Chapter 1 - The Anniversary Betrayal
For our tenth wedding anniversary, my deeply devoted husband stood in front of all our guests and used fluent Russian to confess his love to his first love, his ultimate muse.
“Chloe, I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. All these years, nothing has changed. Marry me.”
The entire ballroom fell dead silent.
Only I, the official wife whom everyone was looking at with pity, kept smiling and clapping as if I completely didn't understand a word.
My husband breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that a country bumpkin housewife like me truly didn’t know any foreign languages.
Until the day he hosted his grand wedding with his first love.
I showed up dressed to the nines, walked onto the stage, and smilingly took the microphone. I sequentially used English, French, German, Spanish, Japanese, Korean, and finally the most perfect Russian, to send them my most "sincere" blessings.
The crystal chandelier in the ballroom refracted brilliant light, like countless cold diamonds suspended above everyone’s heads. The air was thick with the cloying scent of champagne and overwhelming lilies, blending into a nauseating extravagance.
Today was our tenth wedding anniversary. Julian had rented out the most exclusive hotel in Manhattan, inviting all the prominent figures in the New York business world.
He stood on the stage, holding the microphone, wearing a tailored Armani suit that highlighted his extraordinary handsome features.
“For the past ten years, thank you to my wife, Olivia. Thank you for your uncomplaining sacrifices, which made me who I am today.”
His voice echoed through the speakers, deep and affectionate, drawing a round of polite applause from the audience.
I sat at the main table, wearing the champagne-colored evening gown he had picked out, perfectly playing the role of the gentle, virtuous, and blissfully oblivious official wife. I smiled in coordination; even the crinkles at the corners of my eyes were carefully calculated.
But inside, my heart was like a dried-up well, without a single ripple.
Under the flashing cameras, Julian’s gaze didn't linger on me for more than a second. He changed his tone, his eyes piercing through the crowd, landing precisely on the woman in the white dress in the corner of the hall.
It was Chloe, his unforgettable first love, his white moon.
Chloe’s eyes grew misty, like a startled little deer, revealing just the right amount of emotion and anticipation.
Then, I heard the words that were meant to nail me to the pillar of humiliation. Julian suddenly switched to another language, using incredibly fluent Russian to passionately confess in her direction.
“Chloe, I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. All these years, nothing has changed. Marry me.”
The ballroom instantly descended into a deathly silence.
The clinking of champagne glasses vanished. The whispers stopped. Over a hundred pairs of eyes turned into spotlights, simultaneously focusing on me.
Pity, sorrow, mockery, gloating.
I could clearly distinguish the emotions wrapped in each gaze. They were like countless tiny needles piercing my skin.
But the smile on my face did not falter. In fact, I was the first to raise my hands, clapping loudly.
The applause sounded exceptionally crisp in the quiet hall, even somewhat piercing.
“Congratulations to you both,” I said in perfect, unaccented English, smiling brightly.
Julian looked at me. The brief flash of tension in his eyes was immediately replaced by undisguised contempt. He clearly let out a long breath, as if mocking a clueless housewife like me who couldn't even understand a single foreign sentence.
On the other side, Chloe was moved to tears. Under the chaotic gazes of the crowd, she acted shy but maintained her reserve, gently nodding her head.
An anniversary that was supposed to belong to me had completely turned into a testament to their love. I became the biggest joke in New York City.
The banquet ended hastily. The guests, full of gossip and offering fake consolations, gradually left.
In the car, Julian gripped the steering wheel, finally tearing off his affectionate mask.
“That was just a joke with friends to liven up the atmosphere. Don’t take it seriously.” He didn't even bother to glance at me, his tone as dismissive as if he were sending away an ignorant subordinate.
I turned my head to look at the neon lights of the city rapidly retreating outside the window. The city lights flashed across my face in streaks.
“Yeah, I believe you.”
My voice was flat and waveless, as if narrating something that had nothing to do with me.
He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, seemingly very satisfied with my obedience.
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Of course. A housewife who gave up her career for him, completely disconnected from society for ten years, who hadn't even updated her credentials—what else could she do but believe him?
Or so he thought.
