My wife, Chloe, had another man's scent on her. It wasn’t sweat, and it certainly wasn’t alcohol or cigarettes. It was a bold, aggressive woody fragrance. Expensive, sophisticated, with an underlying, seductive warmth. I don't wear cologne. As an interior designer who spends his days surrounded by drywall dust and paint fumes, I usually smell like sweat and construction materials. To me, cologne is an unnecessary luxury. My wife never used it either. "You're back?" Chloe walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush bath towel. Water droplets slid down the smooth curve of her calf. She dried her wet hair with a towel, but her eyes didn't linger on me for a second. She walked straight to her vanity. She had been like this for the past two months. Cold, distant, as if an invisible wall had sprung up between us. The woman who used to cling to me every single night had completely vanished. I swallowed hard, walked up behind her, and wrapped my arms around her waist. My hand slipped slightly beneath the edge of the towel. Her skin was still as smooth and captivating as ever. "Stop it." She grabbed my hand, her voice laced with irritation. "I'm exhausted. I’ve been running around with clients all day." My nose brushed against her neck, and I caught that familiar yet foreign scent again. My eyes darkened. I decided to test her. "What shampoo did you use today? The scent is pretty unique." Chloe’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to relax. She replied casually, "Oh, I got my hair washed at the spa. It must be whatever they used." The spa? I scoffed inwardly. We had been married for five years. I could find her favorite day spa with my eyes closed. They only used sweet, floral products that smelled like cheap candy. They definitely didn't use this crisp, heavy, masculine scent. "Really? It smells expensive. Take me with you next time," I said half-jokingly. "Why would a grown man go to a spa? Don't be ridiculous." She pushed my hand away, a flash of panic and disgust crossing her face. "I said I'm tired. Do you not understand English? If you're that desperate, go handle it yourself!" With that, she switched on the hairdryer. The loud hum cut off any further conversation between us. I quietly walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. The seed of suspicion in my heart was growing into a thorny vine. I had smelled that scent somewhere earlier today. I pulled out my phone, opened Amazon Luxury, and searched the fragrance section based on my memory. Finally, a familiar bottle popped up on the screen. *Creed Aventus.* The description read: *An exceptional fragrance that pays homage to strength, power, and success. Rich, hand-selected ingredients make this a masterpiece for the modern, successful man.* The price? $450 for a 3.4 oz bottle. My heart sank into a cold abyss. Chloe worked as an administrative assistant at a mid-sized firm, making barely $3,000 a month. There was no way she could afford this level of luxury. More importantly, this was a cologne purely for men. So, the scent didn't come from a spa. It came from a man who could easily drop $450 on a bottle of cologne. And for the scent to linger so clearly on Chloe even after she showered, there was only one logical explanation. My chest tightened, and my hands clenched into tight fists. They had just shared an extremely "intimate" encounter.
From that day on, I began to watch Chloe quietly. She started coming home late more and more often. Her excuses were always the same. Overtime, corporate training, or dinner with important clients. Her phone never left her hand. She even took it into the shower and the restroom. We used to know each other's phone passcodes—they were set to our wedding anniversary. But recently, she had secretly changed hers. Any physical intimacy between us had dropped to zero. Whenever I tried to get close, she would snap like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, throwing bitter words at my face. "Carter, is sex the only thing inside your head? Why can't you put some of that energy into your career?" "Look at Mr. Vance. He’s so young, yet he already owns his own development firm. And you? You've been a low-level designer for nearly ten years!" "I don't want a man who only knows how to hover around the kitchen and the bedroom. I want a real provider, a winner!" *Mr. Vance.* The name felt like a needle piercing my eardrums. The "Mr. Vance" she kept bringing up was Jackson Vance, a major client her company had recently signed. He was a young, wealthy entrepreneur who threw money around like water. The contract to design his new office headquarters alone was worth a fortune. Chloe had gushed about him more than once, talking about how powerful and charismatic he was. She didn't even try to hide her admiration. Meanwhile, I—a designer who made around $10,000 a month and handed most of my paycheck over to her—had become a useless loser in her eyes. I didn't lose my temper. Without hard evidence, arguing was pointless. It would only tip her off. But my chance came sooner than expected. One night, Chloe came home dead drunk. She collapsed onto the sofa and passed out instantly. The scent of Creed Aventus was stronger than ever. She was practically marinated in it. I picked up her phone. Because she was completely out cold, the Face ID failed. Taking a deep breath, I tried the passcode we used to share—our wedding anniversary. *Click.* The screen unlocked. She probably thought I had forgotten the date, or she assumed I would never dare to check. In this day and age, a person's deepest secrets are always locked inside their phone. I didn't bother checking Snapchat or iMessage. Cheaters are always careful; she would have wiped those chat histories clean. Instead, I opened her Amazon app. Sure enough, the recent order history was completely blank. But that wasn't going to stop me. I tapped into her account settings and found the "Archived Orders" section. It asked for a passcode again. I tried Chloe's birthday. *Incorrect.* I tried the last six digits of her social security number. *Incorrect.* My heart started pounding. A wild, horrifying thought crossed my mind.
With trembling fingers, I entered the initials of Jackson Vance followed by Chloe's birth date. *Incorrect.* Could it be...? I entered Jackson Vance's birthday. I had subtly pried this information out of Chloe a few days ago under the guise of "updating client profile records." *Click.* The archived orders list flashed on the screen! My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant boulder as I stared at the screen. The purchase was made two months ago. I tapped on the order details. The shipping address read: *188 Spring Road, Bella Vita Spa, Attention: Chloe Miller.* So, she was the one who bought the cologne. She bought it to give to her wealthy client. And then, that man wore it, returning the scent, his warmth, and his touch to her through the most intimate acts. I stared blankly at the screen. The blood in my veins ran ice-cold before roaring back with a fiery rage. Humiliation and disgust washed over me like a tidal wave. I had always been a devoted husband. From chasing her passionately in college to pampering her through five years of marriage, I had treated her like a queen. I did all the chores, handed over my earnings, and cared for her family more than her own brother did. I thought I had given her my everything. But to her, I was just a stepping stone to crawl into high society. I could see it so clearly now—her using the money I worked so hard to earn to buy gifts for another man, acting like a cheap, desperate schoolgirl to win his favor. I ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself to calm down. Divorce! We had to get divorced! But letting this toxic couple off that easily? No way. I was going to make them pay. I was going to take back everything that belonged to me. I screenshotted the order details and sent it to my burner email, then noted down all of Chloe's recent strange behaviors in my digital diary. After wiping all traces of my search from her phone, I slipped it back into her purse. Let the game begin.
The fire of revenge burned hot in my chest, but I had to keep up appearances. My daily life had to go on, especially since I was managing a major project—the complete interior design of a luxury villa in the suburbs. The client was incredibly demanding. Every detail of the construction had to be perfect. One of the most important material suppliers for this project was Victoria Brooks. Victoria was a heavy hitter in the local construction scene. In her early thirties, she had taken over her family’s supply business and turned it into an empire. She was sharp, efficient, and had an impeccable reputation. I highly respected her as a partner. "Carter, you seem off today," Victoria called out to me at the construction site. She was wearing a neat jumpsuit and a hard hat. Her sharp eyes scanned my face. "When I was explaining the marble vein matching patterns for the foyer, you spaced out twice." I forced a tight smile. "Sorry, Victoria. Just didn't sleep well last night." "Really?" Victoria took off her hard hat, revealing a striking, makeup-free face. "You don't look tired. You look like you have something heavy on your mind. Come on, let me buy you a coffee. We can go over the material delivery schedule while we're at it." I couldn't decline. At a quiet coffee shop near the site, Victoria ordered two espressos. "Alright, what's bothering you?" she asked, sliding a cup toward me. "We've worked together for a long time, Carter. You're always meticulous. You don't make mistakes like this. If a personal matter is affecting your work, the villa client won't accept any excuses." Her directness actually made me want to open up. Maybe I had bottle things up for too long, or maybe her sharp, professional understanding made me feel safe. I found myself talking. I didn't give away too many details. I simply mentioned that my wife had been acting strange lately, and that I suspected... she was seeing someone else. I took a sip of my bitter espresso, but the taste couldn't match the bitterness in my heart. "Ha," Victoria let out a cold, cynical laugh. "Whether it's a man or a woman, do they all turn into the same garbage after marriage?" I froze, looking at her in confusion. "My husband spent over a hundred thousand dollars on a watch for some 'important client,' and invested hundreds of thousands into shady projects. Whenever I ask where the money went, he says it’s just for business and networking," Victoria said, looking out the window, her voice dripping with ice. "His schedule has become erratic, and every word out of his mouth is a lie." My heart skipped a beat. A bizarre, terrifying intuition gripped me. "Victoria, you mean..." "My husband is Jackson Vance," Victoria said slowly, turning her sharp gaze back to me. "And for the past two months, he's been acting exactly like that." *Jackson Vance!* A bomb went off in my brain. How could the world be this absurdly small? My wife's lover was none other than Victoria’s husband! Seeing my stunned, speechless expression, Victoria put the pieces together instantly. Her face turned pale, but her eyes grew incredibly cold and sharp. "The woman your wife is sleeping with... is it him?" I nodded slowly, spitting out the words through clenched teeth. "Jackson Vance." The coffee shop fell into a dead silence. Two betrayed spouses sitting across from each other, discovering their partners were sleeping together in the most disgusting way possible. It was the ultimate joke. "Good. Very good," Victoria broke the silence. She didn't cry or break down. Instead, she smirked, a dangerous, ruthless glint in her eyes. "Carter, looks like we’re in the same boat." She leaned in, staring into my eyes. "Since they love playing games so much, why don't we team up?" I stared back at her, seeing the exact same hunger for revenge in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?" "Simple." Victoria put her coffee cup down with a heavy thud. "We gather the evidence, uncover everything, and then... we strip them of every single penny and ruin their lives." She locked eyes with me. "I need you." "You’re the lead designer for Jackson’s luxury villa. He's been using the excuse of 'inspecting the site' to take your wife there. That villa is the perfect stage for us." "And as for me..." Her lips curled into a chilling smile. "I know his company's accounts and his personal cash flow better than anyone. If he thinks he can use our marital assets to fund his little mistress, he’s got another thing coming."
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