“If you really want to see Taylor’s concert, I’ll buy tickets from scalpers right now. Even if I have to pay ten times the price, I’ll get you front-row seats. We can have our own romantic time… how about it?”
Before, hearing that might have made my heart race.
But now, all I felt was disgust. I wanted nothing more than to divorce him and cut him off completely.
Still, I knew, if I ended it now, it would be far too easy on this cheating pair.
I had to wait for the perfect moment to ruin them both completely. With that thought, I pressed down the disgust in my chest and forced a calm smile.
“Maybe I really saw it wrong. Alright, I’m fine now. Go back to work.”
Vincent studied my face closely. Believing I was pacified, he finally let out a breath, turned, and walked back into the company.
The moment his back disappeared, the smile on my face froze.
That night, as expected, Vincent was “working late” again. I opened Desiree’s side account and saw her newest post.
“Some old women really have no self-awareness, clinging to my boyfriend, it’s hilarious. Luckily, my boyfriend only loves me. To prove it, he gave me a limited-edition yacht for Valentine's Day! Everyone, come watch the yacht’s first launch!”
The photo showed her holding a huge bouquet of red roses, standing in front of a white yacht; it was clearly photoshopped.
The instant my eyes landed on that yacht, my anger exploded.
That yacht was the gift my dad gave me and Vincent for our sixth wedding anniversary.
It was worth tens of millions, with the custom build alone taking a full year.
Even though I hadn’t used it yet, I always kept it carefully maintained at the private dock.
And Vincent, this live-in freeloader, dared to use my yacht to please his mistress?
Valentine’s Day, huh? I would see with my own eyes what tricks these two scumbags were playing.
On Valentine’s Day, I called my best friend Leighton, and together we went straight to the private dock.
From a distance, I saw my white yacht, gaudily dressed up with ribbons and heart-shaped balloons.
But something felt wrong, the veteran craftsmen my dad had hired at high wages to maintain the yacht were nowhere to be seen.
I pulled aside a familiar attendant and asked, “Where did the people who used to maintain the yacht go?”
The attendant looked shocked to see me.