My Wife’s Boy Toy Smashed My Luxury Car

“Is this really what you’re telling me?”

I forced a calm expression, but my voice cracked, and tears blurred my vision.

“Andrew doesn’t want a formal relationship. I’ll do my best to balance things between you two,” she said.

The words stabbed me like knives.

She actually wanted two men to share one wife? My lips trembled. There was no sense in arguing about not being loved. I swallowed the fury, steadied my tone, and said,

“Let’s divorce, then. I’ll make it easy for you.”

She stiffened, panic flickering in her eyes, and shook her head with fierce resolve.

“If I married you, I’ll never divorce you. Never.”

“You were paralyzed for three years after saving me overseas. I’ll spend my whole life repaying you. Just… please don’t make things difficult for Andrew.”

I let out a hollow laugh.

“Repay me? By sleeping with another man?”

Her face went pale. My words crushed her into silence, leaving her staring at the ground in shame.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry. The truth is, I love you and Andrew. I can’t give up either of you.”

The suffocating air broke when her phone rang. She fumbled for it, glanced at the caller ID, and muttered nervously, “I won’t divorce you,” before rushing out.

Of course, it was Andrew.

In front of him, she was obedient, pliant, always at his beck and call.

Everything she once did for me, she now gave it to him.

I told my in-laws about Victoria Hayes’s affair.

They only laughed, brushing it aside:

“Every woman has her secrets, especially rich ones. Don’t worry—the Hayes and Emerson families are bound together. No one can steal your place as the first wife.”

They thought I was pleading for support.

But I was warning them. Once love and loyalty rot, all that’s left is the scramble for profit.

I had never wanted to fight Victoria, yet as the saying goes, even if you starve, you still fight for your dignity.

I would not let a mistress take everything from me.

I threw myself into work at the Hayes Group without pause.

One day, needing a gift for an important client’s birthday, I went to the mall to buy the latest luxury watch.

The clerk carefully boxed it up and smiled.

“Hello, sir. That will be 290,000 dollars.”

I handed over my card.

A moment later, the clerk’s voice faltered.

“Sorry, sir, insufficient balance on this card.”

I froze. This was the unlimited card Victoria had given me five years ago. I hardly used it. Just as I reached for my phone to call her, the sound of polished leather shoes clicked behind me.

“Chris, pack up all your latest models for me.”

It was Andrew Young.

He strode up, exuding arrogance, and glanced at me with contempt before producing a sleek black card.

Victoria’s primary card.

The one with the true unlimited limit.

The card in my hand was only a supplementary one—its balance strictly controlled.

The clerk’s demeanor shifted instantly.

“Mr. Young, your total is 56.8 million.”

With theatrical flourish, he swiped the card, then casually drew a cigarette from his pocket.

The clerk bent over himself like a servant, rushing to light it.

Andrew exhaled a stream of smoke in my direction, eyes gleaming with ridicule.

“Where a woman’s money goes, so does her heart. Imagine walking into a luxury store with no money. Pathetic.”

His smoke stung my face, but I stared back, unflinching. Slowly, I pulled out my phone and spoke into it.

“110? I’d like to report fraudulent use of my wife’s credit card. Please send officers immediately.”

For the first time, Andrew’s expression faltered. His smugness cracked for a brief moment, though he quickly straightened and sneered, trying to recover his composure.

“When Victoria arrives,” he said with icy pride, “she’ll slap you down herself.”