My Cheating Husband

While tidying up, I found the newly bought pack of sanitary pads had been opened.

Without a moment's hesitation, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and send them to Alexander Prescott.

His call came almost immediately. Another tantrum? What's it this time?

I bit my lip, my voice cold. A pad is missing from the pack in my drawer.

"Fine. Have it your way," Alexander's voice was a cocktail of anger and impatience. "Just don't come crawling back when you regret it!" The line went dead.

Regret? Never.

My only regret was being blind for so long, and allowing the woman who once took the business world by storm to suffer years of humiliation.

...

I was packing my suitcase when Isabelle ran in, tears streaming down her face.

She was Alexander's current assistant, and his first love, the one that got away.

"Sera, I'm so sorry. I came by to drop off some files for Alex the other day, and I got my period unexpectedly. I just borrowed one of your pads," she sobbed. "I never thought it would cause such a misunderstanding. Please, don't divorce him. If you do, I'll never be able to clear my name."

Listening to her half-hearted apology, a cold smile touched my lips. "If I don't divorce him, how am I supposed to make room for you?"

Isabelle's voice hitched. "Sera, how can you say that? I never wanted to interfere in your marriage, I..."

"You didn't want to," I cut her off, "or you couldn't?"

Years ago, when the Prescott family was searching for a bride for Alexander among the city's elite debutantes, Isabelle, as the illegitimate daughter of the Miller family, was the first to be dismissed. Now, seven years later, the Miller family was bankrupt. Her return was only possible under the guise of being his assistant, a way to get close to him again.

Isabelle cried even more pitifully. "If you won't believe me, then I'll just resign, alright?"

"Suit yourself." I threw Alexander's earlier words back at her and went back to my packing, ignoring her completely.

In the two years since Isabelle joined the company, I'd threatened divorce as many times as she'd threatened to quit. Now that the divorce was real, she was still playing the same old card: feigning retreat to gain sympathy. Alexander had long grown tired of my "jealous antics," yet he remained utterly defenseless against her damsel-in-distress act.

"Sera, please don't go. Please don't divorce Alex," she cried, her voice tragic and innocent. She grabbed my arm, shaking it dramatically like some heroine in a soap opera. "Hit me, if it will make you feel better. Just please, stop being angry." With that, she pulled my hand towards her own face.

I watched her clumsy performance, my brow furrowed as I began a silent countdown. Ten, nine, eight...

Before I even reached seven, Alexander's frantic figure burst into the room. "Stop it!" he roared at me. "Seraphina, you've gone too far!"

"Isabelle was our classmate, for God's sake! How could you hit her?"

Just like every other time, Alexander arrived right on cue, convicting me without a trial. I shook my head and gave a bitter laugh. His hero-saving-the-damsel routine was certainly getting more polished.

I set down my luggage and rose slowly. First, I turned to Alexander.

"If your eyes are failing you, Alex, make an appointment with an optometrist."

"Hit her? I wouldn't want to dirty my hands."

"You..." His own words caught in his throat.

I then turned to Isabelle. "If I remember correctly, I didn't hear a knock, nor did I get up to open the door." I stared directly into her eyes. "So, please tell me, how did you get in?"

Her face went pale, and she stumbled, nearly falling. A strong arm caught her by the waist.

Alexander steadied her, his voice laced with concern, before turning back to me with a glare. "Isabelle is my assistant. I gave her the password to the door for work. What, are you going to nitpick about every little thing now?" His eyes were filled with contempt.

"Your jealousy is suffocating, Seraphina."

The word hit me like a lightning strike. I stood frozen.

He thought I was suffocating?

Wasn't the suffocating part the way Isabelle had infiltrated our marriage over the past two years, with his silent approval and indulgence? It was invasive, and it knew no bounds. It started with dropping off files, then moved to casually staying for dinner, then overnight. Using my personal clothes without asking, taking my sanitary pads. The list of "little things" was endless. Our marriage for two had become a movie for three.

And I was the extra.

I blinked back the tears and looked up at Alexander. "Since this marriage is causing both of us so much pain, let's just sign the papers and end it."

He frowned, pushing the divorce agreement aside. "Alright, stop making a scene."

"Apologize to Isabelle, and we'll let this go. We can all still be good friends."

Hearing the word "friends" from his mouth again dredged up a flood of painful memories. I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I, Seraphina Vaughn, would rather die alone than be friends with someone who bullied me!"

An apology? Not in this lifetime.

Back in school, I had hidden my family's wealth to try and fit in. That decision made me a target for Isabelle. On the first day, she threw my books and backpack into a filthy pond behind the school. My uniform pants were slashed with a knife. Later, under pressure from my family, the school forced Isabelle to make a public apology and was about to expel her.

It was Alexander who convinced me. "Come on, Sera. Let it go. She knows she was wrong, just forgive her."

Blinded by my love for him, I endured the humiliation, shook her hand, and even asked the school to let her stay. Looking back, his bias towards her started back then. I was just too in love to see it.

Isabelle's face grew even paler, tears falling like broken pearls. "I was wrong. I overstepped. I shouldn't have presumed on our past friendship to try and be your friend." Her voice was a pathetic whisper. "I forgot that I'm just a lowly employee at your company now. I'm worthless. I'll leave."

Alexander's eyes instantly reddened. He pulled Isabelle behind him, shielding her as he yelled at me. "I gave you the title of Mrs. Prescott so you could have dignity, not so you could bully people!" He turned back to Isabelle, patting her trembling shoulder. "Don't say that about yourself, Isabelle. In my heart, you've never been just an employee."

He gazed at the fragile woman before him, his eyes burning with passion. "You have always been the most special person to me."

Watching my legal husband declare his undying love for another woman, I didn't fly into a rage as I usually would. I just felt a deep, chilling cold.

With her degree from some no-name university abroad, Isabelle was nowhere near qualified to be the assistant to the CEO of Prescott Corp. It was Alexander who had overruled everyone to keep her. He gave her an unheard-of salary and a unique brand of favoritism, one that pushed his own wife to the sidelines.

She called him "Mr. Prescott" but called me by my first name. She claimed it was a sign of closeness, but it was clear she thought I wasn't worthy of the Mrs. Prescott title. I could handle her thinking that, but I never imagined Alexander felt the same way.

The absurdity of it all was laughable. Me, the sole heiress of Vaughn Industries, needing the "Mrs. Prescott" title to throw my weight around?

The regret for the proud woman I had lost to love was sharp and painful. In that moment, the last flicker of hope for my marriage was extinguished.

"Alexander, sign the divorce papers soon," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Don't force me to take this to court."

With that, I picked up my suitcase and walked out without a backward glance.

When I walked through the door of my family home, my parents were excitedly watching a travel show about the Northern Lights. They quickly turned off the TV when they saw me.

Traveling the world had always been their dream, but their only daughter was a fool for love, so obsessed with a man that she refused to come home and take over the family business.

I walked over, took the remote out of the drawer, and turned the TV back on. Then I pulled out my phone and booked two tickets to Finland.

But they didn't smile with the surprise I expected. They just looked at me with worry in their eyes.

I knew I couldn't hide it. "We're... getting a divorce," I said, the words falling into the sudden silence of the vast living room.

After a long moment, my parents came over and gently took my hands.

"Whatever you decide, we support you. We just want you to be happy."

"Your mother and I are always your safety net."

My eyes welled up, and the years of pent-up sorrow came pouring out with my tears. They had been against my marriage to Alexander from the start, but they had relented because of my desperate pleas.

I squeezed my father's hand and then took my mother's, our three hands clasped together. I forced a smile. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

They weren't convinced. They insisted I change my flight from the next day to a week later, so they could spend more time with me. At their suggestion, I booked a family portrait session, an annual tradition that had always been the highlight of our year. After marrying Alexander, I had invited him many times, but he always declined, citing work.

The next morning, we arrived at the photo studio early, only to see a familiar figure: Alexander.

Isabelle was with him.

She was leaning on his shoulder, her eyes sparkling. "Alex, thank you for canceling that important meeting to come take pictures with me."

Alexander smiled and gently tapped her nose. "You silly girl. You're the most important person to me. Who else would I spoil?"

A bitter taste filled my mouth. So, it was never about being busy. It was about me not being worthy of his time.

"Sera, what are you looking at?" my mother asked.

"Nothing, I thought I saw someone I knew," I said, turning to block her view and guiding her away.

Inside the studio, I held my father's hand on one side and linked arms with my mother on the other, smiling like a carefree child.

Click! The photographer captured the warm, happy moment.

In that instant, I felt reborn. I had found what was most important in my life again.

"Oh," my mother had just stepped out to use the restroom when my father suddenly clutched his stomach, his face contorted in pain.

"What's wrong? Is it your stomach again?" I helped him to a nearby lounge and simultaneously called our family doctor and 911.

While we waited for the ambulance, Isabelle appeared.

"So this is why you were so willing to divorce Alex," she sneered. "You found yourself a new sugar daddy." Her greedy eyes scanned my father from head to toe.

"This old geezer might have some class, but he's ancient. He's nothing compared to Alex." She clicked her tongue. "Tsk, tsk. I'm impressed you can even bring yourself to touch him for money."

My father understood immediately who she was, the woman who had destroyed my marriage. He struggled to get up, to defend my honor, but a sharp pain sent him collapsing back onto the sofa.

Seeing my father's agony, I snapped. I marched over to her and slapped her hard across the face.

CRACK!

"Watch your filthy mouth," I snarled. "That's my father!"