My Wife’s Boy Toy Smashed My Luxury Car

He immediately called Victoria, his voice filled with rage:

“Victoria, your man’s causing trouble again. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get here and put him in his place! If you’re late, we’re finished!”

So brazen—he didn’t care if the world knew he was a mistress. Unlike others who pretended with false innocence, he flaunted it. His very attitude screamed: Yes, I’m a mistress. I’m proud of it. And who can say otherwise?

The police had barely arrived when Victoria rushed in, breathless. She instinctively placed herself in front of Andrew, shielding him, her eyes fixed on me with hostility.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Encouraged by her protection, Andrew swaggered forward, lifted his hand, and struck me across the face.

“You bastard! How dare you call the police on me!”

“I’m spending my woman’s money—it’s natural! What’s it to you?”

His nails cut a bloody mark across my cheek. Still unsatisfied, he lunged again, fists raised.

I raised mine in defense, but two police officers restrained me.

Victoria wrapped her arms around him from behind, her voice soft and coaxing.

“Baby, calm down. Let me handle this, alright?”

He roared like a furious beast, yet she stayed gentle, as though soothing a spoiled child. Not a single harsh word for him.

Instead, she turned to me, frowning, pleading.

“Please, just leave.”

Her stance was clear—against me, protecting him. I was humiliated in front of everyone.

The woman who once swore to love me, who vowed never to let anyone hurt me, now stood with her mistress to trample me. Pain boiled over, and before I knew it, my hand lashed out, striking her.

“You and your mistress are bullying me!”

She didn’t fight back. She absorbed the slap; her face stung, but her heart still leaned toward Andrew.

Outraged, he charged again, shouting:

“You bastard! You dare lay a hand on my woman? I’ll kill you!”

Again, Victoria held him, soothing his anger.

“Okay, okay, it’s fine. Don’t get upset.”

“Then why did he hit you!” he fumed.

Through it all, she clung to him, holding him tight, their bodies pressed together like lovers.

The police stepped between us, finally demanding proof.

“Is the card theft true?” one asked.

Rage surged inside me. I opened PayPal, produced our marriage certificate, and showed it to them.

“We’re legally married. My wife’s card is in another man’s hands. He’s spent over fifty million dollars without my knowledge. If that’s not theft, then what is it?”

Andrew sneered confidently.

“I didn’t steal it. My girlfriend gave it to me! Of course, I can spend her money.”

He turned to Victoria with smug assurance.

“Honey, tell them. Did you give me this card, or did I steal it?”

She froze, her eyes flickering toward me, hesitation breaking through for a single second. That second enraged him. He slapped her arm sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Victoria? Can’t bear to let him go?”

“No, Andrew, don’t get upset,” she soothed, clinging to his waist. Then she faced the police, her voice steady.

“It’s a misunderstanding. I gave him the card. It wasn’t stolen. He has my permission to use it.”

With those words, I became the fool.

The police, realizing this was more emotional conflict than crime, gave us a cold warning.

“Resolve your personal issues properly. Don’t waste police resources.”

As they prepared to leave, Andrew suddenly stopped them, his voice sharp with indignation.

“Don’t go! This man made a false report and damaged my reputation. I’ll hold him fully accountable!”

Victoria tugged his arm, her voice low and coaxing.

“Let it go. Don’t make things worse. Please—for my sake.”