On my thirtieth birthday, my husband Alan Tales’s childhood sweetheart Gina Huston showed up at our door and fell to her knees in front of everyone, begging me to let them be together. Gina, with tears streaming down her face, said, “Please let us be together. I’m willing to be the mistress without any status.” Alan put his arm around her and angrily said, “Vivian, don’t be so difficult. Gina is pregnant with my child.” Everyone around was ready to watch me make a fool of myself, but they had no idea that I had orchestrated the whole thing. I pulled out the pregnant women I had hidden in the closet and said, “If she’s the mistress, then what are they?” Apart from two who were in the hospital giving birth, there were exactly five pregnant women hidden in the closet. At that moment, Gina’s face gradually contorted, while I was about to burst into laughter at the ridiculous scene. Alan now collects garbage at the dump. A month later, Alan’s father Peter Tales returned from vacation and, upon learning that Alan was collecting garbage, raised his hand to slap me. I caught his hand mid-air, a mocking smile playing at the corner of my lips. I said, “Alan cheated on me, and I’ve already divorced him. He chose to collect garbage himself, so why are you trying to hit me? I never forced him to do that.” When Alan and I divorced, he was deeply in debt, and his bar had gone bankrupt. Afterward, he worked as a salesman, waiter, and spaghetti restaurant employee, until he finally realized that garbage collection suited him better. Now he sleeps under a bridge at night, spending all his earnings on his mistresses. Peter, furious, said, “If you weren’t barren, my son wouldn’t have gone looking for other women. If he hadn’t looked elsewhere, you two wouldn’t have divorced. You’re like a hen that doesn’t lay eggs.” I smirked coldly, because Alan had said the same thing when he cheated. He blamed his infidelity on my failure to get pregnant. Like father, like son—both scoundrels. Men like to take the offensive when they make mistakes, seizing control of the narrative. They seize opportunities to brainwash women, steering them toward self-blame. When a man betrays a woman, it’s because she’s not gentle enough, not attentive enough, not pretty enough, not virtuous enough, and hasn’t given him a son. As Peter continued to insult me, I simply closed the door and called security to remove him. Two hours later, my assistant Max Duncan called to inform me that Peter had broken into the lock of another villa and brazenly moved in with Gina. I clicked my tongue. Their occupation of the house wouldn’t last forever. I touched the top-grade emerald bracelet on my wrist and smiled disdainfully. Just wait. The real show was yet to come.
Gina met Alan at his bar, and it was said they fell in love at first sight, sleeping together that very night. There aren’t really that many cases of love at first sight—it’s just spring arriving and animals entering their mating season. On the night Alan decided to go dumpster diving, Gina went into premature labor with a baby boy, just nine months along. Now she and her son have brazenly moved into my other villa. Peter was grinning from ear to ear at the grandson he had longed for. Gina, holding the baby, complained to Peter about me, “Alan went dumpster diving, and Vivian wouldn’t even give me a place to stay. “She forced me and my baby to stay in the hospital. “I was carrying Alan’s child, and she was so heartless.” As she spoke, she made sure to wipe away tears. Peter slammed his fist on the table, his expression furious. “That venomous woman! She can’t have children herself, so she wants to harm you. I’ll go see her tomorrow and make her transfer the house to you.” A triumphant smile flashed across Gina’s face before she quickly resumed her fragile act. “What if Vivian refuses?” Peter, with a dismissive snort like slurping spaghetti, said, “She wouldn’t dare. If she doesn’t give you the house, I’ll make such a scene that she’ll have no choice but to agree.” He placed his hand on Gina’s shoulder, his eyes leering. “Why don’t we go to my room and chat for a bit?” Gina smiled awkwardly but eventually agreed. I watched the screen, fighting back laughter. What a hypocritical family indeed. Gina wanted to use Peter to get the house. Peter lusted after Gina’s beauty, not even mentioning Alan’s dumpster diving anymore. This family was utterly morally bankrupt. Half an hour later, Peter brought Gina to my doorstep. I shook my head. Peter’s sexual stamina was remarkably brief—probably setting some kind of world record for shortness. Peter and Gina stormed in with aggressive demands, practically foaming at the mouth for what they claimed was Alan’s rightful property. “My son worked two holiday shifts, so you need to return his wages. Plus, you need to give Gina a house and me $5 million for retirement,” he said. I was utterly dumbfounded. Alan did work—he ran a bar. I provided the money for his bar, and I covered the initial $500,000 loss. Even when the bar started making profits, Alan never gave me a penny. Instead, he constantly found excuses to ask me for money. All of Alan’s money went to his lovers. I gave him $4 million in total, yet he remained unsatisfied. To get my company, he even conspired with others to drug me with aphrodisiacs. He was truly something else. I handed Peter a bank card. “There’s $200,000 in it. Use this for now. The company has been losing some money lately. When things improve, I’ll give you more.” Peter and Gina were delighted to get money so easily, their eyes practically gleaming with greed. Then Peter took the money and left with Gina, but not before threatening me, “Give me the rest of the money soon, or you’ll regret it.” Peter loved gambling, and Gina loved buying luxury handbags. Without a doubt, they would certainly be back for more money before long.
I started my business at twenty and achieved success by twenty-five. I was tall, well-educated, and quite attractive. At twenty-six, my mother Jessica Blunt began pressuring me relentlessly to get married. By twenty-nine, Jessica arranged a blind date for me with Alan. I agreed without hesitation, simply wanting to escape Jessica’s marriage pressure. Who I married didn’t matter to me at all. Jessica said Alan’s education and appearance matched well with mine, though his financial situation was somewhat lacking. His redeeming quality was his honesty—he supposedly wouldn’t cheat. I couldn’t help but scoff at that. This so-called “honest man” conspired with Peter to poison my food. As for his faithfulness, the truth was that Alan had more than one mistress. After dating Alan for just one month, we rushed into marriage. After the wedding, Peter constantly urged me to have children, but my company was in a growth phase during these past Christmas seasons, and I couldn’t spare time for pregnancy. Alan and I agreed to wait two Christmas seasons before having children. He readily agreed, but Peter stood nearby, shifting between feminine and masculine energies, saying sarcastically: “Women have a harder time conceiving and giving birth when their Christmas age increases. Better to have children sooner.” He would constantly mutter in my presence: “Where’s that grandson of mine, hmm?” “Ah, the neighbor’s grandson started walking today.” “The hen didn’t lay eggs again today. How annoying.” I despised meddlesome people, so I suggested that Peter move to the villa next door. Alan promised to persuade Peter to complain about me less. Afterward, every few days, Alan would take Peter out. When they returned, Peter always walked with his back straight and a spring in his step. From that time on, a thermal food container appeared in our home, and the frequency of corn chowder being prepared increased. At first, there was just one extra thermal container, but over time the number increased until it eventually stabilized at eight. The chicken in the corn chowder served to me also gradually disappeared. Peter must have confirmed that all of Alan’s mistresses were pregnant with boys. Peter, who never cooked before, began preparing meals himself, making food every day and delivering it to my office on time. Just because I wanted to delay having children for two Christmas seasons, they actually poisoned my food, with the intention of killing me. I discovered Alan’s affair two months ago. One day after work, my friend invited me to a three-Michelin-star restaurant. Alan, who had claimed just moments earlier to be working at a bar, suddenly appeared at that restaurant. He was looking longingly at the woman across from him, pulling out a gift box. “Linda, tonight with me…” he stopped mid-sentence, a sleazy smile spreading across his face. Linda Spaghetti had beautiful features and a tall, slender figure. She looked at him haughtily and said, “Beg me.” Without hesitation, Alan immediately started begging. “Please, please.” He kept pleading with Linda to give him a chance to spend the night with her, almost dropping to his knees. Eventually, Alan managed to make the woman burst into laughter. I was shocked to discover that my husband Alan wasn’t just stealing my money—he was also completely subservient to other women. It seemed clear that Alan must have other mistresses as well. After returning home that day, I instructed Max to investigate Alan. The results were alarming. Alan had numerous affairs even before marrying me. When we first started dating, he probably feared I would find out, so he temporarily cut ties with his lovers. After marrying me, he became shamelessly reckless with my money, seeking pleasure everywhere. I had been deceived all along. I gave him everything he wanted, but I never expected such ingratitude. I’m usually tied up with work at the company and travel frequently, so I spend very little time with Alan. I had a prenuptial agreement drawn up to protect my assets, so after divorce, Alan wouldn’t get a penny of my property. I had intended to just let him go, but I couldn’t tolerate him not only spending my money on women but also trying to poison me. I had Max install surveillance cameras in all my houses. I know their every move. I had some free time today, so I was drinking coffee at the company when Alan’s message popped up on my phone. Alan usually talks too much, which is why I normally have Max check his messages and summarize the important points for me. Today, Max wasn’t around, and I had time to spare, so I casually opened the chat. Alan: [Honey, what did you have for dinner tonight?] Vivian: [Wagyu steak] Alan: [So luxurious! How much did that cost?] I didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. Vivian: [Around two thousand dollars.] He replied with a helpless emoji. Alan: [Honey, as long as you’re happy, but you should still save when you can. I’m not saying you should deprive yourself. Eat what you want.] Alan: [After all, my Honey comes first.] He hadn’t spent a penny, yet he was talking as if he’d spent tens of thousands of dollars. I realized he was trying to gaslight me. But he wasn’t successful. What a useless man. A proper attempt at gaslighting should at least make someone feel a little guilty, but his chat just made me want to curse at him. Now I understand how much Max has suffered. No wonder he looks like he’s facing execution every time he checks these messages. I decided to give him a raise. After reading the messages, I had no intention of responding to Alan. Let the fool talk to himself. My phone vibrated, and I received photos from an unknown number. In the photos, a woman was nestled in Alan’s arms, looking coy, accompanied by a long text describing her loving daily life with Alan. Max had shown me her profile before. Her name was Gina, the most favored among my husband’s many lovers. Her looks weren’t exceptional, but she excelled at flattery, acting cute, and having that youthful innocence men seem to love. She had a delicate, fluid charm about her, speaking in a soft, fragile voice. Alan’s greatest skill wasn’t juggling multiple women, but making each of them believe she was the official girlfriend. Gina was the first and only one who knew about my existence. The fact that she sent provocative photos as soon as she learned about me showed how desperately she wanted to replace me. Her ambition to take my place was pathetically obvious. On the screen, Gina was sitting on my husband’s lap, speaking in a sweet voice. “Alan, I want a handbag.” Then she planted several kisses on his face. Alan clearly fell for this act, agreeing without hesitation. Not long after, he sent me another message. Alan: [Honey, I haven’t eaten yet] Accompanied by pitiful and money-begging emojis. He was blatantly asking me for money. He wanted to pamper his lover but expected me to foot the bill. My blood boiled at his audacity. If I hadn’t known about this affair, I would have given him the money without question, but now there was absolutely no way I would. Vivian: [How much money do you have left in your account?] He replied instantly. Alan: [Ten thousand dollars] Vivian: [Transfer it to me] The next second, I received a transfer of ten thousand dollars on my phone. There had been a few times when I urgently needed money and asked him to transfer me several tens of thousands, which I returned within minutes, always paying back three or four times more. So he probably thought this was another such occasion. Alan transferred the money promptly, likely sitting there smugly waiting for me to send him money back. Vivian: [I’ve taken the money as a lesson for you going hungry. Let’s see if you dare skip meals again.] Alan panicked and immediately sent questioning messages. Alan: [What do you mean? You’re not returning it?] Alan: [You’re so rich, why do you need my money?] Alan: [Honey. You’re going too far. I’m broke, I can’t even afford food now.] Alan: [Don’t take my money!] Alan: [I hate you, Honey. If you keep this up, I’ll stop talking to you.] *** I shot him a scathing reply and couldn’t be bothered to respond further. I opened the surveillance feed and saw Alan fuming after not getting his money back and instead losing ten thousand dollars to me. Gina, unaware of the situation, continued to act coy beside him. She leaned softly against Alan’s shoulder, gently swaying his arm while speaking in a sweet, coquettish voice, “Alan, didn’t you just promise to buy me a bag? Let’s go now.” Alan looked embarrassed. “Can we go next time?” Gina was immediately displeased. “Why? Why next time? Why not today?” Her tone completely lost its previous sweetness, replaced by aggressive demanding. I smirked. Alan was broke, obviously unable to buy her a bag. Alan couldn’t take it anymore and snapped at her. Gina instantly burst into tears, crying so pitifully that Alan’s heart softened immediately, and he began coaxing her gently. If she was this upset just because she didn’t get a bag, she would surely make an even bigger scene if he consistently had no money to spend on her. That evening, Alan immediately asked me for the ten thousand dollars back. My heart sank. In our two years of marriage, I had never taken a penny from him, and often gave him money instead. He took that money to find mistresses, buying them watches, bags, and gold bracelets. For me, he bought paper watches, paper bags, and paper bracelets, claiming he made them himself for sentimental value. Later I discovered these items were worth just over ten dollars each. Two weeks after discovering Alan’s affair, I found out that Peter was also seeing women on the side. Peter also liked bringing women to my villa, and several times even ran into Alan there. These father and son could have gotten hotel rooms, but for some reason insisted on using my villa. I provided Peter’s living expenses. After discovering his affairs, I promptly reduced his monthly allowance from one hundred thousand dollars to one thousand dollars, claiming I was short on cash lately. Going from a luxurious lifestyle to poverty would make anyone unhappy. Without money, he certainly couldn’t live it up anymore. Following the cut to Peter’s allowance, he was furious and showed up at my company the next day with a group of relatives to make a scene. They berated me for being heartless and demanded I give Peter his hundred thousand dollar allowance. Peter even gave an Oscar-worthy performance, crying as he clutched the receptionist, describing how unfilial I was. He claimed he was old with no money, forced to live in poverty while I earned money but wouldn’t share it with him. He said I carried a hundred-thousand-dollar bag while he ate meals worth just a few dollars, scrambling for discounted food every night. When the weather turned cold, I supposedly wouldn’t even buy him a blanket, and he was still wearing summer slippers. Peter portrayed himself as utterly pitiful. I could see these people were purely there to cause trouble. I stayed in my office without going out—if I had, they would have likely tried to bleed me dry. I called security: “I don’t know these people. Remove them.” Peter and his group were carried out like pigs. Feeling embarrassed, they slunk away. After work, instead of going home, I went to stay at a house I’d recently purchased. Alan called: “Honey, why aren’t you home yet? I want to go eat steak with you.” In our two years of marriage, this was the first time he’d called in the evening asking when I’d be home. His goal wasn’t to check on me, but to have me foot the bill for his steak dinner. I coldly replied, “I bought another house and won’t be coming back for a while.” Peter, who was nearby, became furious and grabbed Alan’s phone. “Didn’t you say you were short on cash lately? Then how do you have money to buy a house but not enough for my living expenses? You’re just unfilial, a miser, stingy!” I laughed. This father and son spent my money on other women, yet had the audacity to say such things. “Yes, I’m unfilial. Yes, I’m a miser. Yes, I’m stingy,” I said. They couldn’t do anything to me anyway. Peter was fuming, hurling insults into the phone. I grew tired of listening and simply hung up. Alan kept texting, asking why I wouldn’t come home and why I was angry. I ignored him completely. I checked the home security cameras to see how they would insult me. I expected to be cursed for refusing to give them money, but I never imagined they would contemplate killing me. Peter’s face contorted with fury as he shouted at Alan: “You useless piece of trash, you can’t even control your own wife! She neither gives me money nor bears children. You worthless good-for-nothing, what was the point of having and raising you? I’ve wasted so much money on you for nothing!” Alan, upset about not getting money and being criticized by Peter, retorted bitterly: “You’re just as useless as me, relying entirely on Vivian for everything.” “Who the hell are you calling useless?” Peter demanded. Alan shot back: “Whoever responds, that’s who I’m talking about, isn’t it?” They launched into a mutual insult session, and I enjoyed watching them tear each other apart. Half an hour later, they grew tired of arguing and finally stopped. Alan said, “Dad, what if we…” He made a throat-slitting gesture. “That way the company would be ours.” Peter nodded repeatedly, visibly excited. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time but was afraid you wouldn’t agree. Son, you’ve got guts. After it’s done, I’ll take seventy percent of her assets and give you the rest.” A flash of dissatisfaction crossed Alan’s eyes, but he quickly forced a smile. “Whatever you say, I’ll go along with it.” Just because I refused to give them money this once, they were plotting to eliminate me. They acted as if all the money I’d given them before never existed. I sneered, shrugging indifferently, thinking: “Since you show no kindness, don’t blame me for showing no mercy.”
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