

My best friend, Monica, held me up as I shook, ready to storm in.

"Andrew, you’re fucking monster!" she yelled.

But I stopped her. I took out my phone and called him. Even now, I still hoped he would give me a real explanation, something to make it all make sense.

I saw Andrew pick up his phone from the table. He looked at Bianca with a strange expression. But Bianca ended the call right away.

Then, she grabbed his arm again and reminded him, "You promised."

"You said you would support me," she said, biting her lip.

She looked at Andrew with determination.

I kept calling. Again and again. The screen on the table lit up and went dark. Finally Andrew made a choice.

"Yes."

"I promised you."

After that, my husband turned his phone upside down, blocking all my calls. Bianca smiled brightly. That smile was the final blow that broke me completely.

I was falling apart, but I still had enough strength to whisper to my best friend, "CCTV."

"CCTV," I said again, my voice shaking, as I pointed to the camera above us.

"Save the footage. I need proof."

I looked at the camera. I saw Andrew’s face turn pale.

I told Monica, "Since Andrew made his choice, I won’t let him off so easily."

Not long after, I entered her car. Monica helped me collect all the information. It turned out that Andrew took Bianca on trips to beautiful places. On her social media, Bianca shared everything about their love. Except their love never included me.

Then, I saw a video Bianca had posted last month, while I was away for work.

She was sitting in my Porsche.

She smiled brightly at the camera, "What can I do, friends? My husband’s car broke down, so he bought a new one. This one looks more girly. I’m getting a surprise ready for him!"

She showed the GPS voice and made a shushing gesture.

"Guess what?"

"Will I like the surprise? Will he buy me some cookies?"

I felt sick but kept watching. Then, I saw that she was also at the same hospital on the day I had my IVF treatment. She held up her test results, looking shy yet proud.

"Someone hasn’t had their period for a month and a half."

"Guess, friends! Am I just having irregular periods or …"

She laughed again.

"Am I going to be a mommy?"

"What a fucking bitch!"

My best friend hit the steering wheel in fury. But by then, I didn’t feel the same pain or anger I had before. I calmly told her, "Andrew has a low count of sperm."

Both Andrew and I had been married for many years. Having a baby had always been a serious issue for us. We saw many doctors, but they all told us the same thing. Andrew’s sperm count was too low. Thus, becoming parents was going to be very hard.

For the last few years, I had been doing IVF treatments just to help Andrew have the child he wanted so badly.

Now, I was looking at Bianca’s latest post.

[Since my hubby told me that he’ll give me a mansion if I get pregnant. Friends, what do you think? Should I get a cash or a mansion?]

Instagram was full of pictures and videos of Bianca and Andrew being sweet together. It also clearly showed how much money Andrew had spent on her. The amount was shocking, far more than I ever imagined.

Even the winery project, which all the shareholders voted against, was pushed forward because Andrew insisted. As I was getting everything ready to face him with the facts, I suddenly got a call from the hospital.

Andrew had alcohol poisoning.

A senior in both Andrew's and I’s university had visited him at the hospital and decided to call me.

He gently asked, "Did something happen between you and Andrew?"

"There was a woman crying, begging us to save him. I just thought … "

I smiled and asked him to help me with something. Then, I saw Bianca’s Instagram story. Andrew looked very pale and had an IV drip in his hand. Bianca’s eyes were red from crying.

She posted.

[My hubby drank so much just for me, even though he’s allergic. But he still drank! I really love him!]

In the video Andrew only showed one of his hands. If I hadn’t known those hands so well, the same ones that held me every night if we hadn’t grown up together, I might have believed their lies, wouldn’t I?

So, I gave Bianca’s post a like and commented.

[What a coincidence.]

[Your hubby has the same wedding ring as mine.]

Then, I posted a photo of my hand with the ring.

[My husband designed this wedding ring for me. I didn’t think he and your hubby would have such similar tastes.]

The comments exploded. My post quickly went viral and ended up on the trending page. That was when Andrew called me.

His voice was weak as he said, "Honey, I’m working late at the office tonight. Don’t wait for me. Just go to bed. I don’t want you to worry."

My husband was still lying. Still pretending everything he did was for me, hoping I would keep living in his fake world. So, I listened to his voice while watching the comment section go wild.

People were comparing my Instagram and Bianca’s. They found so many overlaps, like the Porsche I once posted. The comment section was filled with questions about whether Bianca and I were sharing one husband or was one of us was a mistress.

I pretended to be shocked.

[That can’t be right.]

[My husband and I have been married for seven to eight years. How could there be a mistress?]

Then, I acted innocent and said on the call, "Andrew, someone online is calling me a mistress. What should I do?"

On the other end of the line Andrew didn’t speak for a long time. He looked at Bianca in the hospital room. She was busy reading and replying to the online comments. Finally, he tried to comfort me.

"Who said that about you?"

"Honey, I’ll go deal with those people first after I’m done with my work."

I smiled and replied, "No need Andrew."

Then, while he was still confused, I pushed open the hospital room door.

"Since someone is calling me a mistress, I obviously need to clear that up, right, honey?" I said with a smile, holding up my phone for a livestream.

I pointed the camera at Andrew and Bianca, calmly saying, "This is my husband!"

I pretended to be surprised and glanced at Bianca.

"Why are you here?"