My Cheating Wife Regretted After I Revealed My Identity

They didn’t know the truth. Not one of them had any idea that the Hanson Family's rise from obscurity to the pinnacle of Sundown City’s electronics industry had nothing to do with luck—and everything to do with me.

I had built their empire quietly, piece by piece, using the power and connections I brought with me when I left Westford City.

Even now, those connections hadn’t vanished. My influence hadn’t faded.

But no one knew.

And that was just how I wanted it—for now.

Russ' cold voice interrupted my thoughts.

“If you don’t drink the toast, you’ll drink a punishment.”

He flicked his fingers.

Two towering bodyguards moved toward me without hesitation. They reached out and seized my arms, gripping them tightly from either side, preparing to force the glass to my lips.

Their grip was firm. Painful. But not unfamiliar.

I didn’t resist.

Not yet.

Because as I stood there, caught in the grip of two men who had no idea what they were dealing with, a smile began to curl at the edge of my lips.The bodyguards' grips were brutal—iron clamps digging into my arms, sharp pain radiating from my joints.

But my expression remained calm, unshaken.

“I suggest you let go,” I said evenly. “Or you’ll regret it.”

Russ let out a mocking laugh, as if I’d just told the funniest joke he’d heard all night.

“Regret?” He scoffed, rising from the sofa, swirling the glass in his hand. “There’s no such word in my dictionary.”

Step by step, he approached, savoring the moment like a predator toying with its prey.

As he came closer, I caught a whiff of something foul—acrid, pungent.

Urine.

I narrowed my eyes at the wine glass in his hand, a sneer curling at my lips.

Just as I thought. It wasn’t wine at all. It was humiliation.

He stopped just shy of me, leaning in until his breath was hot against my ear. His tone was low, mocking, intimate.

“You’re nothing but a coward. Still pretending to be a man?”

“Three years of marriage, and Francine never even let you touch her.”

He chuckled cruelly.

“Must be torture—spending night after night alone in an empty bed.”

My fists clenched involuntarily, the sound of my knuckles cracking cutting through the silence.

Around us, the others began to laugh—low, derisive snickers that quickly turned into raucous jeers. All eyes were on me, eating up the spectacle.

But Russ wasn’t finished.

He leaned in even closer, his voice gleeful with venom.

“Honestly, I should thank you. Your pathetic restraint gave me the chance to enjoy what you couldn’t.”

“You have no idea how wild your wife is in bed.”

He smacked his lips, as if reliving a fond memory.

That was it.

The rage I had held back for three long years surged forward like a dam breaking. My blood roared in my ears.

I didn’t think—I moved.