My Wife’s Lover Framed Me for His Crime

Then, cautiously, my father asked:

[Is Francine coming too?]

I stared at the screen, my throat tightening.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before I typed a simple reply:

[Just me.]

My father stayed silent for a moment, then sent a voice message.

His voice was deep and controlled, but there was no mistaking the pain behind the words.

"Carson, no matter what happens, I will always support you."

...

The next morning, I opened my sore, tired eyes to find my pillow soaked. I had no idea when Francine left, but the room now only carried the lingering scent of her perfume. It was faint, but it cut at my heart like a dull knife, slowly and relentlessly.

Still, I got up, moving like a robot, numb to everything around me.

In the closet, the couple's jackets, which they had bought in Hokkaido the previous year, still hung side by side. I took mine down and stuffed it into my suitcase.

The rest—Francine's things, the memories—stayed untouched.

I couldn't bear to look at them again.

Then, my phone vibrated, pulling me out of my thoughts.

It was a message from my father:

[The tickets and accommodations are all arranged. The flight is next Wednesday.]

[Carson, son, no matter what happens, your family will always be your support.]

I stared at the screen, my eyes welling up once more.

Once, I thought Francine was my everything.

Now, I realized some warmth had never truly left me.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and for a moment, I thought it was Francine, coming back.

But when I opened the door, I found Evan standing there.

Still impeccably dressed in a suit, with that smug, irritating smile.

"Mr. Rutherford, the chairman asked me to come pick up some of her personal items," he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in.

Meanwhile, Evan headed straight to the bedroom, opening the closet as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He pulled out some of the clothes and cosmetics Francine often used.

Watching him handle her things with such familiarity twisted something in my chest.

"When did it start between you two?" I forced the words out, my voice hoarse.

Evan paused for a moment, then let out a light laugh.

"Mr. Rutherford, you've misunderstood. My relationship with Miss Watson is strictly professional."

My eyebrows rose. "Professional?"

Then I gestured toward the lingerie in his hand. "Is this part of the job too?"

Evan's smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He slowly placed Francine's lingerie into his bag, then turned to face me, his eyes filled with challenge.

"Mr. Rutherford, since you're so curious, let me tell you."

He lowered his voice, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking grin.

"You're right. My relationship with Francine has long since gone beyond the professional."

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, but I felt no pain.

Then, Evan spoke flippantly, "Our first intimate contact was in the company's break room. That day, she was drunk and kissed me first."

His tone was smug, as if he were bragging about some great victory.

"Francine knows exactly what she wants. I admit that I couldn't resist the temptation. Later, we were at hotels, in the car, even on your family's sofa. She's far more passionate and open than you think."

Each word felt like a knife, stabbing deep into my chest.

I thought I had moved on, but hearing these vivid details, my rage consumed every bit of reason I had left.

"Shut up!"

I lunged forward, grabbing his collar.

Evan didn't resist. Instead, he smiled that damn victorious smile.

He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper, just loud enough for me to hear.

"What's wrong? Can't take it?"