My Secret Husband Cheated,So I Ruined His Empire

I came to the bar to drag my truant brother home.

I kicked open the private room door.

And met the gaze of Aiden Stephens—the so-called "saint" of the Capital City elite.

The man known for his cold, celibate composure had a soft-spoken girl wrapped in his arms.

When I burst in, his eyes flashed with venom. He grabbed a glass and hurled it at my feet.

"What blind stray wandered in here? Get out!"

My brother went white as a sheet, dropping to his knees, kowtowing frantically, yanking at my sleeve to flee.

But I stood rooted to the spot, eyes burning, unable to move a single step.

Because I was Aiden Stephens' wife of three years—a marriage no one knew existed.

And ten minutes ago, he'd sent me a message, coaxing and sweet, saying he was overseas on business. That he missed me.

——

The roar still rang in my ears as a heavy whiskey tumbler exploded at my feet.

Glass shards sprayed outward. One sliced across my ankle. Blood bloomed instantly, seeping through my stocking.

Aiden didn't even glance down. His long fingers were busy toying with that girl's hair, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

He dipped his head to murmur something to her, and I saw an expression I'd never seen on his face before—tender, indulgent, almost worshipful.

"Don't be scared. Just a stray dog."

Stray dog.

I stood frozen in the doorway. My fingertips went numb.

Ten minutes ago—just ten minutes—this man, the one Capital City's elite reverently called their "saint," had sent me a photo of snow falling in Zurich.

"Wifey, the snow here is so heavy. I miss you."

So the snow in Zurich was actually falling in Capital City's playground of flesh and sin.

So when he said he missed me, he meant from another woman's arms.

Behind me, my brother looked like his soul had left his body. He'd only skipped school. He never expected to cross paths with this particular devil.

"Sis... sis, we need to go—"

Glen Baxter's voice shook so badly the words barely came out. He grabbed a fistful of my jacket, trying to drag me out of this hell.

"Mr. Stephens told us to get out—let's go!"

He dropped to his knees with a thud, forehead slamming against the floor in Aiden's direction. "Please, Mr. Stephens! My sister didn't mean it! We're leaving right now!"

The room erupted in laughter.

The young lords of the Capital City elite watched us like we were circus animals. One of them let out a low whistle.

"Hey, Aiden—this one's dressed like a peasant, but the face isn't bad. Why not keep her for a drink?"

Finally, Aiden deigned to lift his head.

Those eyes—the ones that always seemed half-lidded, serene, almost merciful—were now cold enough to freeze blood.

His gaze landed on my face.

One second.

Just one second.

No panic. No guilt. Not even a flicker of the embarrassment a man should feel when caught red-handed.

Only pure, undisguised contempt.

"Disgusting."

The word slipped from his thin lips like something foul he needed to spit out.

Then he lowered his head again and pressed his mouth to that girl's lips. His hand slid beneath the hem of her blouse without a shred of shame.

"Get out. Don't make me say it a third time."

Glen looked ready to wet himself. He half-carried, half-dragged me out of the room.

The moment the door swung shut behind us, I heard her voice—sugary, simpering: "Mr. Stephens, you're so bad..."

The corridor was frigid. Cold air knifed down my collar.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, numb, mechanical.

A message from Aiden: [Baby, why aren't you answering? Did you fall asleep?]

I stared at the screen. My stomach heaved.

I opened the chat. My fingers trembled as I typed.

[Not asleep.]

[Just saw a dog eating its own shit.]

I hit send and powered off my phone.

Glen dragged me all the way out of the bar. Only when we were standing on the street did he finally dare to breathe.