My Wife Is in Love with Her Secretary

Ethan — a handsome newcomer who'd been at the company for only six months — was nothing but a "young and promising" insult!

I forced myself to leave, swallowing the ache.

"Fine, Victoria, let's divorce. I'll bring the papers later." Ignoring her protests, I took the elevator down to the garage.

Just as I unlocked the Maybach, Victoria caught up, snatched the keys, and thrust them into Ethan's hand.

"You're driving me today."

Then she turned to me, furious. "Lucas, don't think you can threaten me with divorce and get away with it!"

"Don't even think about driving the car I gave you until you apologize!"

I narrowed my eyes.

Victoria had been badly injured in a past accident and never learned to drive.

For three years, I'd driven her to work every day. This car had been a second wedding anniversary gift from her.

Back then, she cooed, "Only a cool car like this suits my most handsome husband!"

Now she wanted to hand it to Ethan?

Seeing his eager smile, I sneered.

"Fine. You want to drive it?"

I opened the driver's door, grabbed the safety hammer, and shattered the glass.

Amid Victoria's sharp, angry cry, she left without looking back.

Later, she called more than thirty times; I didn't answer.

That afternoon, I saw Ethan's Insta Moments post showing off the car.

In the photo, his young, handsome face smiled as he leaned against the car making a peace sign.

【Thanks for the encouragement, Victoria! Through wind and rain, I'll be your personal knight!】 Victoria replied: 【Keep it up, my knight!】 with a laughing emoji.

I downed a glass of hard liquor and gave a bitter laugh.

We'd been married for three years. I'd indulged her, spoiled her, and even handed her most of the company's shares.

Yet she kept trampling my dignity for this gigolo?

I set down the glass and dialed the number.

"Smash that car. Smash it to pieces — leave nothing repairable!"

The next day, Victoria stormed home, flinging ornaments from my desk to the floor.

"Lucas! Did you have someone smash Ethan's car?!"

I casually flipped through the divorce papers without looking up and asked, "Where's the evidence?"

She trembled with rage. "Who else could it be but you? Do you know how expensive that car is?!"

I looked at her. "Oh? More expensive than our three years of marriage?"

She stuttered, a flash of guilt passing.

"What are you talking about? If you hadn't forced Ethan to leave yesterday by threatening divorce, I wouldn't have had to buy him..."

I cut her off and handed her the divorce agreement.

"Sign it. I never meant to force him to leave — I only wanted a divorce."

"I wouldn't mind if you helped him take off his pants in bed after the divorce!"

She exploded, snatched the papers, and tore them into shreds.

"Lucas, there's a limit to this performance!"

"Don't forget: you owe your success to me. Without me, you're nothing."

"I'll give you one more chance. Pick a car from your garage and apologize to Ethan — or don't blame me for being rude!"

She slammed the door and left. Less than half an hour later, Ethan posted a video of my private garage on his Moments.

[So many luxury cars — which should I choose? So conflicted!]

I commented directly: [This gigolo is picky? I'm warning you: all my cars have GPS. If a single screw goes missing, who will the police believe — me, the owner, or you, this gigolo?]

Victoria called immediately to scold me. I hung up and issued the order: