My wife, obsessed with Botox and Bergdorf’s, suddenly took up fishing last month. She bombarded me with questions about gear and techniques, claiming she wanted to join my trips—yet always declined when I suggested going. Then I spotted a million-dollar custom fishing rod order on her phone, engraved "JC." I assumed it was for me. But my birthday passed. Our anniversary came and went. The rod was delivered—yet never appeared. Today, my fishing group shared a screenshot: "Cameron Young scored a rich sugar mama! Check out this $4M rod!" There was my wife in a cocktail dress, laughing with a stranger, holding matching rods. Her comment: "Happy to share your passions." So "JC" didn’t stand for Jason Chen. It was for Jason Cameron. I called our family conglomerate: "Withdraw all investments from the Pei Group. Bankrupt them." 1 I hung up, but the messages in the group chat kept flooding in. “Four million dollars for a rod! And his sugar mama is that beautiful? The guy’s living the dream!” Every compliment was a poisoned needle, making my eyes burn. I forwarded the screenshot to Clara, followed by a simple text: “Explain this.” Silence. My brow furrowed. Just as I was about to call her directly, a link appeared in the chat. “Check it out! Cameron’s live-streaming! And the sugar mama is with him!” Some dark impulse made me tap the link. The live feed instantly filled my screen. At the center was Cameron, decked out in brand-new, professional fishing gear, grinning like a fool. Beside him was Clara. She was wearing that same sexy, curve-hugging dress, her head tilted as she gazed at him. Her eyes were filled with a focused, tender adoration—the way one looks at a priceless treasure. “Hey everyone! Thanks for tuning in!” Cameron waved at the camera, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Today, I’m showing my girl here the joys of deep-sea fishing!” The casual intimacy, the blatant flirtation, hit me like a physical blow. A dull roar filled my ears. The comment section exploded. “OMG! I ship them so hard!” Then, a single question floated past: “Are you two a couple?” Cameron’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He paused, then turned his intense gaze on Clara. His voice was low, but the microphone picked it up clearly. “She’s the most important person in my life.” Hearing this, Clara lowered her head, a shy blush creeping up her neck. The live chat went into a frenzy. I watched the spectacle, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Honey, I thought you were shopping with your friends today? Why are you fishing?” “What kind of relationship is worth a four-million-dollar fishing rod? Is he your new boyfriend?” My username, my real name, scrolled across the screen, a stark and jarring intrusion amidst the flurry of gushing comments. The live stream fell silent for a beat. Then, all hell broke loose. “WTF?? HONEY? That’s a lot to unpack!” “HOLY SHIT! Major drama! The sugar mama is married and cheating???” “Is this for real?!” Cameron clearly saw the comments. Panic flashed across his face before he forced a stiff smile. “Guys, let’s not joke around like that. You’ll upset her.” He tried to play it off, but the terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Clara’s expression had turned to stone. She struggled to control her composure, her voice tight with panic. “It’s… it’s fine. I’m honored to have so many admirers.” She forced one last, brittle smile for the camera. “Alright, that’s all for today’s stream! See you all next time!” The screen went black. I tossed the phone onto the desk. Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes, pressing my knuckles into my throbbing temples. A moment later, my phone rang. The name “Clara” flashed on the screen. “Julian…” The second I answered, her panicked, frantic voice spilled out. “You… you have to let me explain… It’s not what you think… I swear it’s not… I can explain everything…” My voice was ice. “You have thirty minutes. Come home and explain.” I paused. “And bring your little friend Cameron with you.” Before she could respond, I ended the call. 2 Thirty minutes later, the smart lock chimed. The door opened. Clara stood there, alone. My eyes swept past her to the empty entryway. “Where is he?” She froze, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress. Her voice was laced with a carefully crafted vulnerability. “Julian… this is between us. Cameron… he’s just a kid, he just graduated.” “This has nothing to do with him! Please, don’t drag him into this. Please?” I walked over to the sofa and sat down. “Fine.” I looked up, catching the flicker of guilt in her eyes. “You have five minutes. Explain.” “I want to hear why you spent the last month begging me to teach you how to fish, if not to entertain your new boy toy.” Clara sat across from me, her words a desperate scramble. “Last month, I was in a fender bender in the parking garage. Some guy was trying to scam me. Cameron was just walking by, and he helped me out.” “The gift was just a thank you. That’s all it was. I swear.” The lie was so pathetic, I almost laughed. “A thank you? Clara, if you’re going to lie, at least put some effort into it.” She quickly rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint scratch on her forearm. “I’m not lying! Look! I was even hurt!” “The guy scraped my car, and while I was arguing with him, Cameron called the police and got the security footage for me.” A cold, humorless smile touched my lips. “Look at what you’re wearing today. You were practically draped all over him. And the initials on the rod? Both of your initials.” “What, he helps you with a minor car issue and you decide to offer him your body in return?” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Julian. I didn’t mean for it to look like that.” “I was in a rush when I left the house, I just threw something on.” “And the initials on the rod… it was just a token of my gratitude, nothing more.” “The fishing… you taught me everything, and in the moment, I just…” “I was wrong… I’ll never do it again.” She wept, her face a mask of profound, theatrical sorrow, as if she were the one who had been wronged. I clenched my jaw, fighting back a wave of disgust. My voice was glacial. “You have two choices.” “One: you cut off all contact with this Cameron kid. Completely and forever.” “Two,” I said, pointing to the divorce papers I had already prepared, “we get a divorce.” “Divorce?!” The word seemed to scald her. She shrieked and lunged at me, grabbing my arm with a desperate strength. “No! I won’t sign it! I’ll die before I sign it!” “Julian, I know I was wrong! I’ll never speak to him again, I swear!” Fumbling, she pulled out her phone and, without a moment’s hesitation, deleted every trace of him—his number, his social media, everything. When she was done, she looked at me, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s done. He’s gone.” I stood up and walked over to her. “Clara,” I said, my voice low and heavy with a weariness I didn’t recognize in myself. “You know I love you.” Her body tensed in my arms, then she clung to me tighter. “But you also know,” my fingers tightened unconsciously, “that when it comes to my marriage, my tolerance for this kind of betrayal is zero. That is my bottom line.” “You can be dramatic. You can throw tantrums. You can have your moods. I can handle all of that.” “But I expect you to know the difference between right and wrong. I expect you to remember where the line is.” “I know… Julian, I know…” she sobbed into my chest, her tear-streaked face turned up to mine. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen… Please, just forgive me this one time…” 3 For a full week after our confrontation, she was the model of a perfect wife. She canceled all her social engagements and even insisted on joining me for a night of fishing by the river. To mark the occasion, she presented me with a brand-new fishing rod. It was a handcrafted masterpiece from a world-renowned artisan, its price tag even higher than Cameron’s. She linked her arm through mine, her smile bright. “Julian, I’ve been so foolish. From now on, I’ll be right here with you.” Holding the heavy, expensive rod, watching her act so docile and dependent, I felt the storm clouds in my mind begin to part. That afternoon, while I was reviewing some documents, my phone rang. It was Ryan, my executive assistant at Chen Conglomerate. “Mr. Chen,” Ryan’s voice was as calm and professional as ever. “As per your instructions, all procedures to sever ties with the Pei Group are… ready to go.” “Shall I execute the final withdrawal command now?” His words hung in the air. I thought about the changes in Clara over the past week. A flicker of doubt entered my mind. After a long silence, I spoke. “Wait.” One last chance. I would give her one last chance. I thought she might actually pass the test. I overestimated her. Two weeks later, Clara called to tell me she was going out of town for a few days to work on a deal. She was informing me, not asking. But I was swamped with a major project of my own, so I simply told her to be safe. Three days passed without a single call from her. After wrapping up my work, I called her. No answer. I tried her assistant, Lena. “Lena, how are the negotiations going with OmniCorp?” Lena sounded confused. “Mr. Chen, Ms. Pei went on the trip alone. I didn’t accompany her.” “I see. Thank you.” I hung up and found the private number for the CEO of OmniCorp in my contacts. He answered quickly. I didn’t waste any time. “Mr. Davies, is my wife, Clara Pei, there meeting with you?” There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. “Clara? No. Julian, I think you have the wrong information,” he said, puzzled. “I’m in Bali right now, sunbathing. Why would I be in a meeting with her?” My heart stopped. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles were white. “I understand. My apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Davies.” My throat was dry as I ended the call. Just then, a notification popped up from my angler’s group chat. “Another great day of sea fishing with my sugar mama.” The photo was taken on a private island. Clara, in a revealing swimsuit, was pressed tightly against Cameron. They were sharing a single fishing rod. Blood rushed to my head. With trembling hands, I pulled up the security feed from my private island. A familiar face appeared on the screen. For the past three days, Clara hadn't been on a business trip. She had been on vacation with Cameron. On my island. I clutched the phone, my knuckles white, and sent a friend request to Cameron’s profile from the group chat. I sent it twice. He didn’t accept. Suddenly, a video call request appeared at the top of my screen. It was Clara. I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage, and answered. Her face filled the screen. The background was a bathroom. She was perfectly made-up, her expression a practiced blend of exhaustion and apology. “Julian! I’m so sorry, honey. I just got out of a meeting, my phone was on silent!” “There are some technical issues with the deal here. It looks like I’ll be stuck for another two days. The day after tomorrow, I promise! I’ll fly right back!” Just as she finished speaking, I heard a sound from her end. It was faint, but unmistakable: a low, masculine groan, thick with a certain… intimacy. “What was that noise?” A flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly masked it. “Oh! Nothing! I just… I bumped into the vanity. Hit my back…” As the words left her mouth, my security feed showed a crystal-clear image of Cameron standing behind her, massaging her shoulders. I stared at the two screens, the inferno inside me barely contained. “Is that so? Well, be careful. You should put some ointment on it.” She nodded. I looked her directly in the eye. “Clara. You haven't had any contact with that Cameron kid, have you?” On the screen, her eyes darted away for a second. Her smile became brittle. “Of… of course not! Julian, why are you bringing him up again? I deleted everything! I promise!” “Good.” A humorless smile stretched my lips. “Then… you close that deal. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”
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