My Husband Wants to Ruin Me? Fine—I’ll Just Team Up with His Mistress’s Ex! Chapter 01

My Husband Wants to Ruin Me? Fine—I’ll Just Team Up with His Mistress’s Ex! Chapter 01

Seven years of marriage. Every time Sean and I fought, I’d take his ID and try to report him dead to wipe him from the system.

He’d always laugh, kiss my head, and let me play my little psycho games.

Until Memorial Day weekend. Another massive blowout.

I grabbed his ID from the counter, stormed out, and went straight to the city registry again.

The clerk typed for a few seconds, then looked up at me with a bizarre expression.

“Ma’am, this ID is invalid. Your husband officially registered a new identity and a new primary address last week.”

A new identity?

I took the new address and drove to a luxury villa.

There on the balcony, the sweater I hand-knitted for Sean last week was hanging to dry.

Right next to a sexy lace nightgown.

I stood there, staring.

Then the front door opened. A woman walked out with a little boy.

“Sean, I’m taking our son to the park. Get the steaks on the grill!”

…

My fingers turned white against my phone.

Watching them walk past, I instinctively hid behind a tree.

In that second, I felt like the mistress.

“Mommy,” the boy asked. “What’s Daddy making for dinner?”

“Your favorite—medium-rare ribeye.”

Medium-rare ribeye. Sean’s absolute favorite.

My palms were soaked in sweat.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A text from Sean: [Still mad? I’ll bring home dessert tonight.]

I looked at the text, then up at the balcony.

For seven years, he wasn’t tolerating my temper. He just didn’t care anymore. He already had a backup life.

I walked up to the villa.

The door was cracked open. From inside, I could hear the heavy thud of a knife chopping meat.

Seven years. I never let him touch a cooking knife.

Even when my period cramps had me fainting from pain, I still forced myself up to cook him a full dinner every single night.

My hand hovered over the doorbell. I couldn’t press it.

I raised my phone and took photos of everything—the house, the clothes, the yard.

My hands shook so badly I had to take twenty shots just to get a clear one.

Then I noticed the driveway.

A limited-edition Rolls-Royce.

My blood ran cold.

Last month, Sean told me his company was going under and he had to sell his car.

I was so desperate to help him that I transferred my entire inheritance to his account.

I turned to leave, sick to my stomach.

But the door swung open.

“Babe, don’t forget the trash!”

Sean and I locked eyes.

For a split second, absolute panic flashed across his face.

But he recovered instantly. He dropped the trash bag, lunged forward, and gripped my wrist like a vise.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

No explanation. Just an interrogation.

“Your sweater,” my voice was dead. “Why is it here?”

Sean went quiet, his mind racing.

I violently yanked my arm back.

“Vivian just had a rough delivery,” he muttered, looking away. “She’s weak and gets cold easily. I just brought over some old clothes.”

Vivian.

His college sweetheart. The one who dumped him for a rich guy abroad.

“How old is the kid?”

“…Three.”

Three years old.

Everything clicked.

Three years ago, his mother kept forcing those sketchy fertility pills on me.

I took them every day just to have a baby.

They made me sick to my stomach.

Back then, Sean would hug me and say, “Hang in there, babe. You’re doing great.”

Later, I ended up in the ICU.

Turns out, his mother was secretly poisoning me with contaminated supplements.

It killed my baby and ruined my fertility forever.

That was the same year Sean started “working late.”

The same year his ex came back.

When I called him out, he literally got on his knees, swearing to God it was nothing.

“Susan, listen to me—”

Right now, Sean took a step forward.

SLAP!

My hand cracked across his face.

“You swore she was history!”

“It was an accident!” he snapped, rubbing his jaw, his patience gone.

“She got pregnant. What was I supposed to do? Abandon my own son?”

“So you let your mother poison me for six months just to clear a spot for her?!”

Sean scoffed, looking completely annoyed.

“Stop making a scene. Go home. We’ll talk there.”