Used to Love, Now Fails

On our wedding anniversary, my husband took me to a Chanel fashion show.

But as we stepped into the grand venue, a stranger appeared out of nowhere and slapped me across the face.

Stunned, I instinctively raised my hand to strike back, only for my husband to intercept me.

He reasoned that the girl must have mistaken me for someone else, urging me to hold back and respect the decorum of the foreign venue.

But not long after, I stumbled upon him backstage, cornering that same girl.

She looked at him, eyes brimming with adoration and mischief.

"Thank you, Mr. Fowler, for bringing me abroad to see the show and for letting me practice my courage by slapping your wife.”

With a playful gesture, she clenched her tiny fists by her cheeks. “I’ll work hard to repay you, my beloved CEO!”

She clenched her tiny fists, playfully shaking them by her cheeks, while my husband, Konstantinos Fowler, held her face with a gaze full of affection.

Recognizing the girl’s true identity, I strode over, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

In her stunned gaze, I swung back, delivering two resounding slaps.

Without hesitation, I aimed a swift kick at Konstantinos and, with a chilling tone, said, “If sneaking around is what you enjoy, then you should at least abide by the rule that a wife does the disciplining.”

Her face turned red, swelling visibly with every second.

I casually took out a wet wipe, cleaned my hand with a calm flick and arched a brow. “You must be Konstantinos’s new assistant, Calliope Usher, correct?”

Calliope cowered, her teary eyes turning to Konstantinos, a hint of dread as she bit her lip, nodding without a word.

Konstantinos quickly stepped in, pulling her close protectively. “Iris, don’t make this hard on her. I brought Calliope here to help build her confidence and broaden her experience.”

I looked at him, my voice cool. “Interesting… I didn’t know ‘confidence-building’ included slapping the boss’s wife.”

Konstantinos’s gaze turned sharp, his voice edged with tension. “Calliope didn’t know who you were. She mistook you for someone else and acted on impulse.”

“But considering you’re eight years her senior, perhaps it’s wise not to hold a grudge against someone so young,” he suggested.

I noticed the flicker of unease in his gaze, prompting a laugh to escape my lips.

“Shouldn’t your assistant be aware that today marks our wedding anniversary?”

“Who else but your devoted wife would stand beside you on this day of celebration?”

“And tell me, isn’t it rather peculiar for an assistant to step into the role of confronting her boss’s alleged mistress?”

Konstantinos was left utterly silent, the uncomfortable stretch of it settling between us.

Yet he stood there, still shielding Calliope, without so much as a glance in my direction.

Our trip to Paris for the fashion show had been something Konstantinos had mapped out long ago, a dual-purpose plan to survey the market and mark our third wedding anniversary.

But just before the departure, he’d called with a surprising bit of news.

His new assistant, Calliope, had supposedly slipped up and missed my ticket booking.

Unable to delay his business plans, he said he’d have to go ahead.

But he reassured me, he had taken the time to book me a first-class seat two days later.

I’d never been one to make a fuss; a slight delay wasn’t enough to spoil my mood, so I’d thought nothing of it.

What he hadn’t mentioned was that Calliope would be taking that initial flight with him.

Now, neither Konstantinos nor Calliope had a word to offer, as if the scene had been frozen at this moment of tension.

I had no intention of letting Calliope off the hook so easily.

I laid it all out, making my point clear. "Konstantinos, it seems your assistant didn’t forget to book my ticket. She did it on purpose.”

Calliope shook her head, looking as fragile as a porcelain doll.

Konstantinos, however, wasn’t willing to entertain my suspicions.

Instead, he accused me of being petty, claiming I had been looking for any excuse to make trouble for Calliope ever since I learned he had hired a new assistant.

At this, Calliope tugged nervously at Konstantinos’s sleeve. “Mr. Fowler, I don’t even know Iris. Why would she dislike me and try to make things difficult for me?”

She called me “Iris,” deliberately refusing to address me as “Mrs. Fowler.”

In the past, Konstantinos would have corrected her. Now, he kept silent, his lips a tight, unreadable line.

Calliope suddenly began bowing, her tears splashing onto the floor as her shoulders trembled in feigned remorse.

“I’m sorry, Iris. I don’t know how I offended you, but if I’ve made you unhappy, then I owe you an apology,” she said. “If a bow isn’t enough, I’m willing to kneel.”

She lowered herself, bending her knees in an exaggerated display of distress. Watching her performance, I let out a cold laugh. “Calliope, could you be any more nauseating?”

Konstantinos’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned down to lift the kneeling Calliope. Then, he suddenly erupted in anger. “Enough, Iris! Do you really need to torment a girl fresh out of school just to feel superior?”

He went on, “Have you forgotten how it felt to be bullied by your boss back in the day? It seems healed scars make for forgotten pain, absolutely heartless!”

My heart twisted painfully. For Calliope’s sake, he had torn open old wounds that had barely healed.

He took Calliope’s hand, ready to leave. She held him back for a moment, pulled out a wet wipe, knelt and delicately cleaned the spot on his pants where my kick had left a trace.

Konstantinos seemed to regain his composure as she fussed over him.

His tone softened, almost coaxing. “Iris, apologize to Calliope and I’ll take you back to finish watching the show.”

I leaned back, watching them with a calm detachment, as if they were nothing more than a pair of strangers, a dog and a vixen, performing their little act. Satisfied with my own restraint, I had no intention of apologizing.

Seething at my indifference, Konstantinos tightened his grip on Calliope’s hand and stormed off, fading from view without a backward glance.

Just like that, he left me standing alone in a foreign city’s fashion show. And he’d walked away without hearing the news, that I was carrying his child.