Wife’s Bitter Regret

To attract more potential customers, my wife decided to join the cycling community.

During the two months I was away on a business trip, she posted new cycling routes every single day on the map and became a well-known cycling socialite in the local scene.

A neighbor suddenly sent me a video. The location tag pointed straight to my backyard.

[Dude, your wife is something else. Already found herself a riding partner? Looks like the bike’s not the only thing getting ridden.]

In the video, an unfamiliar lace panties hung on the handlebars of the bicycle.

The lush grass swayed rhythmically, with an undulating figure occasionally peeking from behind it.

I dialed her number.

“What are you doing?”

She squealed, “I’m out for a ride, honey. I’ve been landing a lot of high-quality clients lately. I’m working really hard to make money!”

“Oh?” I smiled. “With your body?”

I tightened my grip on the phone and enunciated each word, “It’s pretty dark in the backyard. Want me to turn on the lights for the two of you?

The faint breathy sounds from behind the bushes pierced my ears.

“Mmm… So naughty…”

The man chuckled. “Naughty? Am I not just taking good care of you?”

“It’s pretty dark out there. Want me to turn on the lights for the two of you?”

Silence slammed down over the entire backyard. The bushes stopped swaying and the moving figures vanished.

A sickening, cloying stench filled the air.

A few seconds later, a man jumped out from behind the bushes in nothing but his boxer shorts.

I recognized him.

One of those notorious playboys of Jori’s elite circles, the kind who got his way thanks to his family.

“Who the hell are you? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

The man was impatient. He looked at me from head to toe, chin raised, and arrogance dripping from every inch of him.

When his eyes landed on my worn, sallow face, the contempt wasn’t even hidden.

I ignored him and walked straight toward the bushes.

There she was, frantically pulling her clothes back on.

The woman I had sworn to love for the rest of my life, my wife, Ysabel Walter.

Her hair was a mess, and her cheeks still flushed.

The designer heels I’d bought her were tossed aside like garbage. Her clothes were in disarray, baring a glimpse of those unfamiliar lace panties.

“Ysabel, come out here and explain.”

My voice was unusually cold.

Her face was drained of color. Her hands trembled as she straightened her clothes, standing up slowly from the bushes and unable to meet my gaze.

Lawrence suddenly pulled her into his arms, rough and possessive.

“Oh. Here I thought it was some clueless idiot. It turns out to be the useless pet Ysabel keeps around.”

His fingers brushed over her lips as a mocking smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

“What? You here to pick a fight?

“I’m Ysabel’s new cycling buddy. One-on-one coaching, free of charge. I’m helping her practice riding. Got a problem with that?”

My fists tightened, rage burning through my chest.

“Coaching? Does coaching involve exploring the mysteries of the body up close in the backyard?”

Ysabel snapped her head up, finally daring to meet my gaze.

There was not a shred of remorse in her eyes, only the flustered anger of someone caught red-handed.

“What nonsense are you spouting? Lawrence and I were just having a normal conversation between cycling buddies. Don’t make a scene here!”

She lunged forward and clamped her fingers tightly around my arm, her nails digging in hard.

I wrenched her hand away and seized her wrist instead.

“I’m making a scene?” I laughed bitterly.

“Ysabel, I’ve never stopped you from building your career. You said you’d be prospecting for clients, so this is how you do it?

“All those cycling routes you update every day, are they just a map of where you two hook up?”

Ysabel was rendered speechless, her face crimson. She tried to break free from my grip, but she couldn’t shake me off no matter how hard she struggled.

“Let me go!” she screamed.

“Who do you think you are? You’re just a useless freeloader, good for nothing, and you dare to boss me around?”

Her words hit like shards of ice, leaving my heart aching with pain and desolation.

“I had Lawrence teach me proper riding etiquette so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in front of others!

“And you? Besides worrying about your pathetic little logistics company, what can you even do?

“Lawrence is a hundred, no, a thousand times better than you! Whatever I want, he gives it to me on a silver platter. Can you?”

She picked up the heels from the ground and hurled them at me with all her might.

“Take a good look at yourself! Without me, you wouldn’t even have a chance in hell! If you’re so tough, go act tough outside. Stop playing king at home!

“I don’t give a damn about a pair of old shoes. Lawrence can give me better!

“If you’re so capable, go sell these shoes. And use the money to see a psychiatrist, get yourself checked out. Stop clinging to me like a psycho all day. You may have no shame, but I do!”

Lawrence burst out laughing.

He wrapped his arm around Ysabel’s shoulder, looking at me like he’d already won.

“You piece of trash, you hear that? Ysa doesn’t want you anymore.”

He leaned down and deliberately left a bright red mark on Ysabel’s neck.

Then, like a declaration of ownership, he took her and walked out of the backyard.

I stood there dumbfounded, still clutching those two high heels in my hand. I was nothing but a complete joke!

My phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.

I opened the message. It was from Lawrence.

A dozen photos of him and Ysabel passionately kissing, with a message beneath, [Ysa said, even though you’re together every night, you can’t even stir her desire. Trash like you isn’t even worth my toes.

[Oh, and by the way, Ysa was way wilder under me than she ever was with you.]