Julia left with Cindy, and I just sat there on the couch, numb and unmoving.
Five years. For five years, Remy jetted off every month, always saying it was for work. He’d come home looking exhausted, complaining about how hard the overseas market was, saying it might take even longer, asking me if I thought he was useless for not getting it done.
He played the part so well—his guilt looked so genuine, more real than pearls.
Five years, and not once did he slip up.
No matter how tired he was, he’d always bring me a gift—something thoughtful, something that looked like it took real effort to find. And me? I never doubted him for a second.
God, I was so stupid.
So completely, heartbreakingly stupid.
Regret, pain, and humiliation hit me all at once, like a tidal wave. All the love and effort I poured into him suddenly felt worthless, like I’d been pouring water into sand.
I should’ve listened to my mom. I really should have.
If regret had a shape, it’d be a knife, twisting inside me every time I thought about it, cutting deeper every second.
A few minutes later, Julia sent over her evidence—over a hundred photos, just for starters.
The professional part of me knew, instantly, that every single one was real.
The first photo alone felt like a blade, tearing my heart to shreds.
Remy lied to me. He lied about everything. I played the devoted wife, took care of everything for him, while he was cheating on me for five years.
But what made me truly furious was the video from two nights ago.
He’d looked me right in the eyes and swore nothing ever happened between him and Julia, that they were completely innocent.
But the photos told a different story. Julia was half sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge, the other hooked over the back.
And there was Remy—the so-called dignified head of Thompson Corporation—on his knees, desperate, kissing Julia in a place that left no doubt what he was doing.
The camera angle was careful, nothing explicit, but anyone could see exactly what was going on.

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