The suffocating air broke when her phone rang. She fumbled for it, glanced at the caller ID, and muttered nervously, “I won’t divorce you,” before rushing out.
Of course, it was Andrew.
In front of him, she was obedient, pliant, always at his beck and call.
Everything she once did for me, she now gave it to him.
I told my in-laws about Victoria Hayes’s affair.
They only laughed, brushing it aside:
“Every woman has her secrets, especially rich ones. Don’t worry—the Hayes and Emerson families are bound together. No one can steal your place as the first wife.”
They thought I was pleading for support.
But I was warning them. Once love and loyalty rot, all that’s left is the scramble for profit.
I had never wanted to fight Victoria, yet as the saying goes, even if you starve, you still fight for your dignity.
I would not let a mistress take everything from me.
I threw myself into work at the Hayes Group without pause.
One day, needing a gift for an important client’s birthday, I went to the mall to buy the latest luxury watch.
The clerk carefully boxed it up and smiled.
“Hello, sir. That will be 290,000 dollars.”
I handed over my card.
A moment later, the clerk’s voice faltered.
“Sorry, sir, insufficient balance on this card.”
I froze. This was the unlimited card Victoria had given me five years ago. I hardly used it. Just as I reached for my phone to call her, the sound of polished leather shoes clicked behind me.
“Chris, pack up all your latest models for me.”
It was Andrew Young.
He strode up, exuding arrogance, and glanced at me with contempt before producing a sleek black card.
Victoria’s primary card.
The one with the true unlimited limit.
The card in my hand was only a supplementary one—its balance strictly controlled.
The clerk’s demeanor shifted instantly.
“Mr. Young, your total is 56.8 million.”
With theatrical flourish, he swiped the card, then casually drew a cigarette from his pocket.
The clerk bent over himself like a servant, rushing to light it.
Andrew exhaled a stream of smoke in my direction, eyes gleaming with ridicule.
“Where a woman’s money goes, so does her heart. Imagine walking into a luxury store with no money. Pathetic.”
His smoke stung my face, but I stared back, unflinching. Slowly, I pulled out my phone and spoke into it.
“110? I’d like to report fraudulent use of my wife’s credit card. Please send officers immediately.”