My Cheating Wife

The day I was diagnosed with cancer, I walked in on my wife cheating with a young man and transferring assets.

Just as I was about to confront the despicable pair, a body-swapping system suddenly bound to me.

The system stated that I could swap identities with any same-sex target at any time.

Watching my wife and the young man in each other's arms, I smiled.

From then on, she wanted a car? Buy. Wanted money? Transfer. Wanted the company? Sign it over.

She thought she was draining me, but she was digging her own grave.

I cooperated with her to transfer every penny, signing every debt in her name.

When she had squeezed the last drop of blood from me, planning to run off with her lover.

I closed my eyes and activated the body-swapping system.

The assets were all mine, and the cancer was his!

...

"Honey, Summer invited me to the riverside to take photos. She said they just built a new trendy spot there."

My wife, Amelia, was dressed exceptionally beautifully today, applying lipstick over and over in front of the mirror.

I nodded, not giving it much thought.

"Alright, go ahead then. After the photos, you can stroll through the pedestrian street. Do you have enough money?"

Amelia immediately pouted and walked over, shaking my arm, her voice soft and sweet.

"Oh, I just got a new phone, so I only have living expenses left. I don't even dare to go shopping."

Her playful demeanor and expression were exactly the same as when we were dating.

Amelia herself was charming and lovely. When she pouted, she nearly melted my heart. Normally, I'd fall for it every time.

I picked up my phone, smiled, and transferred twenty thousand dollars to her.

"Tell me if it's not enough. Have fun, buy whatever you like."

"You're the best, honey! Love you!"

Amelia stood on tiptoe, left a lipstick mark on my cheek, then picked up her small purse and click-clacked out the door in her high heels.

I wiped away the mark on my face, a touch of bitterness in my heart.

Five years of marriage. Although work kept me busy, Amelia and I had always had a good relationship.

She loved to spend and shop, and I indulged her. The company was doing well, so a little extra spending was no big deal.

But she didn't know that my last physical had confirmed I had pancreatic cancer. I wouldn't live another year!

At two in the afternoon, I drove to the office, ready to rush through a batch of contracts.

The intersection ahead was completely blocked. I leaned out to look, a traffic officer directing, seemingly due to an accident.

This road had heavy traffic; a blockage would last at least half an hour.

I simply turned around, taking a detour through the business district.

While waiting at a red light, I casually glanced out the window.

That one glance made my heart skip a beat.

In front of a glass door at the mall across the street, a woman was taking photos. A white dress, black stockings, smiling with eyes curved.

Wasn't that my wife, Amelia?

But the one holding the phone and taking pictures for her wasn't her best friend, Summer, but a young man.

Buzz cut, sportswear, his muscles straining against his T-shirt.

After taking a photo, Amelia jogged over to look, then practically hung onto his arm.

They were laughing and chatting, their poses intimate.

"Beep beep beep"

The light turned green, and the cars behind honked.

I snapped out of it, stomped on the gas, then pulled over.

In the rearview mirror, my face was expressionless, but my eyes were frighteningly red.

I took off my suit jacket, tossed it into the car, and rummaged through the trunk for a baseball cap to put on.

After getting out, I quickly walked towards the mall.

Tracking them was easier than I expected.

To ensure I kept up without being noticed, I maintained a distance of about twenty yards.

The two were too engrossed, completely unaware of the man in the cap behind them.

They first went to the food court on the basement level and got two milk teas. Amelia took a sip from one, then stood on tiptoe and put the straw into the man's mouth. He wrapped an arm around her waist and took a big gulp.

Their movements were practiced and natural, like a couple deeply in love.

I clenched my fists, my gaze fixed on the two despicable creatures.

After a few sips of milk tea, they took the escalator to the cinema on the fifth floor.

I didn't buy a ticket, only watching them go in.

Outside the ticket booth, I leaned against the wall, staring at the exit.

The wait was agonizing. I checked my phone countless times, each time only two or three minutes had passed.

I don't know how long it was, but the door opened, and their figures reappeared.

My first thought was that Amelia's state wasn't right. Her face was abnormally red, her hair was messy, and her long dress seemed disheveled. She was trying to straighten her skirt with her hand.

Looking at the man again, there was a lipstick mark on his face, and a section of his T-shirt hem wasn't tucked in, as if he'd hastily tidied himself.

As someone who'd been there, I was all too familiar with that state.

Watching a movie?

More like a live show.

A rush of blood went to my head. I clenched my fists, took a step forward, determined to tear into that despicable pair.

Just then, a mechanical voice exploded in my mind.

[Ding! Identity Swap System successfully bound!]

[Host can swap identities with any same-sex target at any time!]

What the hell?

Identity swap?

I stared at the mans back, a glint of light flashing in my eyes.

After returning home, I immediately took action.

Having started my business years ago, I had carved a path in a fiercely competitive industry. My network and resources were not to be underestimated.

I knew plenty of people on both the legitimate and less-than-legitimate sides of things.

I went straight to the city's most professional private investigator, old Mr. Jenkins. He used to be a soldier, then a police officer, but after making a mistake, he was dismissed and started working as a private detective.

While tracking Amelia, I secretly took a few front-facing photos of the two of them.

I handed the photos to Mr. Jenkins, instructing him: "Mr. Jenkins, I need your help. Money is no object. I need detailed investigation reports as soon as possible!"

Mr. Jenkins pocketed the photos. "Don't worry, I know what to do."

With a generous reward, Mr. Jenkins' efficiency was astounding. In less than a week, he had everything uncovered.

In the agreed-upon private room at the tea house, Mr. Jenkins handed me a manila envelope, looking at me with a touch of sympathy.

"Mr. Anderson, it's all clear. The young man is named Sam Wilton, 27, unemployed, lives at The Gilded Manor, Unit 1203. All his information and photos are inside. You can review them yourself."

I nodded, signaling him to drink his tea first.

The envelope was thick and bulging with documents. I untied the string and pulled out the top stack of photos.

The first one: Amelia walking into a hotel with Sam, at three in the afternoon.

The second: Amelia applying sunscreen to Sam by the pool. Sam was shirtless, Amelia only wearing a bikini.

The third: Amelia passionately kissing Sam in a car, parked in a deserted area, the windows half-open.

I calmly flipped through each photo, a vein throbbing in my temple.

"Bastard!"

I couldn't hold back, slapping the table and cursing aloud.

Mr. Jenkins didn't say a word, pouring me a cup of tea.

I never expected Amelia, who always presented herself as a goddess to me, to be so utterly devoted to an unemployed loafer.

Though, to be fair, Sam was young, handsome, and in good shapedefinitely the type women found attractive.

I wasn't bad-looking myself once, but after years of building my business, I had to pour my life into it. This led to weight gain, darker skin, and my energy was nowhere near what it used to be.

Composing myself, I set the photos aside and continued reading the documents.

Sam Wilton, 27, high school dropout, worked in sales, as a fitness instructor, and in nightclubs. Currently lives at The Gilded Manor 1203, monthly rent five thousand, drives a new BMW 320 bought last year.

His spending records were also attached.

Under normal circumstances, this guy hadn't worked in over a year, but his spending was not low.

He went to a bar almost every night, ate at brand-name restaurants in the mall, and bought trendy clothes and shoes.

An unemployed man, where did he get the money?

It wasn't until I saw Amelia's bank statements that I understood.

Amelia's transaction records over the past two years far exceeded previous years. A series of transfers, clear and piercing, some for a few thousand, many for tens of thousands. The largest single transfer was last June, a full hundred thousand.

Some of that money was for clothes and bags I bought her, some she claimed was for stocks and funds, and some I gave her to help with her company's cash flow.

No wonder she had become so lavish with her spending these past two years. I thought I had spoiled her, but it turned out all the money was going into Sam's pocket.

"Mr. Anderson, take a look at this."

Mr. Jenkins suddenly spoke, pulling a sheet of paper from the very bottom of the file.

"I used quite a few connections to dig this up."

I took it curiously. It was a company registration form.

"Summit Commerce LLC"

Legal Representative: Sam Wilton.

Registration Date: One year ago.

When I saw the shareholder information section, my pupils abruptly contracted.

Shareholder: Evergreen Apparel Co., Ltd., holding 80% shares.

Investment Amount: One million dollars.

Evergreen Apparel was the company under Amelia's name.

Seeing this, I understood everything.

A year ago, Amelia had told me that due to market impact, her company had lost several major clients, and profits had significantly declined.

She said she had adjusted her strategy and was confident of a comeback.

At the time, I praised her for her courage. But it turned out she wasn't facing operational difficulties; she was transferring assets.

Using the money I earned to register a company, listing her lover as the legal representative.

When the time was ripe, she could directly absorb all of Evergreen Apparel, then take the money and that young man and vanish.

And me?

I would probably foolishly continue to make money, continue to spend on her, until I was drained and finally kicked aside.

I took a deep breath, neatly stacked the photos and documents, and put them back in the file.

"Thank you for your hard work. The remaining payment will be transferred to you immediately."

Mr. Jenkins nodded, then hesitated. "Mr. Anderson, I've seen a lot of this kind of thing. If you need anything further, you can always find me."

"No need," I interrupted him, picking up the now-cold tea and draining it. "I'll handle the rest myself."

With the body-swapping system at hand, did I still need to fear Amelia transferring assets? I didn't even need to fear pancreatic cancer anymore!

"Honey, look at this!"

Amelia shoved her phone in my face. In the short video, a female car owner was showing off an automatic parking feature, the car turning its steering wheel on its own, precisely parking into a spot.

"Modern domestic new energy vehicles are so smart, they can even self-park! You know I hate parking the most, I sweat every time I reverse. Could you buy one for me?"

Amelia leaned in, looked up at me, her voice soft as cotton candy.

I glanced at the screen. The latest model of a certain brand's electric car, even the lowest trim, cost at least thirty thousand.

I sneered inwardly. Quite an appetite. Was she rushing to accelerate the process, seeing that I hadn't been completely drained yet?

However, this was exactly what I wanted.

I put down my phone and nodded seriously: "Okay, supporting domestic brands starts with us. If we're buying, let's get the top trim. I'll have accounting transfer fifty thousand to you tomorrow. If it's not enough, we'll add more."

Amelia paused, probably not expecting it to be so smooth.

The next second, she sprang up from the sofa, jumped onto me, and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck: "You're the best, honey! I love you so much!"

"I'll go run a bath for you!" She put me down and ran towards the bathroom, then halfway there, she turned back and winked at me, "Tonight I'm going to reward you properly. You can do anything you want."

Despite her allure, I felt no stir of emotion. The thought of her with that young man made me sick to my stomach.

I put on a tired expression: "The company's been busy lately, a lot of pressure. I'm too exhausted today. I just want a good night's sleep."

"Then I'll give you a massage later," Amelia said, not thinking much of it, and turned to run the bath.

In the days that followed, Amelia's requests for money became more frequent, and her reasons more outlandish.

"Honey, my best friend Chloe said she wants to buy a house and is a little short on cash. I promised to lend her a hundred thousand."

"Honey, my cousin, you've met him, he's in debt from online loans and people are cornering him at home. He's begging me for fifteen thousand to save him."

"Honey, my grandfather had a heart attack and needs surgery. It's twenty thousand."

To all her requests, my answer was one word: "Yes!"

Two months later, our household savings hit rock bottom.

The company's liquid funds were also almost depleted.

But it wasn't enough. This amount of money was far from what she needed to "fly away with her lover."

Moreover, my body couldn't wait any longer.

In these two months, besides playing along with her, I also had to contend with my terminal illness.

Late-stage pancreatic cancer was no joke. At first, it was just a mild pain, but it gradually worsened until one night I woke up from the sheer agony.

I bit into my pillow, drenched in a cold sweat, not daring to make a sound, afraid of waking Amelia next door.

During a follow-up visit, the doctor frowned at the scans: "It's not being controlled effectively. The spread is faster than expected"

If that was the case, perhaps I should help her, speed things up.

That evening at dinner, I deliberately sighed.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Amelia asked with concern, but a hint of wariness was hidden in her eyes. She was probably afraid I would stop her financial supply.

I put down my chopsticks and frowned, "There's a big project recently that requires expanding our production scale. I'm thinking of mortgaging the company and borrowing ten million to take a gamble, but the risk is significant. If the project fails, the company might go bankrupt."

She didn't speak, her eyes darting around, wondering what I was thinking.

I held her hand. "How about we get a fake divorce? We'll get the divorce certificate first, and then I'll put the mortgaged company money under your name. Even if something happens to the company, I'll bear the debt alone. It's just that you'll be 'inconvenienced' with a divorce on your record."

Amelia froze. She probably hadn't expected me to not only willingly allow her to drain my assets but also proactively suggest divorce and give her a huge sum of money.

She barely suppressed the curve of her lips, squeezing out a few tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Honey, don't worry. Even if you truly lose everything, I will never leave you."

At that moment, I even admired her acting skills.

If I hadn't seen those photos, hadn't found those transfers, I might have actually believed her.

The paperwork was processed quickly.

Legal representative change, mortgage loan, asset transfer.

I actively cooperated with every step, signing and stamping.

Once everything was settled, Amelia's attitude began to change.

She came home later and later, her gaze towards me growing colder.

Finally, one evening, Amelia linked her arm with mine and said cheerfully, "Honey, I want to go on a trip for a few days."

"Where to?" I asked subconsciously.

Amelia blinked her big eyes. "Haven't decided yet, just wherever the road takes me."

My heart stirred. I knew Amelia was preparing to flee.

"Alright, go ahead. Have a good time."

The next morning, Amelia left the house, dragging her suitcase.

The door closed.

Her footsteps gradually faded away.

The moment she left, I immediately woke up.

Then, I closed my eyes and silently recited in my mind.