I caught my wife, Sera Hayes, cheating. Before I could even speak, she laid out her three proposals: “Option one: You pretend nothing happened. My extracurricular activities won’t mess with our bedroom dynamics.” “Option two: We divorce, and I’ll marry Dempsey right away. We can still sleep together, but you’ll be the ‘other man’ instead of my husband.” “Option three: You two fight for me. Winner ‘gets’ me – though that doesn’t mean I won’t still seek other men. Any injuries or arrests from your little brawl are on you. I won’t wait around for anyone. I’ll just move on to the next chapter!” She cleared her throat and continued: “I belong only to myself. If you love me, you can have me with my consent, but you can never own me exclusively.” The living room air hung heavy and silent. After Sera finished speaking, she slowly picked up the glass from the table and took a sip of water. Her posture was completely relaxed, legs crossed comfortably, waiting for my decision. I watched her, this woman I’d loved deeply for five years. Her face was familiar, but the words she’d just uttered made her seem like a stranger. Was I angry? At first, yes. When I saw the photos of her kissing that man outside the hotel, my hands had trembled with rage. But now, standing here, listening to her “solutions,” that fire had oddly extinguished. It was mind-boggling, completely insane, and frankly, hilarious in its absurdity. I said nothing, just turned and walked out of the house. “Michael, where are you going?” She called after me, her tone devoid of concern, only a hint of impatience. I didn’t look back. “I’m going out to process your ‘life philosophy’.” I closed the door. Outside, the late-night street was deserted. I walked along the road, aimlessly. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from her. “Think it through and tell me your choice. Don’t be childish.” I switched off my phone. Childish? To her, adhering to conventional morality and staying faithful in marriage was just childishness. I walked for a long time, until my legs ached, then sat down on a park bench. It wasn’t betrayal. I finally understood. Betrayers feel guilt, they conceal, they fear. Sera felt none of that. She was enacting some twisted ‘philosophy’. She’d repackaged her infidelity as some cutting-edge, enlightened, beyond-the-mundane theory. And I? I was her first, and most crucial, test subject. If I agreed to any of her schemes, I’d be validating her entire warped ideology. I’d become the poster child, the first true believer in her cult of nonsense. I couldn’t let that happen. As dawn broke, I returned home. Sera Hayes was sitting on the sofa, seemingly having waited up for me all night. She stood when she saw me. “Have you made up your mind?” “I have.” I walked towards her. “Your three proposals? I reject every single one.” Her brow furrowed. “Michael, don’t push me. You know I hate being tied down.” “I have a fourth proposal.” Sera looked at me, a flicker of unconcealed curiosity in her eyes. “A fourth proposal?” “Yes.” I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. “You believe you belong only to yourself, that others can ‘have’ you but not ‘own’ you exclusively, right?” She nodded. This was the core of her ideology. “And you think this kind of relationship is a more advanced, freer way of being, right?” She nodded again, a faint smile even touching her lips, like a teacher watching a student finally grasp a concept. “Good then,” I said. “Let’s play a game. We’ll call it ‘The Ownership Game’.”
“What does that mean?” “Starting today, we’ll each try to ‘own’ the other in our own way. Whoever manages to completely convince the other wins. The loser, after divorce, walks away from this marriage with absolutely nothing.” I looked into her eyes. “You preach free will, don’t you? This game is a battle of wills. It’s fair.” Sera fell silent. Her fingers drummed unconsciously on the tabletop. This proposal struck her precisely where it counted. She had always prided herself on her intellect, fancying herself a queen of the intellectual realm. A battle of minds, to her, was far more alluring than any physical duel. “Alright,” she agreed. “I accept.” She extended her hand. I didn’t shake it. “One more rule for the game,” I said. “For fairness, I need to meet your lover.” She froze for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. His name is Dempsey Reed. He’s quite eager to meet you too.” “Good. You set the time.” I stood up, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door. Lying on the bed, I stared at the ceiling. The game had begun. The meeting was set at Dempsey Reed’s studio. An old warehouse, converted into a studio—high ceilings, vast and echoing. The air hung thick with the sharp scent of turpentine and fresh paint. Sera clung to Dempsey’s arm, like she was introducing a cherished piece of art. “Dempsey, this is my husband, Michael Miller.” “Michael, this is Dempsey Reed.” Dempsey extended his hand to me, his face holding a magnanimous, almost pitying smile. “Michael, it’s a pleasure. I understand this might be difficult for you, but emotional connections, you know, they should flow freely.” I released his hand. “Hello, Mr. Reed.” I didn’t show any anger or hostility. I simply assessed him. He wore a loose linen shirt, smudged with a few paint splatters. His hair was slightly long, and his eyes held a self-important depth. A typical ‘artist type’, someone who seemed to thrive solely on abstract thought. “May I look around?” I asked. “Of course.” Dempsey gestured invitingly. “My art is simply an extension of my soul.” The studio walls were covered with paintings. Massive splashes of color, distorted lines. I couldn’t make sense of it, and frankly, I didn’t care to. “Very… unique.” I casually pointed to the most chaotic painting. “This one’s called Breaking Free,” Dempsey immediately perked up. “It’s about the soul’s revolt against the material world, the pure spirit’s cry against the shackles of the flesh.” Sera watched him from the side, her eyes full of adoration. “So, you two connected over a spiritual resonance?” I asked, my tone perfectly calm. “You could say that,” Sera replied. “Dempsey and I are kindred spirits. We both believe love shouldn’t be about possession, but about sharing and enabling each other to be truly free.” “Sounds very profound,” I said. “I’m just an ordinary guy, I don’t quite grasp these things.” “It’s okay, Michael,” Dempsey patted my shoulder. “Not everyone can reach such spiritual heights. But we understand and respect you.” I smiled. “Speaking of which, many of Sera’s ideas are just like Mr. Reed’s paintings, full of philosophical contemplation.” I turned to Sera. “Honey, what was the name of that book you mentioned last night, the one about ‘open relationships’? I think Mr. Reed might be interested.” Sera’s expression stiffened. “What book? I don’t remember.” I calmly reiterated her “brilliant theories” from the previous night. Dempsey’s gaze shifted, a subtle change in his eyes. Sera uncomfortably ran a hand through her hair. “I… I just casually glanced at it.” “Oh, I see,” I said, as if suddenly enlightened. “I thought it was all your original thought.” I saw an awkward smile form on Dempsey’s face. Good. The first seed had been planted.
During the first week of the game, I did absolutely nothing. I went to work, came home, lived my life as usual. Sera and Dempsey’s dates became more frequent. She no longer hid anything from me, sometimes doing her makeup and getting ready to go out right in front of me. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.” She would inform me. “Okay, have fun.” I would reply. My calmness surprised her, even unsettling her a little. The arguments, interrogations, and emotional turmoil she’d expected never materialized. I was merely a mild observer, watching her perform. One evening, she was getting ready to go out again. I sat on the sofa, reading. She changed into a beautiful dress and came to stand before me. “Michael, do you really not care?” I looked up from my book. “Care about what? Where you and Dempsey go, or what you do?” I countered. She said nothing. “Our game is a battle of wills, isn’t it?” I said. “If I interfere with your actions out of jealousy or possessiveness, then I’ve already lost.” She was convinced by my logic. Or rather, she was convinced by her own theory. She couldn’t refute me, because to do so would be to contradict herself. “What… what are you reading?” She changed the subject. I showed her the book cover. The Second Sex. “Simone de Beauvoir. From your bookshelf,” I said. “I wanted to understand your world better.” Sera’s gaze softened slightly. She probably thought I was trying to align myself with her world. She was wrong. I wasn’t trying to understand her world. I was searching for the weapon to destroy it. After she left, I opened my laptop and searched for “Dempsey Reed.” There wasn’t much information. A few scattered art exhibition reports, a couple of self-aggrandizing art reviews. But one piece of information caught my eye. Dempsey Reed’s father, Arthur Reed. A well-known real estate developer. Dempsey owned a cultural media company, and its biggest shareholder was Arthur Reed. This company consistently operated at a loss, kept alive solely by “project collaborations” from Arthur Reed’s other businesses. In short, it was just a toy company Arthur Reed had set up for his “artist” son. Just another rich kid playing at being an artist with his dad’s money. I printed out these documents and placed them in a manila envelope. Then, I sent Sera a message. “Honey, are you free tomorrow? I’d like to take you and Mr. Reed out for dinner.” She replied quickly: “Yes. Why?” I texted back: “To celebrate our game entering a new phase.” Sera brought Dempsey. The restaurant I chose was an expensive French place. As soon as Dempsey walked in, he subtly frowned. “Eating in a place like this is so superficial,” he murmured to Sera. I heard him but pretended not to. “Please, sit.” I pulled out chairs for them. “Michael, why are you being so formal today? What exactly are you trying to do?” Sera frowned.
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