Chapter 1

My mafia boss husband brought his henchmen home for dinner.

Seeing the table full of dishes I’d cooked myself, one of his subordinates chuckled and said,

"A wife really is more virtuous than a mistress.”

I stilled, then asked carefully.

"What? Are you saying he has a mistress outside?"

No one dared to answer. A flicker of panic flashed across their faces.

My husband just laughed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Don't listen to their nonsense. You're the only one I love!"

Watching him play it so cool, I smiled back.

But once the last guest was gone, I called my CEO brother.

"Victor's cheating. Make sure he rots in prison."

My brother Alex was silent on the other end for three full seconds.

"Serena, are you absolutely sure? Victor, he..."

I pulled off my wedding ring. The diamond dug painfully into my palm.

"Ten years of marriage. Every cufflink he's ever worn was custom-ordered by me from Italy. The ones he had on tonight were cheap plastic. Get me the best lawyer. Pull every criminal record he's ever generated. And draw up the divorce papers."

Alex didn't hesitate. "Okay."

Half an hour later, an encrypted file landed on my phone.

The first photo showed Victor, his arm around a young, striking woman.

She even had a wolf's head tattoo on her wrist-identical to Victor's.

I didn't hesitate. I drove straight to the company.

Minutes later, a woman named Lily rushed out.

When she saw me, her face went pale. She instinctively hid her hands behind her back.

But I'd already seen it. A Swiss custom watch.

It's identical to the one I received for my last birthday.

I laughed coldly and said directly.

"Your husband must share my taste. Even your custom watch matches mine."

At my words, Lily began to tremble. Her red lips parted and closed soundlessly before she managed to stammer.

"Y-yes... maybe men all have similar tastes..."

Her knuckles were white where she clutched her clothes.

"Drop the act. You're Victor's mistress, aren't you?"

Seeing me lay it bare, Lily shook harder, panic stripping her composure bare.

"Please, don't misunderstand. Victor was injured once. I only took care of him that one time. His men...they got the wrong idea."

She even gave me an exaggerated ninety-degree bow.

She looked so wronged, so pitiful-if I hadn't seen exactly how she wrapped herself around Victor, I might have believed her.

Half a month ago, she posted a video on social media.

It showed Victor buying a Porsche.

Her caption read: "Where a man's money goes, his heart follows."

At that time, I was at home with a fever so high I was delirious.

I called Victor to take me to the hospital.

He panicked for a moment, but the next second his voice was hoarse, as if suppressing something.

"Serena, I'll have the nanny take you. I have something urgent I can't get away from."

And an hour later, the fever turned into pneumonia, and I was rushed to the ER.

That same hour, she posted a photo lying across a car seat, with a man's sculpted abs in the frame, marked with ambiguous red scratches.

The caption read: "Both the new car and its owner need to be marked as mine."

When Victor finally rushed over, his shirt was still misbuttoned.

He collapsed at my bedside, his eyes red.

At that time, I naively thought he felt sorry for me, but it turned out it was just guilt after cheating.

For no reason, I just felt disgusted. This kind of trash was worth Victor betraying me for.

Too lazy to look at her aggrieved, pitiful expression anymore, I turned and left.

But just as I got to my car, Victor called.

The moment I answered, his tone was panicked.

"Why did you suddenly think of coming to the company?"