After My Husband's Betrayal, I Am No Longer His Moon

"You—you're joking, right?"

I hurriedly grabbed my coffee, taking a sip to mask the nervous tremor in my hands. But the hot liquid burned my throat, and I winced.

Matias, ever the observant one, skillfully handed me a napkin.

"I know you love Clayton, and he loves you too. I had planned to bury this love in my heart forever."

"But I never expected that just a few years later, he'd be hiding another woman."

"Irene," his voice softened, "I can’t bear to let you be deceived any longer."

"Leave him," he urged his voice low and filled with yearning. "I’ve been waiting for you all this time."

Matias had gone on a business trip with Clayton. But sensing my distress, he had returned in the dead of night, rushing back to meet me, fearing I might do something reckless once the truth came out.

I managed a faint smile, a weak shield against the storm brewing inside me.

"Don’t worry, I won’t do anything foolish.”

"At least not until I get back what’s mine."

As I left the café, lost in thought, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Clayton.

"Baby, my trip ended early today. I got you your favorite strawberry cake. Wait for me at home."

He even sent a picture of the cake, the sugary sweetness taunting me.

I didn’t respond, my mind calculating our shared assets in silence.

Clayton had loved me once enough to trust me with everything. After six years of marriage, the safe’s password was my birthday, and the bank account number mirrored it.

He had once said, with a look of devotion in his eyes, "Both the money and I belong to you, Irene."

He had sworn, his voice thick with emotion, "If I ever do anything to hurt you, Irene, let me leave with nothing and die an untimely death."

Those vows, spoken in earnest, had probably slipped from his memory long ago.

But I remembered every word.

I packed the videos Matias had sent me, the ones exposing Clayton’s infidelities, and sent them off to my lawyer.

Of course, I didn’t forget the evidence I’d painstakingly gathered from Odessa’s WhatsApp, staying up all night to piece it together.

As soon as I closed my laptop, I felt him, Clayton, wrap his arms around me from behind.

"Irene, I missed you so much.”

He brought the chill of the outside with him. And though he tried to hide it, a faint trace of another woman’s scent lingered on him.

I silently pushed him away. "Wasn’t your business trip supposed to last three days? Why are you back so soon?"

Clayton smiled, his face full of tenderness, as his hand gently caressed my cheek.

"Did you forget what tomorrow is?"

I froze for a moment. "Our sixth wedding anniversary?"

"Exactly."

He gave a playful scratch to my nose.

"Even with my busy schedule, I can’t miss coming home to spend our anniversary with my good girl."

I inwardly sneered.

He had no idea. I had just seen Odessa’s update on her Instagram.

She had posted, [Someone’s truly heartless, satisfies himself and leaves. But luckily, tomorrow, he promised me an even more exciting experience.]

In the hotel suite, Clayton had arranged a grand celebration.

A two-tiered cake stood before me, the words "Grow old together, Happy forever" scrawled across it.

The irony was almost suffocating.

Clayton had always kept me from drinking too much, but tonight, he insisted on pouring me a few more glasses.

"Irene, I’ll be by your side. Don’t worry, just drink up. The driver will take us home later."

I could see the mockery dancing in his eyes—his plan was clear. He wanted me drunk so he could slip away unnoticed to meet his lover.

Fifteen minutes ago, as he sliced into the cake, a message flashed across his phone.

"I’m here, waiting for you in the bathroom."

The profile picture that appeared was one I recognized all too well: Odessa.

Suddenly, everything clicked. Her cryptic Instagram post last night, "That more exciting experience tomorrow," had been a prelude to this moment.

A voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Your dishes have arrived."

Clayton’s body stiffened, his eyes widening in disbelief.

And there she was, Odessa, disguised as a waitress, carrying the food.

She set the dishes down with deliberate slowness, her fingers brushing Clayton’s in a way that left nothing to the imagination.