My Wife’s Boy Toy Smashed My Luxury Car

While driving home with my wife, a strikingly handsome man suddenly appeared, forcing our car to stop.

He smashed the window and barked at me to get out.

Confused, I froze—until my wife jumped out and wrapped her arms around him, whispering in a soothing voice:

“Stop it, sweetheart! I didn’t mean to ignore your call. I was just busy with the family dinner.”

My heart skipped a beat. I reached for the door handle, but she pressed me back with her free hand, hissing:

“Stay put! Don’t scare her!”

The man jabbed a finger at me, spitting curses:

“You bastard! Do you own Victoria? How dare you monopolize her like this?”

“If you stop her from answering my calls again, I’ll kill you!”

And there I was—the lawful husband—pinned in the passenger seat, treated like some illicit intruder.

I felt as if lightning had struck. For three years, I had fought to recover abroad after a car accident—an accident that saved her life. Now, back at last, the so-called mistress was parading as the wife, while I was reduced to a shadow. Victoria abandoned me in the car, strolling away with her arm hooked through his, as though coaxing a spoiled elder.

Later, after digging up information about the man, the phone rang. Victoria’s lover spoke, arrogant and sharp:

“Don’t threaten Victoria with divorce to break us apart. I don’t care at all!”

“Status means nothing to me. The illegitimate child has inheritance rights, and all of Victoria’s love and money are mine.”

Her money? A curious claim for a mistress. This was no low-level affair—it was a declaration of war.

——

“Only shallow men like you cling to titles!” she sneered.

“I’m giving you the title now, so keep quiet and stop interfering with me and Victoria.”

Her words carried not the tone of a mistress but of a wife ordering me into silence.

Her arrogance came from Victoria’s blind devotion. My chest burned. I gripped the phone until my knuckles whitened.

“If you were truly capable, you wouldn’t crawl to me like a clown!” I roared.

“And Andrew—my status wasn’t handed to me by you. It’s something you could never earn, even if you begged the heavens. You think I value what you don’t?!”

The mention of Andrew stung her. She snapped back in fury:

“You’ll pay for that! I’ll prove just how much your wife loves me!”

She hung up.

I sat frozen, phone still in my hand, dazed as if trapped in a nightmare. None of it seemed real. If that man hadn’t stormed into my life, I would never have believed Victoria—the woman who had once staked everything on me—was unfaithful.

How could the wife who had emptied her savings to send me to a world-class hospital now betray me? My chest tightened as if torn in half. With trembling fingers, I messaged Susan Emerson, my father’s most trusted lawyer:

“I want to preserve the assets. Check Victoria’s accounts. She’s cheating.”

The moment I sent it, pain tore through me, sharp and suffocating.

That night, Victoria finally came home. She sat across from me, silent, stiff, her eyes cold.

I stared at her, searching for her face. My mind replayed a distant memory—her at eighteen, plucking wildflowers by the roadside and handing them to me with a radiant smile:

“I’ll always give Lucas Emerson flowers, just as I’ll always love him.”

The memory cut deep. My eyes burned red with grief, the pain unbearable.

Victoria’s gaze faltered. The arrogance drained away, replaced by guilt. Her lips trembled, her eyes helpless. Finally, she whispered:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The words hung heavily in the air. She looked into my eyes only for a fleeting moment before lowering hers, crushed under the weight of guilt.