After My Husband's Fake Marriage With His Secretary, I Left Him

"Why should I listen to you?" I intoned coldly.

"Marichelle!"

"Miss Marichelle, please don't provoke Mr. Perez on purpose. Whatever the issue is, we can go home and talk about it. We're all family, after all..."

As Shontelle spoke, she reached out to take my hand.

I stepped back, swatting her away in disgust. I barely touched her—but in the next instant, I watched her body fall backward in a dramatic collapse.

"Ah!"

Her arm struck the corner of a table, leaving a bloody scratch.

"Shontelle!"

Yves rushed to catch her, eyes red, glaring at me like he wanted to devour me.

Suddenly, a crisp sound rang.

Smack!

Five years ago, on our wedding day, under a shower of rose petals and the blessings of friends and family, I never imagined the first person to slap me would be my husband.

"Yves!" Even his friends gasped at the sound of that heavy blow.

But it was my reaction that truly shocked them.

I grabbed Yves by the tie, yanking him down, then drove my knee straight into his most vulnerable spot.

A man who betrays his marriage didn't deserve that function anyway.

"Ahhh—!"

The next thing I knew, we were all herded into the police station for brawling. And there, every finger pointed at me.

"It's because she caught Yves out so late with us—she was jealous."

"Marichelle, you've gone too far! Who attacks their own husband like that?"

"Marichelle has been unstable for a while now... I never expected her to do something like this."

Each word was a nail hammered into my skull. My temples throbbed, my vision spun, and the dam of grievance, fury, and humiliation finally burst.

"You worthless trash—"

But before I could finish, darkness closed in. My body gave out, and I collapsed.

—

I woke up to the smell of food. On the bedside table sat trays of dishes.

Yves was arranging them. The moment he saw me stir, he rushed over and clutched my hand tightly, as though afraid I might vanish if he let go.

"Mari, I was wrong. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. From now on, do whatever you want—I won't stop you from working anymore. Just... don't lose control like you did today, alright?"

And then, as if it were nothing, he added softly, "When you're discharged, apologize to Shontelle, and we'll put this whole thing behind us."

Apologize?

He slept with his secretary behind my back!

His friends mocked me openly, treating her as the real wife!

At the police station, they all stood against me.

Yet in his eyes, I was the madwoman. The unreasonable one. The one who owed her an apology.

Even though I had already decided to divorce him, hearing those words from the man I had called my husband for five years still made my heart ache with a pain I couldn't suppress.

"Yves, since you care so much about Shontelle, why don't you just marry her? I'll step aside."

"Don't say such things. Mari, my wife will always be you."

On paper, yes—the wife would be me.

But in reality, it was always another woman.

And that kind of love? I wanted no part of it.

"Let's divorce, Yves."

Hearing that, he let go of my hand, straightening with a heavy sigh. His tone turned grave.

"Your little studio doesn't even bring in as much as the allowance I give you. Your Dad is overseas. Here, you have no one but me. Marichelle, don't be foolish. Without me, you'll be completely alone."

So that was it.

He believed I had no one behind me—no support, no escape—and that was why he dared to trample my bottom line again and again.

"Marichelle, after marriage, we are family. I, Yves Perez, will always be your support."

His wedding vows still echoed in my ears.

But the man who once stood before me with a pure heart was gone, and had become utterly unrecognizable.