My Husband Fell for the Stir-Fry Stall Owner

"Try this cake, Amelia," Lester said, sliding the box toward me. "I heard it's delicious."

I looked him straight in the eye and deadpanned, "I don’t like durian. I’ve told you before—it smells awful. When will you ever remember that?"

He slapped his forehead and chuckled awkwardly. "Work’s been hectic lately; I must’ve forgotten. You’re not mad at me, right? I just want to give you a better life."

Six years of dating and marriage, and he still couldn’t remember such a simple thing.

I grew up in a wealthy family, never wanting for anything. When I met Lester in college, he was poor, aloof, and carried a brokenness that I found irresistibly captivating.

My sister, Danica had warned me back then. "Amelia, if you’re just having fun, then it's fine. But don’t even think about marrying him."

After our parents passed away, the family business fell to Danica, six years my senior. She became the backbone of our family, and I had always followed her advice. Life had been smooth sailing because of her.

But at that time, I didn’t listen.

"Sis, it’s not his fault he’s poor. We can help him succeed, and then we will finally be a good match," I argued.

She looked at me with a mix of pity and exasperation. "Amelia, you’re a genius, but your hopelessly romantic brain will only wake up when it hits a wall."

That weekend, Danica came over for dinner. I prepared a full spread, and she abandoned her usual CEO composure to dig in with relish.

"God, this tastes like home," she said between bites. "I can never find food like this when I’m working. Lester, you’re lucky to have Danica. She’s a gem."

If I hadn’t married him, I would still be living with Danica, sharing meals and laughter.

Unlike her, I had no head for business. After graduating, I became an illustrator, working from home and managing household affairs with ease.

But instead of expressing gratitude, Lester sat at the table, his brows furrowed as he stared at his phone.

"Dinner’s ready," I called.

He suddenly stood up. "Amelia, Sis, there’s an urgent matter at work. I have to go."

"What urgent matter could a small company like yours possibly have?" Danica snapped, setting her cutlery down. "You don’t appreciate how hard Amelia works for you."

Lester quickly apologized, promising to take us out for a meal soon.

After he left, Danica raised an eyebrow. "Amelia, he’s up to something."

It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, pulling out my phone. A barrage of photos and videos awaited me from the student who ran the café across from the food court stall owned by Samantha, the woman involved with my husband.

"Sis, I’ve been keeping tabs on that scumbag and his mistress," I said.

Enzo, the café owner was a senior in college. When I offered to pay him to keep an eye on them, he refused. "I enjoy doing this, so I’d do it for free," he said enthusiastically. "Honestly, I’d pay you to let me do this."

Danica flipped through the photos, her expression cold and calculating. "Classic case of a middle-aged man chasing a thrill, teetering on the edge of an affair. All it needs is a spark. So, what’s your plan? Don’t tell me you’re considering reconciling with him."

I laughed bitterly. "He’s already tainted, Sis. I’m gathering evidence. I want to leave him and ensure these two lose everything in the process."

She nodded approvingly. "Good. Looks like hitting the wall knocked some sense into you."

My phone buzzed with more messages from Enzo.

[Boss, the scumbag’s back at it. Check this out—he’s wiping the mistress’s tears again!]

Another message followed.

[Her kid’s sick? Why not go to the hospital herself? Why drag someone else’s husband into this mess?]

I opened the video. In it, Samantha leaned into Lester’s arms, sobbing dramatically, while her feverish child stood nearby, crying loudly.

Lester picked up the little girl and held Samantha’s hand, leading them both out.

"Wow, so touching," Danica deadpanned. "Straight out of one of those trashy romance dramas where the domineering CEO falls for the underdog."