After successfully proposing, Lucien cherished me like a treasure, always saying I was the perfect woman—a model of virtue and dignity, both a capable homemaker and an elegant lady. He made me believe I was the ideal partner. But looking back now, those words felt hollow.
In seven years of being together, our moments of intimacy had been pitifully rare. Maybe he never actually wanted someone like me. Maybe what he truly craved were women like his sister-in-law, Megan—wild, uninhibited and shameless.
When I got home, I wasted no time. I pulled out a suitcase and started packing, throwing clothes and essentials into it without a second thought. The sight of our shared home, the place I had once carefully decorated with love, now made my skin crawl. I wanted nothing to do with it anymore.
While sorting through the shelves in the study, my hand brushed against something cold and metallic. Hidden in the corner, beneath a stack of old files, was a laptop. It wasn't one I recognized.
Curiosity gnawed at me. I powered it on, only to be met with a password screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I tried my own birthday first. Incorrect.
I frowned, thinking for a moment before typing in another date—Megan's birthday.
The screen unlocked instantly.
A sinking feeling settled in my gut as the desktop loaded. I opened the hard drive, only to find several gigabytes worth of files, all neatly organized into folders. My breath hitched when I clicked one open.
Photos. Videos. Dozens upon dozens of them.
Lucien and Megan.
My stomach twisted in revulsion as explicit images flashed across the screen. Every file documented their depravity in excruciating detail—various positions, different settings. Megan bound in intricate ways, her body displayed shamelessly for the camera. Countless indecent scenes, enough to make bile rise in my throat.
They had done it everywhere. His office, where Megan, dressed in a tailored secretary outfit, serviced him at his desk. Our home—on the bed, the dining table, the sofa. Even in this very study, where I now stood, disgusted beyond words.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to be sick. My fingers trembled as I reached for a portable hard drive and copied everything. Every single file.
Just as the transfer finished and I carefully placed the laptop back in its original position, I heard the front door open.
Lucien was home.
It was late. He had probably rushed back from the hospital, afraid that I had returned early from my business trip and would notice his absence.
I quickly composed myself, shutting my suitcase and standing as if I had merely been tidying up.
The moment he stepped inside the study, his gaze swept over the mess I had made while packing. His brows furrowed slightly. "Why are you suddenly tidying up?"
"The place is filthy. I'm cleaning up." My voice was steady, emotionless.
Inside, disgust churned in me. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't even want to acknowledge his existence.
Lucien let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer. "You must be exhausted from your business trip. Why don't you leave it for tomorrow? I can hire a cleaning service." His voice was warm, filled with feigned concern and he even reached out to pull me into his arms.
I shoved him away without hesitation.
"Go take a shower. You stink."
He laughed, completely oblivious to the shift in my demeanor. "Alright, alright, I'll go shower."
Before he left, he turned back with a grin. "You should stop cleaning too. We're getting married soon anyway. We can renovate this place, or better yet, buy a new house."
Lucien launched into an enthusiastic monologue about his vision for our future home. If it were before, I would have eagerly joined in, snuggling against him, discussing furniture arrangements and color schemes with excitement.
But now—my heart was dead. I didn't respond.
Mistaking my silence for exhaustion, he urged me to rest before disappearing into the bathroom. I gave a half-hearted reply and went back to my room.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning relentlessly. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, those images from the laptop resurfaced, suffocating me.
Not long after, the mattress dipped beside me.
Lucien had finished his shower and slid under the covers, wrapping his arms around me from behind. As always, he placed one arm beneath my neck, using himself as a pillow for me to rest on.
This used to make me feel safe. Loved.
Now, all I wanted was to escape.
I took a quiet, steady breath, willing myself to stay composed. But the words burned at my throat, demanding to be spoken.
"Lucien, let's break u—"
Before I could finish, his phone vibrated on the nightstand.
He held me close with one arm while reaching for it with the other. The screen lit up and I caught a glimpse of his expression in the dim light.
He let out a soft cough, as if suppressing something.
Through the reflection in the bedside mirror, I saw it—several explicit photos. The same kind that had been on the laptop.
My blood boiled.
Lucien set his phone down almost immediately, feigning ignorance, but within seconds, he suddenly sat up.
