I Never Recycle a Liar's Love

On our fifth wedding anniversary, I found a baby crib in my husband's office.

A young woman was lounging on the sofa nearby, sipping tea.

Chad—my husband's personal assistant—was practically bowing to her, a sycophantic smile glued to his face.

"Please, don't you worry about a thing, Miss. Mr. Cade's instructions were very specific—your comfort and the baby's are his top priority. He's already booked the finest private maternity suite for you at Cedars-Sinai. It's ready whenever you are."

She was the future Mrs. Cade? Then where did that leave me?

I frowned, my eyes falling to the platinum wedding band I’d worn for five years.

A smug, radiant smile spread across the girl's face.

"Clint is even finding the best tattoo artist in LA to cover up his wife's initial with mine. I want the whole world to know I'm the only woman he's ever truly loved. And our son... from the moment he's born, he will have the absolute best of everything. No expense will be spared."

I stared at her barely-there baby bump, then pulled out my phone and called my father.

"Dad, that trust you set up five years ago? It's time to activate it."

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1

The moment I hung up, the girl who called herself the "future Mrs. Cade" rose from the sofa.

She commanded Chad, "My husband is spending the afternoon with me. Make sure no one disturbs our private time." With that, her heels clicked sharply as she strode toward the CEO's office next door.

As she swept past me, my eyes caught the antique brooch on her collar. It was the same one I’d admired at a charity gala two weeks ago, right before a "mysterious buyer" snatched it up for a staggering price.

So, that was it.

The mysterious buyer who’d spent a fortune to win a lady’s smile was none other than my husband, Clint Cade.

My gaze drifted to the glass wall of the CEO's office.

The girl was straddling Clint's lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. Clint, a man renowned for his rigid self-control, was actually smiling, parting his lips to accept a strawberry from her fingertips.

Then their lips met in a deep, searing kiss.

The blood turned to ice in my veins.

"Baby, when are you going to tell that cold-hearted bitch the truth? Our baby can't wait. You're the CEO now; you don't have to play games with her anymore," her voice was a cloying, seductive purr.

Clint placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Patience, baby. Tonight, I'll lay my cards on the table. I'll give you the wedding you deserve, and everything I have will be yours."

His words were shards of ice piercing my heart.

I stared at this man in disbelief. Thirty minutes ago, he was on the phone, telling me he loved me, telling me he missed me. Now, he was promising my life to another woman.

Unfortunately for him, he had made a grave miscalculation.

He seemed to have forgotten that with a single word, I could take away everything he had.

I walked straight into the office.

The moment Clint saw me, panic flashed across his face. He instinctively shoved the girl off his lap.

She lost her balance and sprawled onto the floor.

Clint looked horrified—not for me, but for her. He scrambled to help her up, his face a mask of anxious concern. She buried her face in his chest, biting her lip as tears streamed down her cheeks, the very picture of wounded fragility.

He gently wiped away her tears and helped her settle onto the sofa before finally turning his gaze to me.

His eyes were filled with disgust and contempt.

"Is work all you know, Aveline? You're like an emotionless robot. It's nauseating."

The girl, nestled against him, let out a disdainful little laugh. "Honestly, Clint, what man would want a woman like that? She drove you to this."

Clint glanced at me and offered a clumsy lie, "She's just my assistant. She tripped. Don't make a scene."

I sat on the sofa opposite them, my expression blank, and elegantly crossed my legs.

"I gave up countless opportunities to support your career. I pumped my body full of hormones just to give you a child, wrecking my own health in the process."

Clint's gaze flickered away, refusing to meet mine.

The girl's smile, however, only widened. "Oh, darling, maybe that’s the problem. You were so busy with your career, you've already ruined your body."

I poured myself a glass of water, my composure a fortress. "Clint, your taste has certainly taken a nosedive. How could you fall for this kind of trash? I know some excellent eye doctors, if you need a referral."

Clint’s face darkened with rage. "Her name is Brielle. She's… from a simpler background. Community college. She can be a bit blunt, but she doesn't know any better. Don't stoop to her level."

Brielle shyly tugged on Clint's sleeve. "It's your fault, you spoil me." She suddenly leaned in and gave Clint a long, possessive kiss.

"You should go first," Clint murmured to her.

Brielle pouted, then stood. She stopped in front of me, sneering. "Sweetheart, you're past your prime. Clint told me everything. He says being with you is like sleeping next to a corpse. An absolute bore."

I took a slow sip of water and then rose to my feet.

I grabbed a fistful of Brielle's hair and slammed her perfectly made-up face down onto the glass coffee table.

"He might tolerate your vulgarity, but I won't."