Chapter 1
My husband has changed recently.
He stopped wearing cologne, saying it has too strong a scent.
He's constantly on his phone now, smiling at the screen for no reason.
I figured it out—he's in love.
After I put the two kids to sleep, I received a message from his little girlfriend:
"The unloved one is the real homewrecker. I'm telling you to divorce Ethan right now. I'm already pregnant! He's crazy in love with me."
I smiled, pretended not to see it, deleted the message, and blocked her.
He's just cheating. It's not like he went bankrupt.
Besides, his affair is actually a good thing for me.
I never expected the mistress to show up at my door, flaunting her pregnant belly:
"If you won't divorce him, I'll just move in and stay here."
"When I'm in postpartum recovery, you'll have to take care of me too."
My expression remained calm. Facing her provocation, I showed no emotional reaction: "No need."
"Ethan will hire you a postpartum nurse. He's got plenty of money."
I pulled out my phone, about to activate the robot vacuum to clean up.
Then I worried the mistress might fake a fall and blame me, so I stopped, sat across from her, and called Ethan:
"Your little girlfriend showed up here with her pregnant belly."
My husband rushed home from the office in a panic.
His hair was windswept and messy, his face stripped of its usual refined composure.
When he entered, standing in the foyer, guilt flickered across his features.
Along with displeasure at his young girlfriend's impulsive visit.
The mistress stared at me in shock.
She hadn't expected me to be this calm: "Aren't you angry?"
"Your husband cheated on you, and you're calling him to deal with me?"
I ignored her.
Instead, I turned to my husband: "Handle this. Don't let her cause a scene—it'll be bad for the company."
"From your phone call, it sounds like you left something unfinished at the office?"
"I'll go take care of it for you."
As I walked past my husband, he grabbed my wrist.
His mouth opened and closed, as if searching for an explanation.
Searching for a reason I could accept, one that would also defend the pregnant mistress standing in our home.
I gently pushed his hand away: "No explanation needed."
I took the car keys from him. "Don't worry about the company matters. I'll handle them."
"Don't forget to turn on the robot vacuum."
I closed the door behind me.
I could faintly hear his young girlfriend making a scene inside.
My footsteps quickly carried me to the car, and the sounds from inside faded away.
The company was built from scratch by my husband.
Back then, I was his secretary.
Because I was fair-skinned, beautiful, and good at my job, he took notice of me.
He pursued me for a long time.
Engagement, marriage—we became the model couple in everyone's eyes.
At first, he would create romantic gestures, run his fingers through his hair before going out.
When we went shopping together, he'd dress up specially, saying it made him feel worthy of being with me.
He'd reply to my messages instantly.
If I didn't respond to him, he'd send me message after message.
He worked out every day, saying he wanted to maintain his abs for me to touch.
When I worked at the company, he'd feel sorry for me, pull me aside, and tell me just sitting there watching was enough.
Just sitting there and watching was already hard work, he used to say.
That's what he said when he loved me.
Later, he stopped loving me.
When there was work at the company, he'd dump it directly on me. When I made mistakes, he'd scold me mercilessly in front of the employees.
Going out with me, he lost all patience. He'd stare at his phone, throw on whatever clothes, no effort in his appearance.
So recently, when he suddenly started dressing up again and doing push-ups at home,
I knew—he'd found someone new to love.
"Ms. South."
In the conference room, a senior executive stood and nodded at me.
I began cleaning up my husband's mess.
As the sky gradually darkened, my husband entered the office, closed the door, and kept watching me cautiously.
He said: "I picked up the kids."