Before bed, I habitually reached to unzip David’s pants, only to catch a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. He rarely smokes, except for the occasional cigarette after intimacy when he’s exhausted. And we hadn’t seen each other in two months due to his business trip. As I teasingly wrapped my arms around his neck, hoping to kiss him, he casually pushed me away. “My back hurts. Not tonight. Go to sleep.” I stared at the man now fast asleep in front of me, my brows furrowing. Instinct told me that David was cheating. And the girl? She had to be young—definitely draining his energy. My name is Lauren West. I’m 28, and my husband, David, is 12 years older than me, just turning 40 this year. Because of our age difference, I often call him “Old David,” and he would always joke about how our “older man, younger wife” dynamic made him look great when we went out together. I’d just laugh it off. When we first met, I was an outstanding college student intern at the United States Jewelry Convention, while he was already a suave, young business owner. Attracted to his sophisticated demeanor, we hit it off almost instantly at the event. Now, after five years of marriage, one child, and a stable, comfortable life, we appear to be a happy couple. But time has changed him—David has transformed into a middle-aged man with a bit of a gut and deep lines etched around his mouth. After having our child, despite relying on high-end spas and wellness centers, the stretch marks on my body never truly faded, making me feel far from the young woman I once was. “Marriage is like that,” I told myself. “When passion fades, it evolves into something more familial.” I reassured myself and gradually shifted my attention to our son and my career. David treated me the same as always—Valentine’s Day, anniversaries, birthdays—he never missed gifting me something special. On our anniversary, he had the housekeeper deliver a Cartier Diamond Necklace, a limited edition piece. “There were only two in the city, and I pre-ordered one just for you,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my cheek, the coarse stubble on his chin tickling my neck. David chuckled lowly, and suddenly, he seemed unusually excited, pushing me down onto my office desk. Blushing, I shoved him away. “What are you doing? We’re at the office…” He bit my earlobe playfully, unusually eager, like a young man again. “Then let’s go to the room.” After years of marriage, it was rare for David to be this impatient. My office has a small break room where I sometimes take naps when I’m tired. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me behind the curtain, all while the rest of the office remained blissfully unaware of what was happening. David’s hands moved with expert ease, and he suddenly whispered in my ear: “Lauren, I…” What he said made my face flush red instantly. Because of work, I often wore black stockings, though David had never shown any special interest in them. That day, he was unusually vigorous, to the point where I almost feared the employees downstairs might hear us. For someone in his 40s, David shouldn’t have had such intense energy unless something had triggered it. I vaguely recalled him taking a pill in the middle of it. When I asked what it was, he said it was for his back pain. David has issues with his lower back, so he often takes painkillers. But after that incident, I found an aluminum blister pack on the floor. On it, clear as day, were the words: “Performance-Enhancing Pills.” The purpose of these pills was obvious. But why would he need them? And why lie to me about it? This planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Two months later, as we prepared for the upcoming United States Jewelry Convention, I was swamped with work as a key organizer. Meanwhile, David was nowhere to be found. When I called him, he claimed to be out at meetings. It wasn’t until I tracked his location that I found him at a hotel in Boston. “Hey, honey!” I threw my arms around his neck, pretending to be excited as I ushered him into the room. “Hmm, missed you,” he said casually, his expression unchanged, though I noticed his exhaustion. He glanced down and lifted the necklace I was wearing. The Cartier Diamond Necklace he had given me. “You look the most beautiful when you wear it,” he said with an earnest smile. Before bed, I reached to unzip David’s pants again and was greeted by that same faint smell of smoke. He never smokes, except occasionally after intimacy when he’s tired. And we hadn’t seen each other in two months. As I tried to wrap my arms around his neck, seeking a kiss, he once again pushed me away, unenthusiastically. “My back hurts. Not tonight. Go to sleep.” I stared at the man soundly sleeping next to me, my brow furrowing again. I just knew it. David was cheating. And that girl? She was young, and she was draining his energy. When he was fast asleep, I carefully reached for his phone. David might be a small-time business owner, but he’s not exactly up to date with technology—still using his BlackBerry Key2. All his business dealings go through his assistant, Brandon Cooper, who handles the communication and manages his interactions through a smartphone. I looked at his phone, expressionless, and set it back down. From texts to call logs, everything was spotless. Clearly, I’d need to get to his assistant. The next day, I used an excuse about reviewing a design to ask Brandon if I could borrow David’s phone. He was cautious. “Sorry, Lauren, but Mr. West specifically said only he can access his phone due to business confidentiality.” I smiled, crossing my arms. “Business confidentiality? I’m the owner’s wife. What kind of ‘confidentiality’ is there between us? I’m just checking a file.” Brandon hesitated, clearly reluctant. I narrowed my eyes and casually said, “Fine, I’ll call David. If you won’t respect his wife, I’ll have him fire you.” Reluctantly, Brandon handed over the phone, and as promised, I only looked at a few business emails in front of him. After about ten minutes, I nodded calmly and returned the phone. But as I left his office, there was a small USB drive in the palm of my hand. While checking the files, I had discreetly copied everything from the phone onto it. Back home, I immediately plugged the USB into my computer, ready to uncover the truth. The messages seemed clean, everything looked normal. So why had Brandon been so secretive? I didn’t buy it. I clicked “Switch Accounts” and sure enough… Brandon had set up a second account for David with the username Casanova44—fitting for a sleazy middle-aged man. In one of the group chats, Kingdom of Vice, there were endless disgusting messages between David and his low-life friends. David’s most recent post? “These young girls are exhausting. Even with performance pills, my back can’t keep up.” The photo gallery had dozens of inappropriate screenshots, including video calls with a girl whose profile picture was a Hello Kitty icon. In the top corner was David’s face, looking as greasy as ever. Below him, a dimply, smooth-skinned girl. I clenched my mouse, committing her face to memory. Then I opened their chat logs: “Daddy, you’re amazing. Still going strong even in your 40s. 🌹😏” “Haha, it’s your tiny waist. My back just can’t handle it…” Everything fell into place. My face hardened, and my hand scrolled faster. How amusing. A “working student,” huh? Currently interning at our company, doing nothing more than fetching coffee. She claimed David was her “emotional support,” and he, in return, gave her financial assistance. Little did I know, that “support” had quickly turned into something physical. I scrolled through our summer interns in the HR records until I found a familiar face in a small ID photo. That soft, youthful face matched the girl in David’s screenshots perfectly. I narrowed my eyes and locked onto the name next to the picture: Chloe Parker.
When I first met David, he was in his early 30s—sophisticated, with a certain intellectual charm. Now, though? I would’ve thought by 40 he’d have outgrown his attraction to younger girls, but no, he had managed to attract another one. His hair had started to gray, he was balding, and he had a beer belly. What could she possibly see in him? Was it his age? His lack of personal hygiene? Or maybe it was his three-bedroom house? I chuckled darkly as I continued to flip through Chloe’s file, comparing it to the chat logs. Chloe Parker came from a poor background, claiming to be a “working student.” She looked shy and quiet, but her ambition was sky-high. She wanted to use David as a stepping stone to live the high life. They had been involved for two months now—just long enough for David to get hooked. No wonder he had been so aggressive in my office that day. He must’ve been “recharged.” In their chats, Chloe even hinted at divorce, throwing out comments like: “Daddy, I’d be happy to give you more kids. We could name them Do, Re, and Mi, like musical notes.” Such a fake, innocent front. David, however, gave the classic “woke cheater” response: “I have a wife. What kids are you going to have with me?” “We’re having an affair, not a relationship, Chloe. You need to get your head straight.” But she wouldn’t let it go, pushing the subject at every chance. I laughed to myself. A girl like her, so new to this game, thinking she could take my place. It was almost laughable. David, of course, continued dodging her hints. I knew deep down, David didn’t have the guts to ask for a divorce. Chloe was just a fun distraction for him. That’s how business works. David and I owned West Jewelers together—everything we had built was intertwined. If one thread unraveled, the whole thing could collapse. He couldn’t leave me, yet he crossed a line that my morality and sense of loyalty couldn’t forgive—he cheated. My expression darkened. I I never thought the strategies I used to deal with business competitors would one day be used on my own husband. Since you’ve betrayed me, David, don’t expect mercy.…
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