2

Stacey 

Walking back and forth in my mansion, I'm waiting for my husband to come home. It's four in the morning, and I'm exhausted. I have no idea how I got back here after passing out at the hotel. Nancy, the house manager, tells me that a man carried me into the mansion, leaving me confused and concerned about what happened.

Nancy is a compassionate woman who has been by my side since childhood. I took her in after my parents passed away in a tragic car accident, providing her with a home when she had nowhere else to go. She's loyal and trustworthy, and I know I can rely on her. As I pace back and forth, the worry that my husband won't come home gnaws at me. I turn to head back towards the stairs, my mind racing, until the sound of the gate opening echoes through the house, catching my attention.

I turn around to see my husband stumbling as he enters the house. He looks messy, with his blazer slung over his arm and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. His appearance is far from his usual polished self, and it's evident that he's had a rough night. "Honey..." he slurs, making his way unsteadily towards me.

I notice my husband doesn't look sober as he approaches me, and I feel a sense of disgust remembering our intimacy. "You don't seem like you're in the right state," I comment, my eyebrows furrowed. Although I'm angry, I hold back from confronting him or kicking him out of the mansion because the property is in his name. I have a plan to secure the house under my name and ruin him financially, so I decide to wait for the right moment.

It's common for men to put properties in their wives' names to benefit from lower income taxes. When he approaches me, I sense the intoxicated smell coming out of him. He has devoured himself so much to alcohol that he smells disgusting. I pull back, asking him to sleep in the guest room. This is the rule that we follow, everytime he comes back drunk, we don't share the same room.

Ignoring his words and any potential arguments, I make my way upstairs and shut the door to my room. As the chill of the door's frame touches my back, I let out a deep sigh, reflecting on the times I caught him with another woman. My love for him died long ago, and any trace of respect has long since faded. I'm simply biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal this betrayal.

Restlessly tossing and turning on my bed, my mind remains unsettled by recent events. I am not one to hold things inside and let them weigh me down, leading to visible dark circles under my eyes. I believe in speaking my mind and letting things out rather than harboring them. The current situation is troubling me deeply.

As I attempt to shift my thoughts, I find myself fixating on the man who brought me back home. I ponder his appearance, recalling fragments of memory. He exuded strength and stood tall, his voice resonating with a deep timbre. Nancy encountered him too; she might provide insight into his appearance. Yet, why am I preoccupied with another man while being married?

Thinking to myself, I shift to the other side, realizing that my marriage is essentially over, with only legal issues left to resolve. This situation seems to give me the freedom to socialize with other men, go on dates, and even engage in intimate relationships. However I am not someone who is raised like this. I am a well mannered woman and my upbringing has been done in a very respectable household.

I shift in my sleep as the light hits my face, groaning as I mutter, "Nancy, please, let me sleep." Nancy, who appears older, like a motherly figure, sits beside me on the bed and whispers, "The detective called twice. He wants to talk to you." My eyes widen as memories flood back, feeling fresh in my mind.

"Where is Tyler?" I inquire, and Nancy informs me that he is having breakfast. Hurriedly, I head to the bathroom, freshen up, and tie my robe around me before descending the stairs. There, I see my unfaithful husband calmly enjoying his meal. How is it possible that he appears so carefree while I struggle to get a proper night's sleep?

I can't help but let a small grin slip as I approach him, but it quickly turns into an innocent smile as I greet him, "Good morning, Tyler. How was last night?" He visibly tenses up, putting on a forced expression and replies, "Good morning, honey. It was fine... just had some drinks with my friends." I nod, requesting the servant to pour me some tea. Resting my hands on the table, I pout, "We were supposed to go out for dinner, Tyler."

He chuckles in return, pretending to be the best husband ever and I wanna puke on his damn face. 

"I can take you this weekend," Tyler's words offer reassurance, hinting at his plans to spend the weeknights elsewhere. "Yeah, sure," I respond before adding, "You know, Tiffany mentioned seeing you at the Four Seasons late at night." I let out a scoff and a chuckle, causing Tyler to nearly choke on his coffee, coughing roughly in surprise.

"What happened? Are you alright?" I show a fake concern, hurrying over to him and attempting to pat his back. Letting my anger show, I pat more forcefully, almost like hitting him, causing him to exclaim, "Easy, honey. I'm fine now." I continue the charade, pressing, "Are you really?"

I sit back down, appearing uninterested, and flatly remark, "She must have misunderstood, right?" Tyler nervously mumbles, "Yeah... yeah... yes," avoiding meeting my gaze. “Of course, she might have misunderstood someone else for me. I wasn’t at the Four Seasons.” I can't help but clench the hem of my silk gown secretly, swallowing back my anger.