Deep into the night, the man beside me breathed deeply and evenly, sound asleep.

Yet, I tossed and turned, unable to find rest.

Just moments ago, Arthur Ford's phone suddenly lit up, revealing a message from Lyla Jennings on the screen.

Before this, out of trust for my partner, I had never looked through Arthur's phone, but this time, as if possessed, I opened the message.

A provocative image confronted me, shaking my core beliefs—Lyla, in a skimpy lace camisole, shyly nestled in Arthur's arms.

[I miss you already, even though you just left.]

My heart plummeted to the depths of disbelief as I stared at the man sleeping beside me.

Lyla was Arthur's secretary, having joined his company six months ago.

She always spoke in a gentle, endearing manner and was very likable, and Arthur had never given her more than a glance, maintaining a professional distance with subordinates.

Unbeknownst to me, behind the scenes, they had gotten together.

Turning over, I dimmed the phone to its lowest brightness and swiftly scrolled through their conversation history.

The more I read, the more shocked and chilled I became, covering my mouth to stifle any sobs.

Each unabashedly intimate message felt like a slap across my face, burning with betrayal.

Now I finally knew where Arthur was working late on all those nights.

Upscale restaurants, hotels, even Lyla's small but cozy apartment...

They discussed where to meet without any reservations, all while I was in the dark.

In the photos, they were tightly nestled together, as if they were the closest people in the world.

Perhaps he was sure I wouldn't go through his phone, so the chat history of the past six months was laid out before me in its entirety.

Lyla's approach gradually shifted from tentative to provocative, and Arthur, who had initially been hesitant, began to respond. It was hard to believe that this was the same self-disciplined Arthur I knew.

A wave of nausea surged in my stomach.

The images on the screen were so piercing I had to squint, relentlessly scrolling until I stopped at the very first photo Lyla sent.

It was from two months ago, a shot taken from above at 11 PM, showing her flushed from drinking, revealing her pale skin and delicate collarbones.

[Do I look good?] She had asked.

It took Arthur three minutes to reply. I didn't know what he thought about during those minutes, but it no longer mattered.

Because his reply was simple: [Beautiful.]

It was my birthday that day. At eleven o'clock, he had just finished working overtime and came back to blow out the birthday candles with me.

When I finished making a wish and looked up, I saw Arthur staring at his phone for a long time.

When I asked him about it, he suddenly turned his head and quickly typed a few words, saying that something had come up at work.

So, there was no overtime.

I could almost see Lyla's satisfied smirk.

It was utterly disgusting.

My hand, clutching the phone, trembled with betrayal and anger, a surge of emotion so strong I could tear them apart.

Arthur and I had been together for seven years since we were twenty and married for three, and this year marked our tenth anniversary.

In ten years of love, our passion rarely faded. Arthur's thoughtfulness and care made me never doubt his sense of responsibility and loyalty.

But now, these chat records were a harsh slap in the face.

Arthur, how could you do this to me?

...

When I loved, I loved deeply, but I tolerated no betrayal.

So, the next day, when Arthur used his old excuse of needing to work late, I simply told him in a calm voice to come home and sign the divorce papers.

A chaos of sounds came through the phone, including a woman's gasp.

Within half an hour, the black Maybach pulled up downstairs, and he hurried up to our apartment.

The living room was filled with my packed suitcases.

I sat on the sofa, a printed divorce agreement on the coffee table in front of me, already signed with my name.

Arthur steadied himself and walked over to me. His voice strained as he tried to suppress his panic.

"Avery, what's going on? What is this all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden?"

I gave him an ugly smile. "Arthur, stop pretending. You can't play with fire and not get burned.

"I've seen everything."

His body shook, and his facade quickly crumbled.

"Avery, please let me explain."

Arthur lunged forward, grabbing my hand, the composure he always maintained now gone.

I calmly withdrew my hand, wiping the spot he touched, and curled my lips into a smirk.

"Alright, go ahead and explain."

How would he explain? I watched the bewildered Arthur with amusement, finding the situation absurd.

"With photos and chat records available, what kind of ridiculous story are you going to make up? Sleepwalking? Split personality?"

"I, I..." he bent over in agony, clutching his head. "I didn't intend for it to start like this...

"I genuinely love you, and I do love you. It's just... it's just..."

"You just took the wrong path for a moment and got momentarily bewitched, right?"

"Yes, yes, it's my fault. I did something wrong, and I'm sorry. Avery, can you forgive me?"

His eyes were red as he clutched my arms, choking up.

"Avery, I love you."

I found it amusing, so I couldn't help but laugh.

"Avery?"

"Arthur, that's enough," I said, pushing him away, my eyes filled with disappointment.

"I love you too, but did I cheat?

"Did I sleep with my assistant? Did I spend the night out and share a bed with someone else? Did I get tangled up in a flirtation with another person?

"Was I lost in someone else's photos on your birthday?"

With each accusation, his face grew paler.

He could only clutch at the hem of my shirt, looking at me with pleading eyes.

I picked up the divorce papers and thrust them into his arms, my voice cold.

"Sign it, Mr. Ford."

Just like when we got married, I called him Mr. Ford.

But if that time was about joy, this time, it was about endings.

Divorce requires a cooling-off period, during which I couldn't bear the sight of Arthur's face any longer.

So, I boarded a plane to Mayby, and upon landing, I immediately bought a fully furnished house.

As a moderately successful novelist, I'd earned a decent amount from selling the film rights to my books, and Arthur had always been generous with me. I had accumulated a considerable amount of assets.

My phone kept buzzing with notifications. I didn't need to look to know it was Arthur.

He was begging me not to leave, not to divorce him, to love him.

Bullshit.

He should have known better.

The bar was bustling with people coming and going. I drowned my sorrows in several bottles of beer and stumbled out into the back alley, feeling dizzy.

The moon was bright tonight, hanging high in the night sky, casting a beautiful, silvery light. I sat in the alley, staring at the moon, lost in thought.

Someone passed by in the alley saw me, and walked over with ill intentions, grabbing my arm.

"Hey lady, wanna come with me?"

I didn't move, but he wouldn't give up.

"Come on, let's go. I promise you'll have a good time."

"Get lost."

I spat out the word, and just as he was about to get physical, a tall, muscular figure loomed over him from behind. A deep, rich voice echoed through the night alley, filled with impatience.

"She said get lost, didn't you hear?"

"Who the hell are you... Ouch!"

The man screamed as his arm was twisted back and tossed onto the ground as if he were merely a piece of paper.

The other man approached and steadied me.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Where do you live? Do you need me to take you home?"

As he moved closer, the light revealed his face clearly for the first time.

With bronze skin, sharp and rugged features, a high nose bridge, muscular arms, a broad chest, and a lean waist, he exuded pure masculinity.

Perhaps noticing my silence, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he asked again.

"Where do you live?"

"Oh... I live in..."

Overwhelmed by the alcohol, I slumped into his arms, flashes of those explicit photos, heartfelt chats, and Arthur's regretful, tearful face crossing my mind.

My brain momentarily froze, and I impulsively grabbed the man's collar and tiptoed to press my lips against his.

It was soft and relaxed, with a hint of alcohol.

He abruptly pulled away, frowning.

"What are you doing?"

I smiled coyly at him, smacking my lips and gently tracing his jawline with my finger.

"I got dumped today. Keep me company.

"Just for one night."

The man was silent for a moment, then let out a sigh. "You're drunk."

"Not too bad. I still recognize who you are."

"And who am I?"

"A stranger."

I laughed uncontrollably, and my waist suddenly pulled into his embrace.

"My name's Emmett Brooks."

"Oh..."

"And you?"

"Avery Hamilton."

"Avery, are you serious?"

I looked up into his deep brown eyes and smiled.

"Of course."

After that, I found myself at his place.

My phone kept ringing; I knew all too well who it would be.

Half-drunk and dazed, I was lost in the night, unable to discern my feelings.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that I finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

As dawn broke, I awoke from my drunken slumber, dizzy and disoriented.

The man beside me was sleeping soundly, his arm draped over my waist, his breathing slow and steady.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as the memories of the previous night flooded back.

Damn.

Drinking never did any good.

Rubbing my forehead, I quietly shifted his hand off my waist and cautiously got out of bed.

Just as my toes touched the floor, an arm suddenly stretched out from behind, pulling me back.

"Hit and run? Aren't you going to take responsibility?"

A raspy voice whispered in my ear.

I shrank back, letting out a couple of awkward chuckles.

"It's just a fling. I don't have to be responsible for anything... right?"

The man fell silent for a moment, his arm tightening.

"Oh, but I intend to take responsibility."

I remained silent.

"Avery."

"Yes?" I felt a chill up my spine at the sudden mention of my name.

His hand caressed my waist, pressing gently at my side, ticklish yet soothing.

"Have you forgotten my name?"

"Well..."

I quickly searched through the remnants of my memory, finding a blank where his name should be.

The man sighed, "Emmett."

I nodded, attempting to walk away, but he held me tight in his arms, immobilizing me.

It was not good.

"Also, I'm 31 this year."

"Yeah?"

"I'm older than you, young lady."

Well...

What a stickler for details.

"But I'm married." I admitted.

His hand froze mid-rub on his waist.

"You mean you had dumped?"

"Yeah, I got divorced, but I'm still in the cooling-off period, so..."

"Damn!"

Emmett cursed under his breath, releasing me instantly. He turned around and burrowed under the covers, rustling as he put on his clothes.

Feeling a little embarrassed, I tidied myself up and walked towards the door, but he stopped me.

"It's far from here. Where do you live? I'll take you home."

"No need, I can call a cab."

He got up and opened the door, heading straight for the kitchen.

"Have some food before you go, I'll drive you."

In the car, it was awkwardly indescribable.

I broke the silence first, apologizing.

Emmett's expression twisted for a moment.

"Don't talk," he said. "Don't remind me of being the other man all night."

I fell silent, turning to look out the window.

"It's not really that, anyway. The divorce is inevitable. Our marriage is already broken, just missing the paperwork.

"If he can do it, why can't I?"

Perhaps it was drizzling today. Raindrops streaked the car window, much like my current mood.

Emmett glanced at me, his grim expression softening a bit.

"Did he cheat?"

"Yes, with his secretary, for three months, no, maybe even longer. Do you know how I found out?"

"How?"

"His chat history! He didn't even bother to delete it. He knew I trusted him and wouldn't check his phone, so he took advantage of my trust and flirted with his secretary right under my nose. How ridiculous is that?"

"That's pretty low of him."

"Ten years together, seven years of dating, three years of marriage, and he cheats on me, then comes back and says he loves me. Isn't it hilarious?"

I leaned my head against the car window, looking out at the foggy weather.

"Why are men like this? Both the cheaters and the mistresses are disgusting."

"It sounds like you're scolding me too."

Emmett's expression faltered slightly, and I offered him an apologetic smile.

The car stopped at the entrance of the apartment complex, and Emmett handed me an umbrella.

"Return it next time."

"Thank you."

I walked into the complex with the umbrella.

Only after I entered, my home did the Range Rover downstairs slowly drive away.

I unlocked my phone, and dozens of messages popped up instantly.

Mostly, it was just Arthur talking to himself.

[Avery, I can't be without you! Please don’t leave me.]

[I've made it clear to Lyla that I won’t see her anymore. Can you come back to me?]

[Don't divorce me, okay? I know I was wrong.]

I dried my freshly washed hair and opened my Instagram.

The news of my impending divorce from Arthur was no secret and had spread far and wide. Lyla was already impatient.

She usually only posted some lovey-dovey quotes, but now she had posted several updates of her alone time with Arthur, all of which were quite suggestive.

There were even some suggestive messages like: [The old can't compare to the new, be someone who brings a fresh feeling.]

I chuckled and took screenshots to send to Arthur.

[This is your idea of setting boundaries? Having dinner across the table from Lyla?]

Lyla must have sent them to me on purpose, blocking him from seeing them.

After sending them, the usually chatty Arthur suddenly fell silent.

I didn't bother with him anymore. After exiting the chat, I suddenly noticed a new addition on my screen.

The nickname was a simple character, "E", with a solid black profile picture.

A tall, astonishing figure suddenly sprang to mind, and I tentatively sent a message.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah."

His reply came almost instantly as if he had been waiting for me to message.

I quickly banished the thought from my mind. It couldn't be possible after just one night of knowing each other.

[When did you have my number?]

[Last night. You complimented me and insisted on adding my contact information.]

[Sorry, I had too much to drink.]

[I entirely agree with you.]

I blinked, unsure what he meant by agreeing, and scrolled down to transfer him five thousand dollars.

Emmett: [What?]

Me: [It's a reward.]

Emmett: [What?]

Emmett: [I feel like I've been swept into some kind of shady job.]

[I never said that.]

I smirked, suddenly feeling much lighter in spirit.