My Husband Loved Me, But Betrayed Me Beyond Repair

I locked eyes with Cayden, my silence cutting through the air like a blade. His gaze turned red, the vulnerability in his expression almost unbearable, as he pulled me into his arms. His voice trembled as he spoke, each word laced with desperation.

"Kylie, you don’t think this is mine, do you?" His eyes searched mine, pleading for understanding.

"After all these years, no one knows better than me how much you hate strawberry flavor. I’ve made sure nothing like that ever comes near you or this house. This… it can’t be mine."

He tightened his hold, his heartache tangible, as he pressed a gentle kiss to my temple.

"My dear, you are my life. Hurting you is unthinkable."

His clear, unwavering gaze met mine—earnest and free of deceit.

"If you don’t believe me, I’ll go back to the company right now, find out who this belongs to, and fire them on the spot."

He moved as if to leave, his resolve evident, but I reached out and caught the hem of his shirt.

"There’s no need," I murmured, forcing a faint smile to steady the storm within me.

He stopped immediately, his eyes scanning my face for reassurance. I met his gaze and spoke deliberately, my voice calm, each word a careful weight.

"I believe you wouldn’t lie to me."

Relief washed over him, softening his features. He smiled faintly and brushed his hand through my hair before heading to the kitchen. Without hesitation, he began preparing my lunch for tomorrow—a routine etched into our lives over six years of marriage.

From the second-floor railing, I leaned and watched him, his movements practiced and meticulous. This familiar sight once filled me with warmth. No matter how busy his day was, Cayden always made time to cook for me.

He’d wake early to pick fresh ingredients and personally prepare my meals, ensuring I had something homemade for work.

Colleagues would often tease me, "Mrs. Jenkins, with all your wealth, why not hire a private chef? Why let Mr. Jenkins waste his time in the kitchen?"

I’d laugh, repeating his simple response. "Kylie likes what I cook."

As long as I liked it, he’d do it without hesitation.

But now, watching him, my heart clenched with a dull ache. How could he forget?

On our wedding day, I’d looked into his eyes and told him just one thing, "If you ever cheat on me, don’t explain. Just admit it and leave."

I would vanish from his world entirely. No warnings. No farewells.

Thunder growled outside, a deep rumble that shook the glass. After ensuring I was asleep, Cayden tucked the blanket around me with painstaking care. His hand hovered for a moment, as if reluctant to leave, before he shifted to lying beside me.

Just as he was about to wrap an arm around me, my phone buzzed.

Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the screen. His lips pressed into a thin line before his gaze flickered back to my face, peaceful and feigned in slumber.

Quietly, he slipped out of the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

I strained to hear as his voice floated up from downstairs, low and clipped.

"I told you not to call me after work." His irritation was barely restrained. "If there’s something urgent, bring it up tomorrow at the office. Don’t disturb me and my wife—" A sharp pause. "What? You’re at my house?"

The call ended abruptly.

Moments later, the front door slammed shut.

I sat up, my heart heavy as I walked to the French window. From here, I had a clear view of the villa entrance. My eyes immediately landed on her—a young woman standing in the downpour, her dress soaked and clinging to her form like second skin.

The front door swung open, and Cayden stepped out, holding an umbrella. His expression was tense, but his voice was measured, almost cold.

"Why are you here? Didn’t I make myself clear? Don’t come near my house. Especially not in front of my wife."

The girl, Sydney, looked up at him with wide, glistening eyes, her lips trembling as though she was the victim.

"Cayden," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I’m afraid of thunder. I… I missed you."

Before he could respond, she rose on her tiptoes, her arms curling around his neck as she pressed her lips to his.

Cayden stiffened, the umbrella tilting slightly as rain cascaded onto his shoulder. One hand remained on the umbrella, but the other instinctively found her waist, steadying her.

"This is nonsense," he muttered, his voice firm yet lacking conviction.

But he didn’t push her away. He let her kiss him.

When she finally pulled back, he sighed, his brow furrowing slightly. Reaching out, he wiped the rain from her face with a tenderness that made my stomach twist.

"How did you get through rainy nights before you met me?" His tone carried a reluctant gentleness.

Sydney shivered, her soaked dress leaving nothing to the imagination. Her curves were on full display, and for a brief moment, Cayden’s gaze lingered before he quickly looked away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You’re drenched," he said, his voice quieter now. "You’ll get sick if you stay like this."

She hesitated for only a moment before her lips curved into a delicate smile. "Cayden, can I come inside to take a shower?"