Erasing My Perfect Husband

A close friend once joked that a perfect husband like Liam was bound to have an affair in the fifth year of marriage.

Liam sneered, knocking over a glass of red wine on the dining table.

"Elara and I have been together for thirteen years. Our relationship doesn't need your cynical theories."

For the next four years, he doted on me even more.

Until his intern, Chloe, confessed her love to him with red-rimmed eyes.

In front of everyone, Liam tore her love letter to shreds.

He swore to maintain a strict professional boundary with her, cutting off all contact outside of work.

After that, my faith in him grew even stronger.

But on our fifth wedding anniversary, I received an anonymous email.

Inside was a video.

It was Liam and Chloe, locked in a passionate embrace.

The email also included a photo of a hotel room key card.

For three hours, I sat motionless in the living room. I didn't call Liam, who was out late.

Instead, I had my lawyer draw up divorce papers and placed them on the coffee table.

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1

At midnight, Liam rushed back, his tall frame wrapped in a black coat.

When he saw my phone on the table, the video paused on screen, the color drained from his face.

"The proof is right here," I said coldly. "Sign the divorce papers."

He didn't explain. Instead, he snatched the phone to delete the video.

"It's an AI face-swap! Chloe framed me! I had too much to drink at a dinner party, and she took me to a hotel. She must have taken photos and used some app to doctor this!"

"She's doing this to destroy us because I rejected her!"

But the scent on him wouldn't lie.

It should have been his familiar cedarwood cologne, but now it was tainted with another woman's perfume.

Seeing I didn't move, anger flared in Liam's eyes.

"Elara, we've been together for thirteen years, married for five. You'd rather believe an outsider than me?"

I remained silent, and he suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"Fine. I'll have her clear this up right now."

Liam pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and roared:

"Chloe, if you dare harass Elara again, I'll kill you!"

He stormed out onto the balcony and returned a few minutes later, hanging up.

When he came back, Liam looked exhausted, his voice laced with pleading.

"Baby, I'll handle this. Just give me some time. Please, don't talk about divorce."

I nodded. "Fine. I'll give you time."

He let out a sigh of relief and reached for me.

I stood up, sidestepping his embrace. "I'm tired. I'm sleeping in the guest room."

He froze, his face turning ashen as he watched me go.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink.

At three in the morning, I got up for a drink of water and heard a noise coming from the study.

The door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw my husband—the man I knew as proud, elegant, and always self-possessed.

He was holding his phone, his gaze fixed on the same "AI face-swap" video he'd just sworn was fake.

His eyes were bloodshot, and a low, strangled sound escaped his throat.

Finally, a single name tumbled from his panting lips.

"Chloe."

In that moment, I felt a part of my soul wither and die.

Liam hadn't cheated in the fifth year of our marriage.

His heart had strayed long ago, and his body had finally followed.