Divorcing My Scumbag Husband

I thought Owen might be dealing with a work issue, so I approached him, ready to comfort him.

But as soon as he saw me, he said into the phone, “Alright, wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”

I frowned. “You’re going out? In this rain?”

He nodded. “Yes, there’s an issue at the company I need to handle.”

My heart clenched. “What kind of issue could be so urgent?”

“It’s important—something to do with the bid proposal,” Owen explained.

He didn’t elaborate, and even if he did, I wouldn’t have understood.

Still, I insisted, “I’ll come with you. The rain’s too heavy—it’s not safe.”

A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes before he quickly shook his head. “No need. Stay home and take care of Allison. I’ll be back soon.”

Watching him leave, I couldn’t sit still. Grabbing my car keys, I followed him.

The storm was fierce, with wind and rain lashing against my car. Owen drove cautiously, so it wasn’t hard to stay on his trail. Fortunately, he didn't notice me.

With my mind in turmoil, I forgot to feel scared, focusing solely on the taillights of his car ahead.

After about twenty minutes, his car pulled into the parking lot of the Royal Banner Hotel.

I parked a little behind him and watched as he stepped into the elevator, pressing a floor number before the doors closed. My heart pounded as I stepped into another elevator, unsure if I’d even be able to find him when I got out.

But when the doors opened, I froze.

There he was, passionately kissing a woman. His large hands gripped her waist, pulling her close with urgency and intensity.

The door to the hotel room finally opened, and the two of them stumbled inside, still entangled.

I moved closer, my trembling hands picking up the keycard they had dropped in their haste.

They were like starving animals, devouring each other as if they hadn’t eaten in years.

Standing outside the door, I swiped the keycard shaking hands.

The room was dark, but the moment the door opened, the lights turned on, flooding the space with brightness.

Startled, the two of them froze on the sofa, turning to look at me.

I knew I must have looked terrible—soaked from the rain, my face pale and ghastly pale.

Owen took several seconds to recover, frantically pushing the woman away from him.

I recognized her immediately—it was the busty woman from his office.

Unlike Owen, she didn’t panic. Instead, she looked at me with a smug, provocative smirk.

At that moment, I wanted to cry. But instead, I laughed.

I wanted to storm in and tear her face apart. But instead, I fled, like a guilty party caught in the act, as if I was the one who had been unfaithful.

I heard Owen calling my name, but his voice felt distant, like it wasn’t reaching me.

Once in my car, I wiped the raindrops on my face. Who am I? Where am I? What am I even doing?

Then, in a flash of lightning, I sped onto the road.

I’d always heard in movies that before they die, their life flashes before their eyes. But as I raced through the storm, my mind was blank—I didn’t have time to think of anything.

I didn’t die, though.

They said Owen chased after me and pulled me from the wreckage of my mangled car, his hands covered in blood.

Now, lying in the hospital bed, visitors came and went in an endless stream.

My sister scolded me, “What’s wrong with you? Running out in the rain to watch a movie with Owen? Are you out of your mind?”

Is that what Owen told her? How amusing.

Since I woke up, I hadn’t spoken a word to him.

After a few minutes, my sister left, and silence returned to the room.

Then Owen walked in, carrying a container of porridge.

I watched him awkwardly pour it into a bowl, even more awkwardly trying to feed me. His clumsy actions made me scoff.

“Owen, let’s get a divorce,” I intoned coldly.

He froze for a moment, then acted as if he hadn’t heard me. “Eat something first. We can talk about the rest later.”