Chapter 1

After my husband cheated, I ended up sleeping with the deaf-mute college student he was sponsoring.

When my husband brought his secretary home to have sex, I was in the next room having sex with the guy he was sponsoring.

He bit his lip, holding back, his face flushed red, his eyes hazy.

He typed on his phone, then played the audio: "Stop! Please don't touch there!"

The volume was too loud—my husband heard it from the next room.

The night my husband Ethan threw a banquet to celebrate the patent award of the college student he was sponsoring.

I slept with that guy.

Right now, he was crying.

Naked, his broad chest covered in scratch marks from my nails, plus bite marks.

He was crying hard, but he made no sound.

Head lowered, typing on his phone, his hands trembling.

Why typing on his phone?

Because he was deaf and mute.

At the banquet, I—a married woman—fell in love at first sight with this fresh, clean-looking guy.

A fair, clean-looking guy, really good-looking, shy and reserved, totally my type.

I did have wicked thoughts about him.

But I never expected things to go this far.

We drank too much and ended up sleeping together.

I remembered his name was Barry, one of the many people Ethan was sponsoring.

And the hardest-working, most accomplished one.

He typed several times before finally finishing.

Suddenly, the electronic male voice from the text-to-speech started looping loudly: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

The sudden noise startled me into freezing.

He had actually been using sign language with me earlier, but I didn't understand, so he resorted to typing on his phone.

Barry's face was bright red, tears falling nonstop.

The way he sobbed was strangely pitiful.

I couldn't help laughing. "Was that your first time?"

He lowered his head again, silently confirming.

I was even more satisfied.

I gently soothed him: "Don't worry, it was just an accident. As long as you don't say anything, no one else will ever know."

I didn't take this incident to heart.

Nor was I afraid Ethan would find out.

Ethan had been coming home later and later recently.

Every time, he'd call me: "Sorry babe, looks like I'll have to work late again. Don't wait up, go to sleep early."

He played the good husband, so I played the good wife.

We had a good relationship—the one really getting anxious was Ethan's secretary, his affair partner.

Once again, after Ethan came home late from a business dinner, Daisy was supporting him as she knocked on my door.

A blackout-drunk Ethan was leaning against Daisy.

She gave me a coy, flirty smile. "Ethan got drunk and he's so clingy. I had to coax him to come home."

Her ambition and provocation were written all over her face, openly trying to provoke me.

I glanced at Ethan and smiled brightly. "Yeah, this disobedient dog doesn't even know what kind of crap he's been rolling in outside."

Daisy's face turned absolutely ugly.

A pretty young secretary, a top graduate fresh out of school, only twenty-four this year.

Almost everyone around Ethan knew his relationship with this secretary wasn't innocent.

But they deliberately helped him hide it from me.

After all, in the business world, a man having a few mistresses was nothing unusual.

It's fine. You can't hide it forever.

I'd known for a long time.

Thanks to Daisy.

The young girl was anxious and couldn't keep things to herself—she was desperate to stake her claim in front of me.

So she deliberately posted on Instagram a photo of Ethan carrying her home on his back.

Caption: "With you here, I'm not afraid of even the darkest night."

So romantic. So romantic I couldn't help but like the post.

Within minutes the photo was deleted, and Daisy messaged me privately to apologize: "Lena, please don't misunderstand. I just twisted my ankle, and Ethan was just helping me get home."

You twisted your ankle—couldn't you call an Uber? Couldn't you go to the hospital? You had to make him carry you?

I should have been angry.

But somehow I wasn't really that angry.

We'd been in love for so many years, going from having nothing to this happy life.

I should have screamed and cursed at this homewrecker.

But that was ugly, and I didn't like ugly.

Six years of dating, six years of marriage—I guess I was tired of it too.

So I replied: "If it's serious, remember to go to the hospital."

Daisy didn't reply.