Chapter 3

Meanwhile, Henry was running around like crazy preparing for the upcoming annual charity gala.

In front of me, he continued playing the devoted, big-hearted husband to perfection.

Despite his packed schedule, he remembered a casual comment I’d made about craving pastries from that new bakery on the south side of town and brought them home for me.

One evening, I walked into his home office to bring him a late-night snack and caught him polishing his gala keynote.

The headline on his monitor burned my eyes: *Let Kindness Echo Forever.*

Looking at his focused profile, the sheer irony made my stomach turn.

I set the snack down and quietly slipped out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, I leaned against the wall and let out a cold laugh.

Henry, since you want to put on a show, I’ll play along right to the very end.

I just wonder if you'll still be smiling when the curtain falls.

My investigation pressed deeper. With my best friend's help, I secured granular bank transaction logs.

This time, the evidence was indisputable, and the ugly truth was laid bare.

Those so-called "Special Talent Development Grants" flowed into expenses that had zero connection to education.

There were rental payments for a luxury, high-rise penthouse overlooking the river.

There were countless invoices from luxury designer boutiques.

I even found an expense claim covering an entire European vacation for Chloe’s parents.

Everything from first-class plane tickets to five-star luxury suites had been fully comped.

The line item read: "Exceptional Scholar Family Welfare Initiative."

This wasn't charity; it was full-blown sponsorship of a mistress.

And the source of every single dollar was our shared marital assets.

Holding those documents, a bitter chill settled into my bones.

Every penny I had carefully budgeted and saved for our future had been squandered by my husband on another woman.

Ironically, Henry’s doting behavior toward me peaked during this period.

Once, I caught a mild cold and coughed a couple of times.

He immediately cleared his entire schedule, canceling major meetings to escort me to the clinic and staying by my side the whole time.

The doctor was actually amused by his overprotective demeanor, repeatedly reassuring him it was just a minor bug.

Yet on the drive home, he kept my hand tightly clasped in his.

Part of me was sickened by his acting; another part felt a momentary, pathetic waver.

Could his care for me still be genuine? Was he just a man who had made a momentary, selfish mistake?

The second the thought crossed my mind, I brutally crushed it.

This wasn't a mistake. It was a calculated, cold-blooded web of deception and betrayal.

A friend advised me to see if Chloe had a burner account on social media.

With tempered expectations, I searched across multiple platforms.

Eventually, on a niche photo-sharing app, I stumbled upon a private handle named "Sunny Little Diary."

The account was locked, but I noticed a mutual connection: Henry's personal assistant.

My pulse quickened. I created a blank burner profile and sent a follow request.

To my surprise, she approved it almost instantly.

The moment I scrolled through her feed, I found her hidden personal sanctuary.

Stripped of the overt flexes from her public accounts, this space was an intimate diary.

She vented about heavy coursework, showed off designer handbags, and constantly hinted at a profound soulmate in her life.

[He told me my talent was too bright to be hidden away.]

[He said mine were the purest eyes he’d ever seen.]

[He told me meeting me was the only ray of light in his dull, suffocating life.]

My thumb scrolled down until a slightly blurred photo made my pupils shrink.

A man was studying a restaurant menu, and on his wrist was the luxury watch I had given him.

It was the birthday gift I had bought him last year.

The caption read: [Being truly understood matters so much more than ordinary love.]

In a blind burst of rage, I hurled my phone to the floor, shattering the screen into spiderweb cracks.