After My Ex Betrayed Me, I Put His Mistress in Jail

At my birthday party, we played the "Truth or Dare" game and the loser had to call a friend of the opposite sex and say, "I'm pregnant".

In front of me, Carrie Wood called the number marked "Husband". And the next second, my husband's phone rang.

A drunk friend started to egg him on. "Don't you two usually wear protection?"

My husband pressed decline and said half-jokingly, "If it really is mine, my wife'll have her aborted tomorrow!”

My gaze fell sharply on her lower abdomen. "There's no need to wait for tomorrow. I can make her miscarry right now.”

My husband paused for a second before sputtering, "Can't you tell that I'm just kidding?"

I smashed the bottle, held its neck tightly and sneered disdainfully. "Well, I'm not."

——

The crack of breaking glass froze everyone at the table. So much so that Mark Jefferson, my husband, failed to hear my last words.

And yet, it did not stop him from instinctively standing up and blocking my icy glare at Carrie.

"Honey, it's rare for us to get together to celebrate your birthday. What's this all about?"

“I'm giving you a chance to explain.”

Suddenly, Mark lost his temper and swept my birthday cake to the floor.  "Explain? It's just a game. There's nothing to explain!"

"You're so set to make a scene, aren’t you? Are you happy now?"

Normally, Mark could remain calm even in times of crisis. I only tested him casually and yet his reaction was strange.

Wasn't it the classic case of anger and humiliation caused by a guilty conscience?

It was true that the final ritual of a birthday party was that the birthday girl inevitably got smeared with birthday cake, but right now, the sticky mess on the top of my foot made me feel so disgusted.

Seeing me covered in cake, Carrie could not help but smile. She let out a cheer and called her friend to play with the cake, acting as if everything that just happened was truly nothing but a joke.

She was the first one who smeared the cream from the floor to my face. "Sis, it's just a name. I've been calling Mark "husband" for a long time. You're not really going to get jealous over one contact name, are you?”

She provocatively looped an arm around Mark’s neck and whispered affectionately, “Husband, say something!”

Mark smiled fondly and smeared cake on the tip of her nose. “Go change it now! Otherwise, my wife’s going to be angry over her silly jealousy!”

But Carrie was not having it. "Huh? Why? Your wife is always so generous. She's not a petty person like you make her out to be. Besides, having a "husband" in the contact helps me ward off so many creepy suitors—it's such a lifesaver!”

"As a woman, you must understand how much I hate being harassed by jerks, right?”

Mark shot me a glance and answered for me, “Fine, don't change it then. You've been calling me 'husband' for over a decade anyway.”

The two of them tacitly avoided talking about the pregnancy topic, linking my smashing the wine bottle to that nickname.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

David Coleman, the big-mouthed guy, had sobered a bit now. He slickly tried to placate me, "I was just talking nonsense after drinking too much. If you're still mad, take it out on me!”

I smiled and shook my head. “Why would I be mad at you?”

After all, I had to thank him for speaking his mind when drunk, making me notice the unusual dynamic between Mark and Carrie.

Seeing I wasn't upset, everyone instantly relaxed.

Carrie even recounted the past smugly, "Actually, the nickname was set over ten years ago. Back then, Mark kept forcing me to call him ‘husband’ and changed it himself.”

The next second, I raised my hand.

“Ah!”

A long gash appeared on her arm, sliced open by the sharp edge of a wine bottle.