Chapter 1
We always use the same brand and scent at home. So that day, when Lucas came home and leaned in to kiss me, I immediately sensed something wasn’t right.
“Did you shower somewhere else today?” I asked casually.
“A bird pooped on my head. I didn’t want to stink up the house, so I showered at the university before coming home,” he replied smoothly.
I smiled and let my gaze flit across his face. He was too calm.
So I joked, “Good thing it didn’t happen back in your hometown. They’d say you need to eat ‘hundred-family rice’ to ward off bad luck!”
That night, before my shower, I pulled out the clothes he’d tossed in the washing machine. I sniffed them carefully but couldn’t detect any scent other than body wash.
How could a man go from morning to night, interacting with who knows how many people, without picking up even a hint of cigarette smoke, perfume, sweat, or food smells?
I examined his clothes more closely. The average adult male loses about 50 hairs a day, with the collar being a hotspot. Yet his shirt didn’t have a single hair on it! It was as clean as if he’d just put it on before coming home.
That night, he was particularly passionate in bed. A phrase popped into my mind: “Paying his dues.”
I felt nauseated. I have mild OCD, and even though there was still uncertainty about the situation, the whole process felt like swallowing a dead fly.
“Honey, you seem distracted tonight,” Lucas said, hugging me from behind afterward. “Did you hear something upsetting during a therapy session again?”
I’m a hypnotherapist.
Many people think we’re like clear mirrors or ethereal beings. In reality, we deal with people with psychological issues every day.
As the saying goes, ‘When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back.’ The little monsters in our clients’ minds often project onto us, creating new little monsters in our own minds.
Most of the time, we can self-regulate. When we can’t, we turn to colleagues for help.
“It was a case about chronic infidelity,” I made up on the spot. “The guy was a notorious playboy. He used to cheat in secret, but after his wife found out, he started bringing his mistresses home.”
“The wife, my client, is devastated,” I continued, turning to face him with a frown. “Why are you men so unfaithful?”
“That’s like tarring everyone with the same brush!” Lucas pinched my waist playfully. “Not all men are unfaithful! It depends on their moral compass.”
“Some men have no moral compass and sleep with anyone they can. Others, like your husband, have high moral standards. I’m your first and I’ll be your last.”
I couldn’t detect any signs of deception in his micro-expressions.
But that was normal. It would have been abnormal if I could.
As an associate professor of mathematics, Lucas was pure logic. In terms of IQ, he outclassed me by far.
Lucas and I met in college. We both did our bachelor’s and master’s degrees consecutively - me in psychology, him in mathematics. Everyone said we were a power couple, two rational minds colliding.
After our master’s, we got married as everyone expected. He started teaching undergrads at the university while working on his PhD. With my advisor’s support and my parents’ financial help, I opened a psychological counseling practice.
I majored in applied psychology, with hypnotherapy as a subspecialty.
Psychology got a late start in the US. In the early days, people were more skeptical than accepting of not just hypnotherapy, but psychology in general. Many thought the whole field was a scam.
My practice struggled at first but slowly improved. After handling a few big cases, I gained a small reputation in the industry.
Reputation may seem intangible, but it brings tangible benefits.
The practice’s revenue skyrocketed.
There’s a saying: “A woman’s sense of security doesn’t come from a man, but from money.”
Because I was earning more, my status at home rose, and I felt more secure. I was almost certain Lucas wouldn’t cheat. But reality slapped me hard in the face-
The day after I noticed something off, he picked me up from work and hugged me as usual.
With suspicions planted by the clothing incident, I didn’t hesitate to slip a lipstick into his coat pocket when I saw his overly clean clothes again.
Then I pretended nothing happened and happily went to dinner with him.
During the meal, he excused himself to the restroom for a full ten minutes. When he returned, he looked uneasy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, just some work stuff,” he replied.
“Do you need to go back to the university?”
“No, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
Two skilled actors - I played the clueless wife to perfection, while he convincingly portrayed a man troubled by work issues.
Back home, he took off his coat and grabbed his phone to shower. I felt his coat pocket - the lipstick was gone.
Typical guilty behavior.
I tiptoed to the bathroom door. First, I heard the ‘ping’ of incoming SnapChat messages. Then his lowered voice, tinged with rebuke: “Who else could it be? No need to explain!… I’m home, we’ll talk tomorrow!”
My heart sank.
Before marriage, we had both expressed the same view: “Zero tolerance for cheating, no compromises.”
I stepped back, poured myself a drink, and sat on the couch, pondering my next move…
We didn’t have kids, so divorce would only involve property division.
Apart from fixed assets (house, car, collectibles, savings), Lucas managed all our joint assets. He bought stocks, funds, and insurance policies, all linked to his bank cards. I rarely inquired about them…
“Honey, what made you feel like drinking tonight?” Lucas asked as he came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.
“Just for fun!” I raised my glass in his direction, with a hint of invitation. “I saw you go straight to shower when you got home, so I thought you… weren’t you?”
“I was,” he said, coming over to kiss me.
Two people with no real desire, both pretending to be in the mood.
I still felt as nauseated as if I’d swallowed a dead fly, but I kept reminding myself: “Don’t let him realize I know.”
I’ve seen many divorces. No matter how much couples once swore eternal love, when it comes to dividing assets, few remain dignified - most turn ugly.
I didn’t want to see Lucas’s ugly side, nor did I want him to see mine. So the best approach was: “Gracefully calculate what needs to be calculated first.”
I’m a selfish person. I don’t want years of hard work to benefit someone else.
The next day, I did two things.
First: “I went to a law firm and hired a lawyer to advise me on the next steps.”
“The lawyer approved of my actions from the night before. Don’t confront him yet, prepare everything before showing your hand. You want to catch him off guard.”
He was slightly concerned about the lipstick: “You were a bit impulsive. With your husband’s intelligence, he’ll quickly suspect you planted it.”
I replied, “He has no proof, and it’s not a shade I usually wear. Plus, he knows I have OCD.”
The lawyer told me to be careful not to give myself away, then suggested three steps plus one additional recommendation.
“Step one, gather evidence of his infidelity!”
“Step two, based on the evidence, apply to the court for asset preservation!”
“You don’t need to provide a comprehensive list of assets, just enough leads. Once you apply, the court can take measures to preserve the assets.”
“Step three, file for divorce, request dissolution of the marriage. The judge will decide how to divide marital property based on the evidence!”
Additional recommendation: “If Lucas bought any high-value items for his mistress during the marriage, like a house or car, that’s considered misappropriation of marital assets. We can legally reclaim those.”
The second thing: “I hired a private investigator to gather evidence of Lucas’s affair.”
This person, politely called a ‘private investigator’ but less politely a ‘paparazzo’, often helps dig up celebrity gossip too.
My requirements were:
“A, I want to know who the other woman is and how long it’s been going on!”
“B, Dating photos that prove their relationship, like kissing or entering a hotel!”
“C, I want to know if Lucas has given her any expensive gifts, like a house or car.”
The investigator agreed immediately, though his fee wasn’t cheap.
The private investigator’s efficiency put soap opera plotlines to shame. Those TV heroines who spend ages trying to catch the other woman should just hire a PI without hesitation.
Four days after I hired him, he had already identified the mistress.
Someone familiar.
Her name was Mia, a small-town girl who’d made it big.
During college, she interned at my practice in her senior year, then worked there for another six months after graduation. I even wrote her a recommendation letter for her next job…
Who would have thought? The farmer and the snake!
I almost laughed.
Two weeks ago, at an industry gathering, the person who clinked glasses with me and casually asked how I’d handle it if my husband cheated - that was her.
It was a subtle declaration of war.
I’m sure Lucas sensed her intentions too, which is why he never suspected me when I planted the lipstick in his pocket.
“When did they start?” I asked the investigator.
“Not sure yet, but they’ve been living together for 2 years. Here’s their address…”
I looked at the address on the note.
It was in a complex not far from the university, also close to Mia’s workplace. Convenient for both of them.
“Did they buy or rent?”
“Bought. It’s in Mia’s name.”
I didn’t need to ask who paid for it.
Mia had just a bachelor’s degree and less than 5 years of work experience. She wasn’t well-known in the field yet, with a monthly salary of just over $1,000.
In her hometown, being a college graduate was a big deal. The whole village would pitch in to help. Plus, she had a good-for-nothing brother who always needed support…
But that complex, even at prices from three years ago, would cost at least $200,000 for an 800 sq ft apartment!
I sighed.
Lucas was usually so stingy, refusing to buy me a $5,000 handbag. Who knew he’d easily shell out over $200,000 for his mistress’s apartment!
“Don’t be too heartbroken, sis!” the investigator said. “Men are all the same, thinking with their lower half.”
Though male himself, he had no qualms about criticizing his gender: “That woman isn’t as pretty as you. Your husband just got bored and wanted some excitement.”
I smiled faintly.
Lucas’s attraction to Mia was partly about ‘boredom and excitement’, but more about psychological needs.
They both grew up in small towns, fighting hard to make it in the big city. There was a sense of shared destiny. Lucas saw a bit of himself in Mia.
Lucas and I came from very different backgrounds. As he once said, he struggled for 20 years just to have the chance to drink coffee with me at Starbucks.
Between us, even though he now held a high social status, there was still an underlying inferiority complex. Whenever we went to upscale places, he’d unconsciously show timidity, observing others first.
But with Mia, given his absolute advantage in economic and social status, he must feel more relaxed and get a bigger ego boost.
Plus, in their hometown, there’s a backward view that a man’s success isn’t just about how much he earns or achieves, but also how many women he can get.
We discussed this topic when we were in college, and Lucas vehemently criticized it.
Unfortunately, ideas ingrained over years aren’t easily erased by having the right values.
As for Mia, I won’t speculate whether her feelings for Lucas were genuine.
In the adult world, it’s often just about mutual benefit.
When Mia interned with me, she repeatedly expressed envy for my background, career, and marriage.
So from my perspective, being with Lucas gave her material support. Emotionally, she probably felt she had finally surpassed me.
“Sis, here are their photos. This is all I’ve got so far,” the investigator handed me several pictures. “Do you want to go to court now, or wait a few more days?”
Looking at the photos of them coming and going together, I felt a mix of emotions.
Once upon a time promises couldn’t withstand the test of time.
“Sis, Christmas is coming up in a few days,” the investigator said, carefully gauging my expression. “Do you want to think it over?”
“In my line of work, I’ve seen a lot of dirty business. To be honest, I’ve never met a man who hasn’t strayed at least once,” the investigator said.
For a moment, I wavered, but finally just said, “Keep a close eye on them for me.”
Christmas soon arrived.
As usual, Lucas showed up at my practice with a huge bouquet of red roses.
As usual, the young staff at the office teased us, casting envious glances, posting in the work chat about being ‘fed dog food’…
I left work early, browsed the mall for a while, bought a handbag, then we had Western food.
I actually cherished the whole process, knowing it might be our last holiday together. But unexpectedly, before we finished dinner, Lucas got a call saying he had to leave.
He said his colleague had a fight with his girlfriend, then got into a physical altercation with her ex-boyfriend. Now they were at the hospital, with police taking statements, and he had to go check on them.
I knew most of Lucas’s close colleagues who might call him for something like this.
I picked up my coat and said “I’ll come too,” but Lucas stopped me. He told me to enjoy my meal, saying the person involved didn’t want too many people knowing about it. He promised to call me after playing peacemaker.
I understood immediately, reminded of those palace dramas on TV: “Those so-called favored concubines always like to flaunt their status in front of the empress. They never know how they end up dead.”
“Alright, you go then,” I said, sitting back down. “I’ll finish dinner and head to a bar for a bit.”
Lucas smiled at me, leaned down to cup my face, and touched his forehead to mine.
His tone was as doting as ever: “Don’t flirt with any young studs.”
I made a sound of agreement and played along, teasing, “You never know! If you’re jealous, come back early.”
Lucas pinched my nose, then turned and left.
Watching his retreating back, I called the private investigator: “Where are you? Lucas just left.”
The investigator said he was following Mia, then gave me an address.
From where we were eating to where Mia was, even with Christmas traffic, it should take about 40 minutes by car. But an hour passed.
The investigator messaged me that Lucas still hadn’t arrived.
I almost thought Lucas had a fourth woman, or that there really was a colleague in the hospital. But 20 minutes later, the investigator said Lucas had arrived…
That night, I met some friends at a bar. Surrounded by the noisy crowd, my mind was filled with images of those two in bed.
At midnight, I returned home. Lucas wasn’t back yet.
I walked into the study to turn on the computer. Before I even touched it, I knew why Lucas had taken twice as long to reach Mia after leaving the restaurant.
He’d come home first. Someone had used my computer.
Everyone has their own computer habits. My left and right eyes have different degrees of nearsightedness, and my right eye has astigmatism. So I keep the computer on the desk at a slight angle.
Lucas knew this house too well, so well that he forgot to pay attention to these details.
The computer usage history had been cleared.
Apart from some cutting-edge academic materials, the most important thing on my computer was the paper I was currently writing, which Mia could directly use.
Once published in an academic journal, the paper would be ranked within the industry.
I didn’t want to assume the worst intentions of Lucas and Mia, but I had to prepare for the worst-case scenario.
Although I had only recently started writing that paper, I had been preparing for it for three full years, analyzing thousands of cases and investing a huge amount of time and energy.
“Stealing my academic work is even more despicable than stealing my man!”