Catch My Husband

1
A morning call from The Sterling Grand shattered my peace. A manager informed me an intimacy kit from my suite last night had been charged to my account.
I froze mid-sip. I’d been working all night at the lab—nowhere near a hotel. I turned to my husband Ethan, the only other person with my account details. "Explain this."
He looked up from his phone, feigning innocence. "Why would I pay for that hotel? It must be a glitch." He scoffed. "I’ll complain tomorrow."
I didn’t bother arguing. My best friend Vivian owned the hotel chain. I called her directly. "Find out who Ethan checked in with. I’m exposing a cheater."
His excuse was absurd. Vivian had given me a lifetime Founder’s Card—untraceable and exclusive to me. Yet the hotel claimed I’d stayed in the Presidential Suite and used minibar condoms. They confirmed three times: the guest was registered under my name, Chloe Sutton.
Rage surged through me. I remembered Ethan mocking me when I first wanted to use the suite. "Isn’t our house enough? Always wasting money."
But it was my gift—why shouldn’t I use it? Furious, I drove straight to the hotel.
With the holidays approaching, the lobby was a chaotic sea of tourists checking in. I waited nearly half an hour for the crowd at the front desk to thin.
"Hi, I'm Chloe Sutton. You called me this morning," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.
The receptionist glanced up, her expression shifting to one of confusion. "Ms. Sutton? But... you're already back in your room, aren't you? You specifically requested no housekeeping services."
My face hardened.
She continued, oblivious. "Just ten minutes ago, a 'Ms. Sutton' called down to activate the 'Do Not Disturb' service for the suite."
I was trembling with fury. That little tramp had the audacity to use my name.
"I am the real Chloe Sutton," I said through gritted teeth.
The receptionist gave me a condescending once-over. "Ma'am, if you don't have a reservation, I'll have to ask you to leave. We're very busy today. Please don't make a scene." Her voice dripped with disdain. "The real Ms. Sutton checked in with her husband using a Founder's Card. I may not have seen her, but Mr. Vance is a regular guest of ours. There's no mistake."
Her words hit me like a physical blow. My husband. Someone else's husband. The irony was suffocating.
Just then, the elevator chimed open.
A young woman walked out, draped in a new-season Chanel suit. Around her neck was the Cartier diamond necklace I’d won at a charity gala auction for over a quarter of a million dollars. I recognized her instantly. Mia Foster, a fresh-faced intern from Ethan's office.
The receptionist looked at her like a savior. "See? This is Ms. Sutton," she said, gesturing toward Mia. "The lady of the suite is right here. I suggest you leave before you cause any more trouble."
Mia's face paled when she saw me, but she quickly plastered on a fake smile. "Chloe! What a coincidence! Are you staying here, too?"
I slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me, Mia. I think you owe me an explanation. Why are you checked in under my name? Why am I being charged for your condoms?" My voice rose with every question. "And while we're at it, why are you wearing my shoes? And since when is my husband your husband?"
My voice echoed across the grand lobby. The bustling crowd fell silent, and every eye turned to Mia.
She glanced around, her eyes instantly welling with tears. "Chloe, what are you talking about? My husband got me this hotel card because he felt bad I was working so hard. He bought me these shoes, too." She lowered her head, feigning a blush. "And as for the... condoms... is there a problem with me using them with my own husband?"
Suddenly, she looked at me with pity. "Chloe... has Ethan been treating you badly? Are you under a lot of stress? I can help you find a good therapist if you need one."
Her performance sparked whispers in the crowd.
"Look at her, she looks so worn out. I bet her husband doesn't touch her."
"That Founder's Card costs at least fifty grand just to open. She doesn't look like she could afford that."
"They really let anyone into these high-end places now, don't they?"
I was just in a simple blouse and jeans, hardly the mess they were describing.
I ignored them, a cold smile touching my lips as I looked at Mia. "I never realized you were such a talented actress."
I turned back to the receptionist. "When this 'Ms. Sutton' checked in, did you verify her identification?"
The woman stammered, "Well, she said she didn't have her ID, but Mr. Vance is a regular, so..."
"So you decided to violate hotel policy?" I cut her off, my voice sharp as glass. "Your security protocols are a joke."
The receptionist fell silent.
Mia jumped in, playing the peacemaker. "Chloe, she's just doing her job, why are you making things difficult for her? You know what they say, people stay where they belong. Stop making a scene."
The insinuation was clear: I didn't belong here.
Just then, her phone rang. The screen lit up with the caller ID: My Husband.
"Answer it," I sneered. "Put it on speaker. I want to hear what new lies Ethan has cooked up."
Mia, looking smug, answered the call and immediately switched to a tearful, panicked voice. "Honey, you have to get to the hotel! There's a crazy woman here claiming I'm not your wife! She's trying to get me thrown out..."
She sobbed theatrically. On the other end, Ethan's voice exploded with rage. "What crazy woman dares to mess with you? Don't worry, baby, I'm on my way!"
Crazy woman. So that's what I was to him now.
The onlookers stared at me with open disgust. Someone even stepped forward to comfort Mia. "Don't mind her, dear. You can't reason with crazy."
Mia offered a soft 'thank you' before turning back to me with a look of feigned concern. "My husband's on his way. He has a bit of a temper. You should probably go." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He gave me this fifty-thousand-dollar card without a second thought. That's how much he adores me. I can't imagine what he'll do to you when he gets here."
It was a threat disguised as advice.
I was shaking, clenching my fists to stop myself from tearing that smug, deceitful mask off her face.
Ethan arrived faster than I expected.
He stormed into the lobby, and the moment his eyes landed on me, they turned venomous. He shoved me aside, a brutal, unexpected force, and pulled Mia into a protective embrace.
"It's okay, I'm here now," he murmured, stroking her hair with a tenderness that made my stomach churn.
The polished marble floor offered no friction. I stumbled backward, my hip slamming hard into the arm of a velvet sofa. If it hadn't been there, I would have collapsed.
Mia, meanwhile, stood on her toes, wrapped her arms around Ethan's neck, and pulled him into a wet, sloppy, performative kiss right in the middle of the lobby.
"Oh, baby, you're the best," she said, breathless and cloying. "You have to set this woman straight. She doesn't believe a word I say!"
Only then did Ethan look at me. There was no guilt in his eyes, only pure, unadulterated loathing.
He released Mia and strode toward me. Without warning, he raised his hand, and the crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the suddenly silent lobby.
"Mia Foster! Have you no shame?" he roared, his voice filled with righteous fury. "Just because I turned you down for that promotion, just because I refused to sleep with you, you've held a grudge all this time?"
He gestured wildly between us. "And now you have the nerve to show up here and harass my wife!"
I cradled my stinging, swollen cheek, staring at him in disbelief. This man was a stranger. Before I'd left the house, he'd played the part of the concerned husband on the phone, patiently telling me not to overthink things. Now, he was standing here, spinning a web of lies without a flicker of remorse, even hitting me.
He had always been two-faced.
The memories clicked into place. The way his eyes would light up when I bought him the latest gaming console, but glaze over with contempt when I talked about my research breakthroughs, which he called "a pile of useless scrap metal." His concern was never for me, only for my bank account.
Maybe he never loved me. Maybe he never even tried to know me.
A chilling calm settled over my rage. I lowered my hand and met his gaze, my voice so steady it surprised even me. "Ethan. Say that again."
"Tell me," I continued, "who am I? And who is she?"
A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly buried under a new layer of aggressive bluster. "Are you deaf or just crazy? I said it loud and clear! She," he said, pointing a dramatic finger at Mia, "is my wife, Chloe Sutton! And you," he spat, "are Mia Foster, a bitter intern who couldn't take no for an answer!"
He raked his eyes over me, his tone dripping with scorn. "Take a look at yourself, lady. You've got to be, what, pushing forty? Do you really think I'd marry someone like you? Get a grip."
The crowd erupted in a fresh wave of murmurs.
"Tsk, can't find a husband so she tries to ruin someone else's happiness."
"I told you she was nuts. Delusional, too. Scary."
"That poor couple, having to deal with this psycho."
I stood in silence, watching their pathetic drama unfold. He was going to protect Mia at all costs, even if it meant burying me in filth. But did he really think he could rewrite reality with just his words?
Slowly, I reached into my purse and pulled out my passport and our marriage certificate. "I believe these will clarify who I am."
Ethan and Mia's faces froze. Mia's eyes went wide, and she tugged frantically at Ethan's sleeve.
He lunged forward, snatched the documents from my hand, and without a glance, flung them out through the revolving doors.
"Are you ever going to give up?!" he bellowed, a vein throbbing in his temple, his performance reaching a fever pitch. "Last time it was a fake ID, and now this? Forged passports and marriage certificates? Have you no shame, Mia? I swear to God, I'll call the cops right now and have you arrested for harassment and forgery of federal documents!"
The crowd's looks of scorn had morphed into genuine anger. "Call the cops!" someone shouted. "Get her out of here!"
I had to admire his quick thinking. The second I presented evidence, he branded it a forgery. At that moment, I almost wished it was.
Mia, visibly relieved, snuggled back into Ethan's arms. She looked at me, her voice dripping with venomous pity. "You know, Chloe—I mean, Mia—that abusive husband of yours has clearly given you some serious issues. I can recommend a great psychiatrist. And a top-notch divorce lawyer."
She enunciated the word "divorce" with relish. Once I was out of the picture, she could finally be the real Mrs. Vance.
Ethan sealed her performance with a kiss on her forehead. His gaze, when it returned to me, was glacial. "Get out. Now. Or I'm calling the police."
He then barked at the receptionist. "Get security down here and remove this lunatic! Who knows what she'll do next? What if she hurts one of the other guests?"
The crowd, now a mob, chimed in. "Get her out of here, or we'll all file complaints against the hotel!"
The receptionist scrambled to call security on her walkie-talkie. Two large guards appeared and grabbed my arms, dragging me toward the exit. I struggled, my elbow scraping painfully against a pillar in the scuffle.
In the chaos, Mia drifted closer, unnoticed.
Then, just as I was off-balance, she expertly stuck out her foot. I went down hard.
"Oh my god!" Mia shrieked, feigning shock. "Are you trying to scam us now? I was just trying to help you, and you threw yourself on the floor to blame me!"
A golf-ball-sized lump immediately formed on my ankle. My knee was a mess of raw, scraped skin, blood already seeping through my jeans. The pain was blinding. I tried to stand, but my leg wouldn't hold my weight.
Ethan just watched, his expression cold and detached, as if I were a complete stranger.
My heart, in that moment, turned to ice. There was nothing left to hope for from him.
With a trembling hand, I fumbled for my phone to call 911. But as soon as the screen unlocked, Ethan lunged, snatching it from my grasp.
"What do you think you're doing? Calling the cops?" he sneered, twisting the narrative. "Everyone here saw you fall on purpose. You're not pinning this on my wife or this hotel."
"I have a bleeding disorder," I gasped through the pain. "Call an ambulance."
He didn't move. Instead, he hurled my phone across the lobby, where it skittered under a concierge desk.
The receptionist, terrified of getting involved, just stood there, wringing her hands.
I was utterly alone. Gritting my teeth against the waves of agony, I started to drag myself across the floor, using my good leg to push.
Suddenly, a sharp stiletto heel ground into the back of my hand.
Mia loomed over me. "Sign a statement," she whispered, "admitting this was all your fault, and I'll call an ambulance for you. Otherwise..."
She pressed down harder.
An excruciating pain shot up my arm, mixing with the throbbing in my knee and ankle. It was so intense I nearly passed out. I couldn't speak, could only tremble from the pain and rage, my vision starting to blur at the edges.
Just as I felt myself slipping into darkness, the sharp, rapid click-clack of high heels echoed from the entrance.
My best friend, Vivian Sterling, was striding into the lobby like a storm.
"Chloe, I checked the records! That bastard Ethan really is cheating! He's used this hotel more in the past year than you have in your entire life!" Her voice was a thunderclap. "And he dared to give my Founder's Card to his little tramp? I'm going to skin him alive today!"
Vivian, flanked by several senior hotel executives and a new security team, marched toward the scene.
Her furious tirade came to an abrupt halt when she saw me, crumpled and bleeding on the floor.
The arrogant receptionist, who had been sneering moments before, turned white as a sheet. "Ms... Ms. Sterling..." she stammered.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "252735" to read the entire book.