Chapter 1
The phone trilled three times before I snatched it up.
"Mr. Carter, your wife's been spending at our club, but..." A hesitant voice crackled through.
It was eleven at night. Emily Foster, my wife, had said she'd be out for a girls' dinner. That should've wrapped up ages ago.
"But what?" I prodded.
"Your wife's in a booth with a guy. They look... pretty chummy. We weren't sure if we should..."
The phone slipped from my fingers and thunked onto the desk.
Stunned, I slumped in my chair, my mind a swirling void.
Ten minutes later, I was speeding towards the Golden Oak Lounge.
It was one of my ventures, a place Emily never set foot in. What on earth had lured her here tonight?
In the parking lot, Emily's white Maserati caught my eye. Parked beside it was a sleek black Mercedes with an unfamiliar plate.
The manager, Sam Williams, awaited me at the entrance, his face ashen.
"Third-floor VIP room, Mr. Carter," he murmured.
I trailed after him upstairs, my footsteps soft but my heart hammering.
The hallway was hushed, save for the distant strains of music.
The booth door was ajar. Peering through the crack, I saw Emily nestled in a man's embrace.
He was a stranger, around thirty, dressed to the nines.
They were locked in a long, soul-searing kiss.
Emily's hand stroked the man's cheek, her eyes glazed with desire.
I'd never witnessed such a look on her face.
Not even in the early days of our marriage.
The man's hands were fumbling with Emily's dress buttons.
I shouldered the door open. "Having a ball, honey?"
*****
Emily shoved the guy away, her face turning ghostly pale in an instant.
"David? What are you..." she stammered, her voice shaking.
She fumbled with her clothes, hands trembling as she tried to speak.
The guy, though, was totally unfazed. He stood up slowly, straightening his tie with a calm confidence.
"So, you must be David Carter. I've heard a lot about you," he said, his tone cool and a little too casual.
He reached out his hand, like he actually expected me to shake it.
I just ignored him.
"Emily, what do you have to say for yourself?" I said, my voice cold as ice.
Emily kept her head down, not daring to look at me.
"David, I..." Emily stammered, her voice shaking.
"Three years." I cut her off. "We've been married three years, Emily. Have I ever treated you badly?"
"No... you've always been good to me," she whispered, barely meeting my eyes.
"Then why?" I pressed, my voice tight with hurt.
She finally looked up at me, tears streaming down her face, but what I saw most was fear.
"I don't know what to say," she whispered.
The guy then spoke up, "Mr. Carter, you can't force love. Emily—"
"Shut up. This isn't your place to talk," I snapped, shooting him a glare.
He just smiled, not even a hint of anger on his face.
"I'm Mark Evans. I work in investments. Emily and I have known each other for about six months," he said, his tone casual.
So it had been six months already.
"How long have you two been together?" I asked Emily, my voice tight.
"Three months," she whispered, barely audible.
No wonder she was always working overtime, always finding excuses not to come home.
No wonder she started caring more about her looks, going to the gym, and wearing perfume.
I thought Emily was doing it for me. Maybe she wanted to surprise me.
But it turned out that the surprise was for someone else.
"Why?" I demanded, my voice cracking with pain.
That was the only thing I wanted to know.
Emily just burst into tears. "I don't know... I really don't. It's just... when I'm with him, everything feels so easy. No pressure, no stress, nothing weighing me down."
"So, being with me makes you feel pressured?" I asked, my voice tight with disbelief.
"No, David, that's not it. You're just... too perfect. I always feel like I'm not good enough for you. When I'm with you, I have to watch everything I say and do, always scared I'll mess up," Emily whispered, her voice trembling.
Her words sounded completely ridiculous to me.
So all the care I gave her actually became the reason she cheated?
Mark chimed in, "Mr. Carter, you can't force feelings—"
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" I snapped, my voice cold.
The waiter knocked and came in, looking nervous. "Do you need anything, Mr. Carter?"
"Bring me their bill," I said, my voice cold.
He brought the bill over in no time.
It turned out that Emily and Mark had been here twelve times in just one month.
Every single time, they booked the most expensive private room and ordered the priciest drinks.
The total bill? Over 25 thousand dollars.
And every penny of it came out of my pocket.
I was literally paying for my wife's affair with my own money.
"Emily, whose money did you use for all this?" I asked, my voice cold and sharp.
Her face went even paler.
"I... I used the card you gave me," she mumbled, barely above a whisper.
I just nodded and said, "Mark, you're picking up the tab."
"Why should I?" he asked, finally showing a hint of irritation.
"Because you slept with my wife," I said, my voice icy.
The room went dead silent for a few seconds.
Mark pulled out his phone and called his driver, telling him to bring the money over.