When passion took over, I took the initiative to get on top. My husband, thoroughly enjoying it, suddenly licked his lips: "How much weight have you gained recently? Why are you so heavy?" "You need to lose some weight. It felt the absolute best when you were 105 pounds." My heart skipped a beat. Not long ago, I saw a 105-pound woman sitting in this exact same spot with him. 1 The warm water from the showerhead cascaded over my body. Yet, I felt freezing cold, my head throbbing with a dull ache. 105 pounds. For a woman who is 5'9", that is an impossibly low, astronomical number. Not to mention that as I’ve gotten older in recent years, my metabolism has slowed down. Keeping my weight at 125 pounds had already taken an immense amount of blood, sweat, and tears. So, that number could only belong to another woman. My fifteen-year marriage with Arthur Caldwell had ultimately gained a third person. It had become too crowded. Click. The bathroom door opened. Arthur, his eyes soft and humming a light tune, wrapped his arms around my waist. "What's wrong, Vivian? You've been showering for so long. Are you upset just because I said you gained a little weight?" He rested his chin in the crook of my neck, letting his stubble gently rub against my skin. Instantly, goosebumps erupted all over my arms. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath, and peeled his fingers off my waist one by one until I was completely out of his embrace. "Arthur, I am upset, but not because you called me fat. We've been together for so many years. Give it to me straight: who is 105 pounds?" My tone was dead serious. I wasn't letting him joke his way out of this. Arthur gave a helpless smile, cupping my face with both hands and rubbing my cheeks affectionately. "Look at this angry little face. No one is 105 pounds. I was just caught up in the moment and blurted it out. Don't overthink a mindless comment. Vivian, we are both thirty-five now. We don't need to care about superficial appearances anymore. When we're old, grey, and wrinkly, I will still be the person closest to you. We are husband and wife; we don't need to use our bodies to please each other for the rest of our lives." I looked at the man standing in front of me and couldn't help but scoff. Superficial appearances? Thirty-five-year-old Arthur was handsome, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a perfect V-taper. He had an incredible presence. Compared to younger guys, he possessed the distinct, refined charm of a mature man. Even after our intense workout just now, his hair was still perfectly styled. No matter how busy work got, he rigidly stuck to his schedule of hitting the gym three times a week and going for a morning run five days a week. He cared about "superficial appearances" more than anyone. "That's not what I meant..." I was just about to interrogate him further when he cut me off. "Oh, by the way, I got a bracelet from Dr. Evans. He said it's the custom-cut emerald bangle you've been eyeing. I was going to hide it and surprise you, but I guess I'll use it as an apology for my stupid comment today. Please, my beautiful wife, let me off the hook. Let's not fight, okay?" He bowed sincerely, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of my hand. Here we go again. For the past two years, whenever the slightest hint of conflict arose between us, Arthur would instantly interrupt my train of thought. I wasn't the most articulate person, and I processed things slowly. Once interrupted, I would momentarily forget what I was going to say. In the end, the issue would be swept under the rug with one lavish gift after another. Sometimes, I would think about it and just let it go. In a marriage, someone always has to compromise. But this time was different. My sixth sense was screaming at me. I absolutely could not just let this go. 2 To uncover the truth behind the "105 pounds" comment, I decided to start with the sales associates at the luxury boutiques downtown. Arthur was incredibly generous. He never cared about the price tag when buying gifts. If he really had a mistress, he would definitely be sending her luxury goods. But when I went down to the garage, I noticed the Rolls-Royce Phantom—which had been parked and untouched for a long time—was missing. It was a limited-edition Phantom. Arthur hated driving it. It was too flashy, too ostentatious. Every time he took it out on the streets of Chicago, people would ask to take pictures with it. It was a hassle. I went back inside, casually picked up a pair of earrings, and dialed his number. "Arthur, did you drive the Phantom to work today?" The person on the other end seemed to short-circuit for a second. When he recovered, his tone was as gentle as ever: "Oh, yeah. It hasn't been driven in a while, and cars need to be run every now and then to keep the engine healthy. Do you need something, Vivian? If it's not urgent, let's chat tonight." I understood the hidden subtext in his voice. I replied smoothly: "Remember when Harper borrowed the Phantom to shoot that tech video? She’s always so clumsy. She lost the diamond earrings her late mother left her. We've thought about it, and she probably dropped them in the car. I want to help her look. Is the car parked at the office? I'll come find you..." "Wait!" From the other end of the line, I didn't just hear Arthur's panicked refusal; I also heard the screech of tires braking hard and the faint honking of cars outside. "You're on the road? Perfect, just swing by the house first. You know how Harper gets. Tomorrow is the anniversary of her mom's passing, she can't wait." I didn't give Arthur a chance to decline. I hung up immediately. It felt incredibly satisfying. Arthur knew that the influence of my best friend Harper's family in Chicago was nothing like it used to be. In the AI sector alone, they controlled market shares that Arthur desperately wanted but couldn't touch. Now that I brought up her family, he had to come back—no matter which road in Chicago he was currently driving on. 3 The familiar car didn't return to our garage; it parked near the entrance of our gated community. I didn't care. Because from a distance, I could clearly see someone sitting in the passenger seat. Walking closer, I saw it was a young girl. Silky black hair, amber eyes reflecting the blazing summer sun. Her cheeks were flushed pink, radiating an overwhelming aura of youth. She rolled down the window first, enthusiastically waving her arm at me. "Hi, Mrs. Caldwell! I'm Mia Jenkins." Her bright, radiant smile revealed deep dimples. Her cheerful tone was like a pool of clear water rippled by a spring breeze. It made my heart twitch. Facing her beaming smile, I merely nodded in acknowledgment. She seemed friendly, but she made absolutely no move to get out of the car. I could read between the lines. So, I walked straight to the back door, opened it, bent down, and pretended to search the floorboards for a moment before gasping: "Harper's earrings really are here! Honey, why don't you just drop me off at Harper's place on the way? She's been super stressed these past two days." I casually sat in the back seat, adjusting my clothes, leaving no room for refusal. Arthur's body stiffened. He turned around, giving me an apologetic look, and answered a question I hadn't asked: "Vivian, this is the new intern at our company. She had to deliver a document today. She's young and new to Chicago, so I was just giving her a ride since it was on the way." I smiled, my eyes curving into crescents. Looking at Arthur in the rearview mirror, I let out a soft "Mhm." What kind of intern requires the CEO to personally give her a ride? Hilarious. The car slowly began to move. This time, Arthur was the chauffeur, and I was the boss in the back. ... I don't know if it was because of my sudden appearance, but the car was dead silent. Mia flipped down the sun visor, checked her makeup in the mirror, then grabbed the headrest, exposing a pale, delicate wrist as she turned to look at me. "Mrs. Caldwell, what do you usually do at home to manage your figure? Your body is amazing. I feel like sitting at a desk all day is giving me love handles. I just can't seem to manage my weight anymore." I listened to her words, smiling but staying silent. Spoken like a fresh-out-of-college intern. It sounded like a compliment about my figure, but it was a thinly veiled jab—implying that at my age, I contributed nothing to society, just sitting at home leeching off my husband, while she was young and actively climbing the corporate ladder. A freshly minted little fox daring to tug at the tail of an old fox. I blinked, covering my mouth in a dramatic gasp: "Oh my goodness! You're so young, and you already can't control your weight? Mia, you have to realize that the older you get, the worse your metabolism becomes. I'm honestly worried about what you'll do when you reach my age. Take a piece of advice from an older woman: start dieting as soon as possible." I rarely clashed with people upon our first meeting. Handling situations with a polite smile had practically been ingrained into my bones. Mia froze, seemingly not expecting me to differ so wildly from the docile rumors she'd heard around the office. She bit her lower lip, replying indignantly: "I see... Then I guess I'll start my diet tomorrow..." As she turned back around and retracted her hand, a translucent jade bangle flashed before my eyes. Although it was just a quick glance, my years of experience told me it was an incredibly rare, top-tier emerald bangle. The kind that easily costs eight figures. I grabbed her soft, delicate hand, inspecting it closely: "This bracelet is very clear." Mia's gloom vanished instantly, her face lighting up with joy. "Hehe, right? A friend of mine gave it to me." Her eyes darted to my wrist. "Oh, Mrs. Caldwell, why are you still wearing a solid gold bracelet? The style is so old and tacky. None of us wear gold anymore; it's so outdated." I tilted my head to look at Arthur's expression in the driver's seat. Mia's comment was incredibly rude. Normally, he would have jumped to my defense immediately. But today, it was as if he had lost his hearing, focusing intently on driving the car. "Because this is the gift your CEO bought for me with his very first pot of gold. No passing trend could ever compare to the sincerity he showed me back then." In the rearview mirror, the corners of Arthur's mouth curled up. He was enjoying this. So, he was listening to our conversation. "Oh, the meaning behind the first pot of gold is definitely different. My bracelet is just expensive, it doesn't have any deep meaning. But still, I love it very, very much." The girl pouted, gently stroking the bangle on her wrist. Her fleeting disappointment vanished in an instant; she knew exactly how to comfort herself. Before today, I probably wouldn't have even noticed the micro-expressions on Arthur's face. But today, I was here specifically to watch him. I suppressed the displeasure in my heart, my tone remaining friendly: "However, I noticed the inner diameter of this bracelet is quite small. A size 5? 5.5?" "It's a size 5.5. It's actually a bit big on me, but luckily I'm careful so it doesn't fall off. It's my fault for being too skinny." A young girl's secret desires can never be hidden for long. As she spoke, she couldn't help but lean closer toward the driver's seat. A size 5.5 is extremely petite. I let go of Mia's wrist, sat up straight, crossed my arms, and asked with a cold smile: "You are indeed skinny. Do you weigh 105 pounds?" 4 "Wow, Mrs. Caldwell, you're so smart! How did you kno—" "Enough. Stop chatting. I can't focus on driving with you two talking so much." Arthur frowned, cutting Mia off. While waiting at a red light, he reached back, grabbed Mia's shoulder, and scolded her: "Also, Mia Jenkins, you are just an intern. I'm only giving you a ride today because it was on the way. Please remember your place and watch your tone. Vivian is my wife, and the boss's wife at the company you work for. I expect you to know basic courtesy and respect." The previously smug girl instantly got tears in her eyes. Blinking back her tears, she bit her lower lip hard, struggling to control her expression. Her voice trembled slightly: "I'm sorry. I was out of line today. Please pull over at the curb, Mr. Caldwell. I can call an Uber myself." With a dark expression, Arthur roughly pulled the car to the side of the road. Mia opened the door and bolted. She didn't wait for an Uber; she just kept her head down, violently wiping her cheeks as she marched down the sidewalk. For the rest of the drive, I could distinctly feel Arthur's agitation and impatience. If the car in front of him didn't accelerate the second the light turned green, he laid on the horn relentlessly. He even couldn't help but curse a few times: "If you're going to drive like a grandma, get off the damn road, you absolute moron." I had never seen this side of Arthur before. After dropping me off at Harper's estate, he didn't say a word. He just slammed the gas pedal and sped off. Watching the car disappear into the distance, the last shred of my persistence and trust crumbled into dust. Is there anyone who never changes? Is there anyone who will treat you well for an entire lifetime? After weathering all the storms together, is this what it comes down to? Is it really just like the internet says: "In the end, they all turn out the same"? 5 The custom emerald bracelet Arthur promised to give me never materialized. I didn't rush him or bring it up. By unspoken agreement, neither of us mentioned the unpleasantness of that day. But the incident felt like thousands of ants constantly gnawing at every corner of my brain and body. Forgive me. I didn't have the courage to lay everything out in the open. When I first discovered Arthur was acting suspicious, I was full of fighting spirit, determined to make him regret it. But when I actually found the girl, I felt afraid. I felt cowardly. I couldn't seem to imagine a life without Arthur in it. For over a decade, Arthur had been the guiding light in my life. When I was eighteen, coming from an ordinary working-class family, I miraculously got accepted into a prestigious university. But then, my mother—my only family—suddenly collapsed. She was gravely ill. I worked multiple jobs and sold everything of value. Yet, my mother still ended up in the ICU. The ICU is like a massive money-shredder. When I was desperate and on the verge of making terrible, irreversible choices, Arthur saved me. To solve my financial crisis, he swallowed his pride and sought out his estranged biological father. He traded his own future to secure the funds for my mother's endless medical bills. He used his father's connections to fly in world-renowned neurosurgeons to operate on her. Because of him, my mother lived for another two years. When she passed, Arthur personally handled all the funeral arrangements. He encouraged me to stand back up, face life, and not fear the future. Because he promised he would always hold my hand and guide me forward. I believed him. So, when his adoptive "mother" threw a bank card with ten million dollars in my face and told me to leave Arthur, I rejected it without a moment's hesitation. We fought through the Caldwell family's relentless opposition. We finally made it to the eve of our wedding. At that time, Arthur's "mother" issued an ultimatum: I was never allowed to bear Caldwell children. I knew she had always looked down on a girl from the slums like me. But it still stung. Arthur held me, telling me over and over again: "Kids or no kids, I never wanted you to go through the physical toll of pregnancy anyway. She's just terrified that the empire her husband spent decades building will be inherited by the sudden appearance of his illegitimate son's child." "If it weren't for you, I would never have returned to this toxic family. Everything I do is just to give you the absolute best this world has to offer." Arthur's kindness toward me back then was real. I saw it with my own eyes; I felt it in my heart. For over a decade, Arthur told me every single day that I was the one he loved, the one he cared about. I had never doubted him. I was grateful for everything he did for my mother, and thankful that he loved me for over ten years. But in the end, we turned out just like any other ordinary, broken couple. 6 Days flew by. Just as I was beginning to numb myself to reality, Arthur showed up at our front door at 10 PM. With Mia Jenkins. Next to Mia was a massive 28-inch suitcase. She looked completely different from the first time we met. That radiant, natural confidence and youthful energy were gone. Her head was bowed, her hair a messy tangle, her lips pale and chapped. She looked incredibly familiar to me. I felt like I had seen her somewhere before. "Ahem, Vivian, I ran into her sitting in the company lobby after work today. She got kicked out of her apartment by her landlord over some dispute." Arthur spoke unnaturally, avoiding eye contact with me. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Caldwell, for bothering you again. I really had no other choice." "My dad... he's sick. All my money is tied up in the hospital's account. I can be homeless, but he can't leave the hospital. I apologize again for making you uncomfortable last time. If you still don't want to see me today, I'll leave right now." As Mia spoke, her head drooped lower and lower, her back bending further and further. She looked so pathetic. So subservient. Suddenly, it hit me. I finally realized where I had seen this version of Mia Jenkins before. It was me, at eighteen years old, backed into a corner by life. Back then, I was just as desperate, with nowhere to turn. And Arthur was just as "kind-hearted" as he was over a decade ago. He extended his hand to play the savior. "Mia, you don't need to act so humble. Vivian isn't a petty person." "Right, Vivian?" This time, Arthur looked at me with a firm, resolute gaze. His hand had already dragged Mia's suitcase into the entryway. Both his tone and his actions left absolutely no room for me to object. Agreeing was my only option. "Alright. Come in. I'll have Martha clean up the guest room." 7 And just like that, Mia Jenkins moved into Arthur and I's home under a veneer of grand nobility. Even Martha, the housekeeper, could see the shady undertones. "Mrs. Caldwell, it's not my place to say this, but... having a young, tearful girl living in the house is just not right. If worse comes to worst, let's go ask the old madam for help." The "old madam" Martha referred to was Arthur's adoptive mother, Eleanor Caldwell. "Mrs. Caldwell, you haven't had a child of your own in over a decade. If this girl suddenly..." Martha trailed off, but I understood perfectly what she meant. But when a man's heart is no longer with you, bringing in the old madam or the young madam makes no difference. Even if the President of the United States showed up, it would be useless. At 2 AM, the sound of sobbing and a weak knock echoed from outside the door. The man next to me bolted upright in bed. "Mia, is that you?" Arthur asked. "Mr. Caldwell... I didn't want to bother you, but... my dad just got a critical condition notice. I don't know who else to call. I really have no one else..." Mia's voice broke at the very end. Her quiet sobbing turned into a devastated wail. Arthur instantly got out of bed and started throwing on his clothes. I instinctively grabbed his arm: "I'll go with you." He shook his head: "Vivian, don't come. I'm afraid it'll make you think of the past... I don't want to trigger your trauma. I'll go with her. You go back to sleep." After dressing, Arthur placed his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me lying on my side: "Vivian, you went through all of this once too. I know you can empathize with her. Please." I looked out at the silent night and let out a helpless sigh. Was he trying to make me remember the past, or hoping I couldn't? For a moment, I honestly couldn't tell what Arthur's true objective was. "I understand. I know." Click. The door was gently shut, and soon, there was no sound from the hallway. Which car would Arthur drive to take Mia out? Were they really going to the hospital, or somewhere else? What were they going to do? Did the sick father even exist? My brain was tangled in a chaotic knot of questions. Sleep was entirely out of the question. And so, I sat there, eyes wide open, watching the sky turn bright, then slowly turn dark again. Why weren't they back yet? It wasn't until Martha knocked on my door: "Mrs. Caldwell, whatever is happening, put it aside and eat something first. Don't torture yourself. You didn't do anything wrong..." I froze slightly. Right. What exactly did I, Vivian, do wrong in this situation? The two people who actually did something wrong were out there having the time of their lives, without a single shred of guilt in their hearts. Yet I, the victim, was sitting here letting internal turmoil slowly kill me? Why should I? I got up, washed my face, and ate a full meal. Then, I began to consolidate all my savings from the past decade. I was thirty-five. I had hands, feet, and a vast network of connections. It seemed I really had nothing to be afraid of. That very day, with a full stomach, I decided to let myself off the hook. All the problems tormenting me were instantly sliced open by a sharp blade. My swollen, dizzy brain was suddenly possessed by a cold, clear-headed ruthlessness. After organizing everything, I looked at the gold bracelet sitting in the drawer—the one I hadn't worn in ages. It was time to return it.
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