My CEO Husband Cheated with His Fertile Assistant

"Alright," I replied absentmindedly while stirring coffee in my mug.

Weston didn’t seem to notice my indifferent demeanor. He lingered in the room for a bit before I heard the shower start in the bathroom.

My phone buzzed with a text notification. It was from my brother, Cody.

"I just landed. Let's meet up to discuss everything face-to-face."

I sighed, knowing that persuading Cody to postpone Amazon's upcoming orders would lead to more questions.

Years ago, I had stepped back from the business to focus on starting a family, following Weston's advice. If I were to divorce him, the company would undoubtedly become a major battleground.

I texted Cody back and went to the bedroom to change.

Just then, a notification appeared on Weston's phone. It was a message from Veronica.

"Has your wife caught on to anything?"

The screen quickly dimmed, the sound of the shower still audible. I hesitated, then picked up the phone.

I recalled how Weston used to joke during our dating days—and even years into our marriage—about why I never snooped through his phone.

I would laugh and pat his cheek, saying I trusted him.

He’d always smile, calling me the love of his life.

Using the password I remembered, I unlocked his phone. Our wedding photo from ten years ago was still the lock screen, now feeling like a cruel irony.

As I scrolled through their past messages, I realized their affair had been going on far longer than I’d imagined.

A chill ran through me, my fingers trembling.

Those open, intimate exchanges made my eyes sting.

All those times Weston claimed he was on business trips, he was actually sneaking around with Veronica.

The night he celebrated her birthday on a Ferris wheel, I lay writhing on the floor with severe gastroenteritis, caused by my strict dieting.

I called Weston first, only to receive an irritated reply.

"You’re not a child. Going to the hospital on your own won’t kill you."

That day, I lay on the floor for a long time until the pain subsided, then went to the hospital alone. Weston never asked about it afterward. I consoled myself, blaming his behavior on work stress.

Thinking back now, I can’t help but feel foolish.

Suppressing my turmoil, I quickly grabbed my phone, snapped photos of the incriminating messages, and carefully put his phone back in its place.

When Weston emerged from the bathroom, I was selecting a Victorian-style dress to wear out.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind, his warm breath tickling my ear.

Instinctively, my fingers dug into my palm, trying to suppress the nausea rising in my chest.

I frowned, trying to break free, my tone sharp and irritable:

"What do you think you're doing? Let go. I have plans and need to head out soon."