Chapter 4

The words hung there, heavy and mocking, a dismissal that burned in my chest.

"OK," I shot back, the words sharp and deliberate, "tell your girlfriend not to leave this on my bed anymore."

Milton's brows knitted together, confusion flashing across his face as he took the bag from me, the tension coiling tighter between us.

When he peeked inside and saw the lace thong, the color drained from his face, and for a split second, shock etched every feature. It was as if the truth had slapped him, the reality of his betrayal suddenly laid bare.

But then he met my calm, indifferent expression—one that didn't seek further lies, . For the first time, I saw him hesitate, the facade flickering like a dying flame.

"I’ll tell her to stop being so careless," he said, his voice cool.

Sensing the shift in my mood, Milton offered, almost offhandedly, "I can buy you something else for breakfast today."

I blinked, stunned, the words hanging in the air like a cruel joke. Seven years. Seven long years together, and not once—not once—had he ever brought me breakfast in bed, or even suggested sharing a morning meal. But Alice? His precious assistant? On her very first day, she was already receiving the kind of attention and care I had yearned for, a privilege I’d never been afforded.

As I stood there, the realization twisted like a knife in my gut, he was already at the door, back to me, his hand gripping the handle as if it were a lifeline. He didn’t even bother to turn around, didn’t care enough to face me.

"Something urgent came up at the office. You should feed yourself," he muttered, his voice flat, devoid of warmth or empathy.

Half an hour later, I limped into my cubicle. My colleagues greeted me with an unsettling mix of sympathy and concern, their gazes lingering just a moment too long, as if they could see the cracks in my façade.

I couldn’t help but overhear two coworkers talking in hushed voices, their words slicing through the air with cruel precision.

"So it’s true—Milton really ditched Sara for his assistant?" one of them asked, disbelief mingling with gossip.

"Yep! You should’ve seen it this morning! Alice comes in, says she’s got a headache, and Milton swoops in, picks her up right there in the lobby, in front of everyone," the other replied, laughter tinged with malice.

My hand slipped, and the mug shattered on the floor with a deafening crash, silencing their gossip.

I crouched down, the cool tile pressing against my knees, and gathered the piece. Each shard felt like a betrayal, sharp and jagged, cutting deeper into the already festering wound that was my marriage.

I ended up working late, the office nearly empty as the hours dragged on, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead like the heartbeat of a dying relationship.