My Cheating Wife's Secret Family

In the cold, transactional reality of adulthood, heartbreak was worthless currency. Grievances didn't pay bills. Emotional wounds didn't convert into bonuses. They weren't even lessons worth savoring—just waste.

I stared at the ceiling until the intricate relief patterns blurred into gray haze. When I finally wiped my eyes, my hand came away slick with tears.

Even the most rational person could be reduced to a fool by love.

That night, I didn't wallow. I called a lawyer.

The next morning, I marched into Claire's office and slapped the divorce agreement onto her desk.

"If the terms are acceptable, sign it." My voice was flat. "I want this finalized by afternoon."

Claire looked haggard—dark circles bruising her eyes, a testament to a sleepless night. She didn't even read the document. Just glared at me, defensive and bitter.

"Ruby, don't you think being married to you is exhausting?" she snapped. "You demand perfection in everything. Always have to be the strong one, the one who never loses. I admitted my mistake, didn't I? But you had to take it out on me and Colin. Hit us both. On what grounds do you get to demand a divorce and expect me to just sign?"

She finds me exhausting now.

The irony was bitter. Years ago, she'd looked at me with adoration, called me a "blue snowflake"—a perfect fusion of ice and fire, a confident chaser of light.

When you're in love, quirks are treasures. When love fades, they become scars.

I opened my mouth to retort, but a sharp knock cut me off.

Claire's assistant pushed the door open, eyes darting between us with a skittish expression.

"What?" Claire barked.

"Director Vance... you need to check your email. Immediately."

Beyond the glass walls, the usual hum of the workspace had spiked into clamor, then died into suffocating silence.

A cold premonition settled in my gut. I pulled out my phone.

There it was. An anonymous company-wide email.

The target was me.

A sprawling, melodramatic diatribe that twisted my entire career into a narrative of manipulation—claiming my achievements were nothing more than milestones in a quest for fame, fueled by nepotism.

Whispers drifted through the crack in the door.

"So Ruby's actually married to Director Vance? Don't we have a policy against undisclosed office romances?"

"Read the email—it says Claire was forced. Think about Ruby's attitude lately. She's a tyrant. No wonder her department's performance beats ours; she's been bullying her way to the top with her wife's backing."

"Exactly. Leadership always tells us to learn from her. I can't learn those kinds of dirty tactics."

Every mocking word struck like a lash.

Claire's face had drained of color. "Ruby, I didn't do this."

"I know."

I knew Claire. Manipulative, but not reckless. This email was crafted with specific intent—zero evidence, no photos, no timestamps. It merely spun a story where I'd blackmailed Claire for career advancement.

It painted her as the helpless victim while branding me the villain.

The sender didn't understand corporate politics. But they understood emotional manipulation perfectly.

A face surfaced in my mind—innocent, pitiful, hiding behind a mask of gentleness.

Colin.

I let out a cold laugh and dialed a number.

"Hello? I'd like to report a case of defamation."