At two in the morning, Catherine returned, humming and carrying a new bag.

Surprised to see me in the living room, she asked, "Honey, why are you still up?"

I didn't respond directly but pointed to her bag, "When did you buy this?"

"Oh, it's a birthday gift from my best friend," she replied.

I asked, "Chanel? Which girlfriend is so rich?"

Her demeanor shifted slightly, "A college friend you haven't met."

She then went to shower.

I took the opportunity to check the closet and found numerous luxury items tucked away.

I recalled when we first got together, we didn't have much money, and she would envy others with designer bags. Now that we had some financial stability, I sometimes advised her to buy what she wanted, but she always directed her funds to support her family instead.

Thinking of this, I finally understood.

She was using my earnings to support her family while tapping into other men's money for herself.

Anger simmered within me.

At this time, Catherine's phone buzzed.

A message from Nicolas caught my eye. [Catherine, one hundred thousand dollars from your husband isn't enough. Your brother wants a two hundred thousand dollar car. Ask him for more.]

[If that fails, ask the richer one for cash.]

I felt manipulated by this family.

When Nicolas saw she hadn't replied, he addressed me directly, "Erik, your brother still needs one hundred thousand dollars for the car. Bring me that in a couple of days."

I suppressed the urge to yell, replying, "Okay."

Remembering my hard work to give Catherine a better life, I found one betrayed me and one treated me like a mere ATM. A plan for revenge began to form in my mind.

The next morning, Catherine got up early and bought me breakfast.

At the table, she seemed hesitant to speak.

Sensing her intentions, I said, "I'll give your brother one hundred thousand dollars for the car in two days."

She feigned concern, "Honey, my dad goes too far. How about I ask them to choose a new car? Otherwise, you will be under too much pressure."

If in the past, I might have believed her worry, but now it felt insincere.

I changed the subject, "Catherine, there's a reception at my company tonight. Will you join me?"

Catherine said in surprise, "Sure. I just bought an evening gown and was looking for a chance to wear it."

She dashed to the bedroom to find clothes.

I texted my contact, [The fish is hooked.]

At seven o'clock in the evening, I took her to the banquet hall.

Upon entering, I noticed her scanning the room as if searching for someone.

"Catherine, what are you looking for?" I asked.

Her secret was exposed, and she smiled awkwardly. "I'm not looking for anyone. I'm just a bit hungry, checking for food."

I let go of her hand, telling her I'd made a toast and asked her to walk around.

Unexpectedly, she turned into someone else's car.

Watching a video on my phone, I felt disgusted.

I realized the time and knew the rendezvous shouldn't be over yet.

Suddenly, I wanted to play with them.

In the underground parking lot, I saw a black Cullinan shaking at a glance.

I approached and knocked on the window.

Inside, the movement stopped abruptly.

An impatient voice came out, "Who is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Hearing the familiar voice, I couldn't help but clench my fists.

I shouted, "Mr. Webber, it's me, Erik. I saw your car shaking and came to check."

There was silence before the window lowered halfway, revealing Will's annoyed face.

He forced a smile, "Oh, Erik. I'm talking to my wife."

I was furious.

The person inside was my wife.

Pretending embarrassment, I apologized but was suddenly alerted by a woman's voice from the car.

Turning serious, I asked, "Why does Mrs. Webber sound different?"

His face drained of color as he stuttered, "I... she..."

"Is she catching a cold?" I continued with a smile.

He let out a long sigh of relief and nodded repeatedly.

Returning to the banquet hall, Catherine rushed toward me, breathing heavily and flushed.

"Honey, I'm a bit uncomfortable. Let's go home," she said.

Seeing my plan had succeeded, I didn't press her.

Instead, I made one last request, "Sure, but let's toast Mr. Webber before we leave."