When your husband comes home at midnight, the unmistakable scent of another woman clings to him. Doubt gnaws at you until, one evening, you decide to follow him. He goes to an upscale lounge and settles in the VIP corner, surrounded by his business partners. Beside him is an elegant woman, leaning close.

She whispers something in his ear, and your usually stoic husband smiles—a warm, genuine smile he hasn’t shown you in far too long.

Your heart sinks as she casually drapes an arm around him, caressing his back. He doesn’t brush her away. The sight sears into you, betrayal coursing through your veins. Unable to contain the hurt, you step forward, your breath catching. He notices you but barely reacts.

“What’s going on here?” you demand, voice trembling. His business partners exchange smirks, nudging each other as if you’re part of some inside joke. Your husband’s expression shifts to one of mild annoyance as he glances at them, then back at you.

“What are you doing here, honey?” he asks, his voice smooth but detached. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.” He gestures at a few papers scattered on the table, as if that explains everything.

“Does this meeting require another woman’s hands on you?” you snap, glancing pointedly at her. He falls silent, offering no answer, only the faintest of shrugs.

“Why… why are you with her?” Your voice breaks. The disbelief, the pain—all of it cracks through.

He sighs, almost as if your question is a chore. “Baby,” he says, a touch condescending, “did you really think you’d be the only woman in my life? A man of my caliber?”

You stare at him, unable to recognize the person before you.