As you entered your husband's office, you found him making love with another woman, yet again. You were carrying a cake for him, but instead, you watched him mercilessly engage with that woman in front of you.

Suddenly, A man from behind covered your eyes with his palm, smoking unceremoniously, and killed them with his Roscoe without remorse.

"Bastards should be in hell, love," He declared.

It was none other than Achilles, the man with whom you had spent an intimate night, and your husband's rival. He looked at you before wiping your tears away.

Without a word, he carried you in his arms without giving you the authority to speak or repudiate, slapping your butt while smoking.