The Mistress Maxed His Black Card

I was sick, running a high fever of 102 degrees.

In my daze, my thoughts were filled with fragments of Eric. From the moment we started dating, he had done everything to make me feel safe.

His profile pictures across all his social media accounts were of me. Because I had chronic sinus issues, he had quit his ten-year habit of smoking. He remembered every little thing about me, even my period cycle.

How could someone like Eric, who instinctively protected me even during an earthquake, ever cheat?

Why would he cheat?

My body burned and then chilled, and I could feel him bustling around me. He swapped the towel on my forehead every half hour and wiped my lips with a cotton swab every 15 minutes.

When I opened my eyes, he looked just like he always did whenever I was sick. His eyes were red and full of concern.

I weakly lifted my hand and touched his cheek, realizing for the first time how distant he felt.

"Anne, you're finally awake. I was so worried about you. I made some pumpkin soup. Sit up and let me feed you a little," he said.

My eyes brimmed with tears as I struggled to get the words out.

I forced it down and smiled weakly. "It's good."

Hearing my reply, Eric smiled. His eyes shone the same way they had when I met him at 18.

As my eyes fell on the bandages on his hands, I softened again. Five years of love weren't easy to walk away from. He held me close, quietly murmuring about how terrified he had been these past three days.

I didn't comfort him this time. I only whispered, "How much debt do we still have?"

Eric blinked in confusion and answered casually, "A lot."

As the question came to me, I asked, "Eric, aren't you tired?"

He smiled as he tucked the blanket around me. "No, I've been sick and taking medicine all these years, but I've never done any hard work. It's you who barely gets any rest each day."

For a fleeting moment, I almost asked him why he spent each day living a lie, pretending to be poor despite his family's vast wealth.

However, I couldn't bring myself to say it. I realized with a jolt that I didn't even have the courage to face the unbearable truth.

"Anne, I haven't gone to work these past few days while you were sick. My boss isn't too happy about it. Tomorrow, stay home and rest. I'll be back after work."

When Eric said this, his fingers were still on the WhatsApp screen.

I gripped the blanket and anxiously asked, "Can you stay with me a few more days?"

He tilted his head and looked at me silently.

Finally, he whispered, "Okay."

Once I settled, my thoughts cleared. Everything I hadn't wanted to dwell on rushed in.

For years, I had been up before sunrise and back late at night. Eric worked overtime night after night. When I added it all up, the time we actually spent together was shockingly little.

Eric held me close, kissing from behind my ear down to my neck, but the cracks in my heart could no longer be filled. I thought frantically of the innocent, lively woman he had been caring for.

Did he hold her like this? Did he show her the same tenderness?

A wave of nausea hit me, and I threw up. Eric didn't notice anything unusual—he simply fussed over me with concern.

If he cared for me so much, why had he been intimate with another woman?

Through the fog of fever, I heard him mutter, "She's sick. Be good. I'll see you in a couple of days."

When he saw me sit up, he jumped slightly.

He instinctively hid his phone and asked, "Did I wake you? Something came up at work."