She Cheated for Five Years,So I Destroyed Her Empire

Your wife is sleeping in my bed right now!

The photo showed Louise Sullivan, eyes closed, asleep.

Every inch of exposed skin was covered in marks left by passion.

When I received that taunting text and the photo, I was standing in the kitchen, simmering a nourishing soup for Louise.

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

But as the workday wound down, Louise had called with an apologetic tone—something urgent had come up at the office. She needed to work late.

Now I knew the truth.

Her "overtime" had taken her to another man's bed.

And there I'd been, worried she'd been pushing herself too hard lately with all the extra hours. Going out of my way to cook something that would help her recover her strength.

The angle of the photo was deliberate.

It captured the hotel logo and the room keycard with surgical precision.

Whoever sent it wanted me to see this in person.

My expression didn't change. I poured every last drop of soup down the drain.

I grabbed my car keys and drove straight to the most exclusive hotel in the south side of the city—The Platinum Hotel.

……

Not a single red light.

I arrived at the hotel and took the elevator directly to the couple's suite: Room 1806.

The door was ajar.

Inside, roses everywhere. Champagne. A cake.

Every detail dripping with romance.

Splash—

Water sounds, coming from the bathroom.

Then a woman's playful, coy whine:

"Stop it, you're so bad! You're getting water all over my face..."

My hand tightened on the door handle.

That voice.

I'd listened to it for five years.

It was my wife. Louise Sullivan.

"Ha! You know what they say—girls love a bad boy. And you love how bad I am, don't you?"

The man's voice was teasing, the last syllable curling upward with a smirk.

I recognized that voice too.

Bill Henson. Louise's so-called sworn brother—no blood relation whatsoever. The self-proclaimed free-spirited artist.

Inside the round bathtub, rose petals floated on the churning water.

Louise wore nothing but a revealing set of black lingerie, her hands draped over Bill's shoulders.

Bill was shirtless, one arm wrapped around her waist.

The two of them laughed and splashed without a care in the world.

Bill pressed his mouth to Louise's neck and sucked hard, leaving a vivid red mark.

"Hey—not there. If he sees it, he'll get suspicious."

Louise swatted Bill's chest with a look of mock displeasure.

Bill just chuckled, utterly unconcerned.

"Who cares? Julian Gilbert is a complete idiot."

"Raised my son for five years and still thinks he's father of the year."

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he spoke.

"Come on, babe. I can't wait any longer."

He pulled Louise beneath him—

My grip on the door handle turned white-knuckled.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stood there, frozen, hand locked around the handle.

Raised my son for five years.

The words replayed in my skull, over and over, like a serrated blade twisting deeper into my chest with every repetition.

They were so lost in each other that neither one noticed me standing in the doorway.

Not until a sharp crack split the air—the door handle snapping clean off in my fist.

Louise and Bill froze mid-motion. Both heads turned toward the door in unison.

The moment Louise saw me standing there, her pupils contracted to pinpoints.

"H-honey?"

The flush hadn't faded from her face. Her eyes flickered with the unmistakable panic of someone caught in the act.

The lecherous grin on Bill's face turned to stone.

A heartbeat later, he dropped into his usual act—the one he always wore around me—hunching his shoulders, lowering his head, the picture of timid submission.

As if I terrified him beyond reason.

After a flash of panic, Louise recovered fast.

She leaned forward, shielding Bill's trembling body behind her own.