Humiliated As My Husband’s Mistress, Though I'm His Wife

"Just wait until Tristan gets here. I'll slap that smug look right off your face!" Shirley snapped, not wasting a second as she dialed Tristan’s number, her voice seething with anger.

"Tristan, your wife is causing trouble again. I'll give you 20 minutes to get here and slap her! If you're not here in 20 minutes, we're done!"

She didn't even bother to hide that she was the mistress. Unlike most women in her position, who usually conceal it behind sweet smiles and coy acts, she wore it like a badge of honor, as if no one could challenge her.

The police had just arrived when Tristan stormed in, panting, as if he'd been running through the streets.

Without hesitation, he shielded Shirley behind him, his gaze sharp as he looked at me.

"What's all this fuss about?"

Shirley, emboldened by his clear favoritism, pushed past him and slapped me hard across the face.

"You stupid bitch, who do you think you are, calling the police on me? I'm spending my man's money—that's my right. It's none of your business!"

Her sharp, manicured nails scraped my cheek, leaving a thin streak of blood. One slap wasn't enough for her, so she attempted another.

Before the second one could land, Tristan quickly pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her down.

"Baby, don't get upset. Let me handle this, okay?"

Shirley was like a wild animal, and he, the calm zookeeper, was trying to soothe her. But even then, Tristan never once shouted at her.

Fury erupted inside me, and I swung my arm back, aiming for Shirley.

But before I could make contact, Tristan grabbed my wrist mid-air, holding me back.

Tristan furrowed his brows, his face showing genuine concern, but his voice was pleading.

"Please, just go. Can you?"

He stood on the opposite side of me, his body protecting Shirley. There I was, humiliated and trapped in my own life.

The man who once vowed always to protect me, who swore no one would ever hurt me, was now helping the mistress do exactly that.

The pain hit me like a ton of bricks, sharp and crushing.

In a desperate move, I swung my arm at Tristan, letting all my anger out in a hard slap across his face.

"You're ganging up with your mistress to bully me!"

Tristan didn't fight back. The slap landed with no resistance, and Tristan just stood there, looking completely lost, unsure of what to do.

I could see it, though—his heart still sided with Shirley.

Shirley, pretending to be concerned, stormed toward me again. "Stupid bitch! You dare hit my man? I'll kill you, you fucking bitch!"

Tristan blocked her once more, his tone calm, as if dealing with a child.

"Okay, okay. It's fine. Don't be angry. She has no right to hit you. Only I can hit you. No one else has that privilege."

Right there, he held Shirley in his arms the entire time, gazing at her with so much affection that it made me feel invisible, as if we had never shared a life.

The police intervened, pulling us apart, and asked, "Is it true this card was stolen?"

With red eyes, I opened my phone and found our marriage certificate to show them.

"We're married. Another woman used my husband's card for over $5 million. We had no idea about this. How is this not theft?"

Shirley stood her ground, unfazed.

"I didn't steal it. This card was given to me by my boyfriend! Spending my boyfriend's money is my right!"

She turned to Tristan, her voice oozing confidence.

"Babe, you tell them! Did you give me this card, or did I steal it?" Shirley asked him as if she were completely in control.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, glancing at me for just a second.

That brief hesitation made Shirley furious, and she slapped his arm hard.

"What's this, Tristan? You can't even let her go?"

"No, no, Shirley, don't be so quick-tempered," Tristan said, his voice soft, his hand resting naturally on her waist.

He turned to the police and explained, "It's all a misunderstanding. I gave her the card to use. She swiped it with my permission. It wasn't stolen."

The moment those words left his mouth, I felt like a joke.

The police, sensing the emotional tension between us, sighed and gave their standard advice.

"This is a personal matter. Resolve it yourselves, and don't utilize police resources."

As the officers began to leave, Shirley called after them, her voice dripping with disdain.