It was my thirtieth birthday party, and my husband’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Babe, can you give me a hand with the soup?” Before I could even stand up, my cousin Stella was already gliding past me. She reached around him from behind, her hands taking the heavy tureen from his. Seeing my frozen expression, she quickly stammered an excuse. “Sorry, my mom’s always ordering me around at home. It’s just instinct. Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t let my emotions show. I smiled, I mingled, and I saw the last guest out, completing the performance of a perfect hostess. After the door closed, I turned to my husband, who was clearing the table. My voice was calm, almost serene. “Let’s get a divorce.” Sebastian dropped a handful of cutlery with a clatter. His eyes widened, fixed on me in disbelief. “Are you serious? All because she helped me with a bowl of soup?” … “Ophelia, we’ve been married for five years,” he began, his voice rising with indignation. “Five years, and I’ve never let you touch a greasy pan. I’ve put you first in everything.” “And now, because of one thoughtless gesture from your cousin, you want to get a divorce? You want to tear this family apart? Do you even have a heart?” His eyes were red-rimmed as he accused me, as if I had committed some unforgivable sin. I didn’t answer him directly. My gaze drifted to the dining table, to the platter of Beef Bourguignon with only a few choice pieces left. “Five years, Sebastian. You always knew this was my favorite dish. Every single meal we’ve had, you’ve made sure it was placed directly in front of me.” “But tonight,” I continued, my voice quiet but sharp, “it was placed in front of Stella’s seat. She loves it too, doesn’t she?” Sebastian’s breath hitched. “What’s the big deal? No one was helping serve, I was swamped. I can’t be expected to remember every little detail when I’m that busy.” I shook my head, a lump forming in my throat. “It wasn’t just the beef. When we sat down, you pulled out her chair first.” “When her glass was empty, you opened a new bottle of sparkling water—the lime-flavored kind she loves, the one you know I can’t stand.” “And in the group photo, you stood between us. Your arm was just barely brushing the small of her back.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Subconscious favoritism can’t be hidden, Sebastian. The heart has a way of showing its true allegiance. And in those moments you call ‘careless,’ when your guard is down, that’s when your true feelings are the clearest.” “That’s why I want a divorce.” His face darkened, his expression shifting as if he were looking at a stranger. “Ophelia, you have way too much time on your hands. Twisting a few innocent actions into some grand conspiracy… you should be writing novels.” “And she’s not just ‘someone else’! That’s your cousin, Stella! She’s practically your sister, she watched you grow up! You’re going to be jealous of her?” “The only reason I pay her extra attention is out of respect for you! And you twist it into some sordid affair? Are you even listening to yourself? How unreasonable can you be!” He stormed into the study and returned a moment later, slamming a photo album down on the table in front of me. It was filled with pictures of Stella and me, from childhood to our teenage years, our heads pressed together, our smiles wide and genuine. The last few pages were from our wedding. Stella, my maid of honor, stood beside me in a flowing lavender gown. In one photo, captured during our vows, her eyes are glistening with tears as she watches Sebastian and me kiss. Her expression is one of deep emotion. In another, she’s hugging me tightly on the stage, clutching the bridal bouquet I’d just given her, her smile radiant. I stared at the photos, a bitter, self-mocking laugh escaping my lips. “When we kissed, her eyes were on you. She wasn’t moved by my happiness, Sebastian. She was crying for you.” “And when she hugged me, she was smiling at someone just out of frame. Judging by the angle, that person was you.” “So, it started five years ago. She’s had feelings for you all this time. No wonder she’s been single all these years.” I finally looked up at him. “And you? When did it start for you?” He took a half-step back, his face a mask of disappointment and fury. “Ophelia, I thought you were just upset. I didn’t realize you’d gone completely insane, rewriting our entire past!” “This is my fault. I’ve spoiled you, let you become this paranoid, irrational woman!” “I’m giving you twenty-four hours to cool off. Tomorrow is my grandmother’s birthday party. If you have any respect left for your elders, you won’t make a scene in front of her.” He threw a dish towel onto the counter with a loud smack and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I sank into a chair, staring at the chaotic aftermath of the party, feeling utterly drained. I met Sebastian in college. My family was wealthy, but I never looked down on him, the brilliant scholarship kid struggling to make ends meet. I helped him with his studies, his living expenses, and even funded his master’s degree at a top university abroad. He was sharp and keenly aware of his position. After we married, he treated me like a queen, shielding me from every hardship. But even the most careful person leaves tracks when their heart is in turmoil. I picked up my phone and saw that, at some point, he had disabled our location sharing. Without a word to anyone, I changed into a simple, discreet outfit and drove to the boutique tea lounge that Stella owned. Dressed as I was, no one paid me any mind when I entered. I walked down the long, quiet corridor, heading straight for the private room she reserved for her closest friends, the “Cloudview” suite. Before my hand even touched the door, I heard Sebastian’s voice, laced with complaint. “My wife is giving me hell at home, and you guys are just sitting here laughing? A little sympathy would be nice.” I peered through the gap. The room was full of people. My blood ran cold as I recognized most of them—they were our friends, the same ones who had been at my birthday party just hours ago. They were all lounging comfortably, laughing and joking. Not a single one of them was defending me. Amid the lighthearted laughter, a chill seeped into my bones. In the center of the room, Stella was gracefully toying with a porcelain teacup. She turned her head, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked at Sebastian beside her. “Well, it’s your own fault for being so careless,” she teased. “Calling me ‘babe’ at Ophelia’s own birthday party.” “I was caught off guard, so I just went along with it, helping you with the soup.” “I really thought she wouldn’t notice. I guess she’s smarter than we gave her credit for.” She set down the teacup and picked up a small glass of sake—from the limited-edition vintage set I had given her last year. Just as she was about to take a sip, Sebastian’s hand shot out and gently took the glass from her. “You’re going to be a mother, and you’re still this reckless? I told you, no alcohol during the pregnancy.” Stella had always been stubborn. I’d seen her argue with her own father over a bottle of wine. But now, looking at Sebastian, her face softened into a gentle, submissive smile I had never seen before. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll listen to you. No more drinking.” “After all,” she said, her voice full of meaning, “you’re the father of my child. Of course, you get the final say.” She placed a hand on her still-flat stomach and leaned her head lovingly against his shoulder. The blood in my veins turned to ice. They weren’t just having an affair. They were having a baby. “If you ask me, Ophelia is just being stubborn. Insisting on being child-free,” one of the ‘friends’ commented. “I know, right? Sebastian is an only son. She’s putting him in such a difficult position,” another chimed in. And Stella, my own cousin who had always defended me in public, let out a small, derisive scoff. “She’s been spoiled her whole life. She never learned to think about anyone but herself.” Then my husband, my Sebastian, took Stella’s hand in his, his voice thick with emotion. “Stella, you’re willing to carry my child. You’re not just the woman I love; you’re a savior to my family.” “From this day forward, we’ll face everything together. We’ll never be parted.” Tears streamed down my face, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. Years ago, my mother died from an amniotic fluid embolism while giving birth to me. She never even got to hold me. Because of that trauma, I’ve always been terrified of childbirth. When Sebastian and I first started dating, I told him plainly: I’ve decided to be child-free for life. If that’s a dealbreaker, we should end things now. He had held me so tightly then, whispering in my ear. “Having you is enough for a lifetime. Children don’t matter. My love for you will never, ever change.” I truly believed I had found a love that transcended convention. Now, watching him and Stella wrapped in their profound love, I saw just how tragically wrong I had been. Someone in the room asked, “So, are you two planning on hiding this from Ophelia forever?” “You have a baby on the way. Why not just tell her, get a divorce, and be together openly?” All eyes turned to them. Sebastian shook his head immediately. “No. Stella and she are family, they’re cousins. I can’t be the reason she’s ostracized by her own relatives.” “Besides,” he added, his voice lowering, “my career is deeply entangled with her family’s business. I can’t afford to burn that bridge completely.” “So, from the very beginning, Stella and I agreed: our relationship must remain a secret from her. And divorce is out of the question.” So he knew. He was fully aware that his wealth, his status, everything he had today, was built on the support and investments of my family. He was staying married to me for the money. Amid a wave of sympathetic murmurs, someone looked at Stella. “Stella, you’ve always been so proud. Are you really okay with your child living in the shadows forever?” Stella just smiled. She turned Sebastian’s face towards hers and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “A marriage is just a piece of paper. I don’t care about that.” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper that carried through the room. “Besides, there’s a saying: a mistress is better than a wife, and a secret lover is better than a mistress. Living like this, right under her nose… isn’t it so much more thrilling?” If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would never have believed those words could come from my own cousin. The room filled with laughter, but I was trapped in a block of ice. Overnight, I had gone from thinking I was the happiest woman in the world to a laughingstock, betrayed by both my husband and my family. The most tragic part? I was the last one in our circle to know. My closest friends, the people I trusted, had been covering for them, watching me live in a fool’s paradise, and not a single one had bothered to warn me. Tears blurring my vision, I walked out of the tea lounge and dialed my lawyer. “Prepare the divorce papers. I want him left with nothing.” “And there are a few other things I need you to do…”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389713", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel