Half a month ago, I found out my husband, Vincent, was cheating on me.

I accidentally discovered an encrypted burner phone hidden in a secret compartment of his armored SUV.

Inside were dozens of explicit photos and countless graphic, flirtatious texts.

The other person was his hot chief secretary, Chloe.

The fairy tale was shattered by reality.

I looked at the positive pregnancy test in my hand and calmly threw it into the trash can.

I put the phone back exactly as I found it. That very day, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke.

I opened my phone and replied to an email:[Professor, I officially accept the invitation to the Zurich Institute.]

This time, I won't look back.

Today is my birthday dinner.

Vincent booked out the entire top-floor dome restaurant, the most luxurious spot in Manhattan.

Under the gaze of all our guests, he lavishly bought a private Caribbean island worth hundreds of millions at an auction, presenting the deed and a tiara studded with hundreds of crushed diamonds right in front of me.

The surrounding tycoons, socialites, and mafia higher-ups were all filled with envy.

"Mia, you're truly the luckiest woman in New York. The Don would even give his life for you, let alone these material things."

"Our Mia is beautiful and incredibly resourceful. She and the Don are a match made in heaven!"

A match made in heaven?

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. If I hadn't found that phone, I would have thought so too.

Growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, used to gang shootouts and betrayals, I never trusted men's words, much less believed there could be true love in the Mafia.

Even with countless suited young mobsters courting me, I never wavered.

Until I met Vincent.

Unlike the roughness and explosive tempers of other mobsters, Vincent's love was like a gentle, deadly web.

He knew I severely lacked a sense of security, so he took the initiative to bring me into his inner circle.

He introduced me to all his trusted men, and even handed over the reins to some of the Family's legitimate businesses for me to manage.

He understood my pride, never interfered with my work, and would even wash the stench of blood off his hands after a shootout to personally cook me a steaming plate of spaghetti.

But I wasn't hooked so easily.

What truly made me fall for him, though, was that time in Sicily.

We were ambushed by a rival Family, trapped inside a leaking bulletproof car. Outside was a relentless hail of bullets.

Vincent had already lost a lot of blood, but he forcibly shielded me under his body, using his back to block the shrapnel from the explosion.

We were trapped in the rubble for twenty-four hours.

He saved the last sip of fresh water for me, leaning close to my ear and whispering, "Mia, as long as I have a breath left, the Grim Reaper won't take you away."

How could that not be deep love?

At that moment, I fell for him completely.

On our wedding day, I grabbed his suit tie and seriously warned him, "Vincent, you know my bottom line. If you betray me, I will never look back."

Vincent kissed the back of my hand and swore to the Virgin Mary, "That day will absolutely never come."

Yet, half a month ago, I accidentally discovered an encrypted burner phone hidden in a secret compartment of his armored SUV.

Inside were dozens of explicit photos and countless graphic, flirtatious texts.

The other person was his hot chief secretary, Chloe.

The fairy tale was shattered by reality.

I put the phone back exactly as I found it. That very day, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke.

My personality is just like my marksmanship: I mean what I say, one shot, one kill.

I will never look back.

Vincent handed me a slice of my favorite Black Forest cake.

He had just finished schmoozing with business partners and still carried the faint scent of cigars.

He gently wrapped his arm around my waist, his movements careful, as if I were some fragile porcelain.

Envious whispers started up around us again. I didn't say a word, just looked at him coldly.

"What's wrong? You don't look so good."

Sitting on the banquet sofa, he gently planted a kiss behind my ear and said with tender concern, "Have the Family affairs been too much lately, making you feel neglected?"

"I'll cancel all my meetings tomorrow and stay home to properly keep you company."

Keep me company?

I sneered inwardly, leaning against his chest completely expressionless.

"No need. Go handle the Family's business. Don't worry about me."

Watching Vincent walk away, I made a silent decision.

In one week, I will be gone.

Since you didn't cherish what you had, then get ready to taste the absolute agony of losing it.

Seeing Vincent protectively hovering over me the whole time, even personally handing me my food, the mob wives all gathered around to gossip.

"Mia, you have no idea. The Don is notoriously cold-blooded to everyone else. Anyone who screws up gets dumped straight into the Hudson River, but to you, he's incredibly tender!"

"I heard the Don even let you handle the dividends from a few of his casinos. When will my deadbeat husband have even half the Don's sense!"

Everyone playfully showered me with compliments.

Just then, a fake, cold scoff came from the edge of the crowd.

"Isn't that just what a man is supposed to do?"

Everyone turned around. The one speaking was a slender woman wearing a plunging burgundy gown.

She fiddled with her fresh manicure, her face full of disdain.

I glanced up. Someone next to me whispered, "That's Chloe, the Don's chief secretary. She usually relies on some connections within the mob to act arrogant. Even some of the capos don't dare mess with her."

"Who knows what kind of big-shot boyfriend she's seeing. He treats her like royalty, spoiling her with different luxury gifts every single day."

Of course I knew who that big shot was, because intimate photos of her and Vincent filled the burner phone's gallery, each one stinging my eyes.

I ignored the idle gossip.

My gaze was locked dead onto the pink diamond necklace hanging around Chloe's neck.

The diamond was exquisitely cut, dazzling under the lights.

I recognized it.

This was the "Heart of True Love," won by a mystery buyer for an astronomical price at an underground black market auction last month.

At the time, Vincent hugged me from behind and personally promised that the necklace was being resized by a craftsman and would be my most perfect birthday gift this year.

But now, this necklace representing "true love" was blatantly hanging around his mistress's neck.

The other women obviously noticed the necklace too, and they all gasped in unison.

"My God, Chloe, who exactly is this boyfriend of yours? That necklace costs a fortune!"

Chloe tilted her chin up, looking at me with a haughty expression: "My boyfriend said I'm his one true love in this life. As long as it's something I want, he'd even give me his life."

My hand gripped my wine glass in a death choke, my nails practically digging into my palm.

The others didn't know, but I knew all too well.

Chloe hadn't just stolen Vincent's body; she had even taken the promises and sweet nothings he once gave to me.

Lucas, the Family's consigliere and Vincent's top strategist, was walking over with a glass in hand.

I thought he was going to greet me, but to my surprise, he walked over to Chloe and gave her a warm hug.

"Chloe, darling, I heard the shipment volume at Brooklyn's Pier 3 doubled recently, all thanks to your restructuring of the logistics chain. The Don certainly has a good eye for people. Your operational skills are right up there with the old capos."

Chloe smiled coyly, her gaze cutting through the crowd and sweeping toward me with a hint of provocation. "Oh, please, the Don is just a great teacher. He said the old protocols were too rigid, so he gave me full authority to improve them. Even I didn't expect those old dockworkers to listen to me so well."

My heart felt like it had been violently smashed by a sledgehammer.

Brooklyn's Pier 3 was the "heartland" I had spent two whole years cleaning up after taking over the Family's legal affairs.

From greasing the palms at customs to sorting the cargo, I built every single process with my own two hands.

Vincent once said that it was his gift to me, something to help me secure my footing within the Family.

But now, behind my back, he had effortlessly handed over my territory, my achievements, and even the authority I had worked so hard to establish, straight to his secretary.

The man who once said we would stand side by side through life and death had turned around and hung the spoils of war around another woman's neck, giving away my hard work as if it were nothing.

Reality was like a resounding slap right across my face.

I forced a stiff smile and dropped a cold remark: "Very well."

At least, it's time for me to wake up from this dream.

Back home after the dinner party, Vincent saw I wasn't looking well and personally cooked me a steak.

But I didn't take a single bite.

Everything that had happened lingered in my mind like an endless nightmare.

Watching Vincent's back as he busied himself in the kitchen, I really wanted to rush up and demand an answer: How exactly do you split a heart in two?

On one hand, risking his life to protect me during a shootout; on the other hand, giving all his indulgence and favoritism to Chloe.

But the words reached the tip of my tongue, and I swallowed them back down.

I became increasingly silent.

Vincent noticed my unusual demeanor. He wiped his hands and walked over. "Baby, what's wrong? Is the steak not to your liking?"

Just as I was about to speak, his encrypted burner phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen and hung up without hesitation.

But the caller was relentless and immediately dialed again.

Leaning against the counter, my tone was completely flat. "Answer it. What if it's an emergency with the Family?"

Vincent finally walked out to the balcony to pick it up.

A few minutes later, he came back, his face full of apology. "Mia, I'm sorry. There's been a hiccup with the smuggling route at the Brooklyn pier. I have to go handle it personally."

I nodded, not stopping him.

Once the roar of his sports car faded away, I picked up my phone.

A message popped up from an informant I had planted:

[The Don didn't go to the pier. His car is parked at a high-rise apartment in Manhattan.]

I let out a self-deprecating laugh, grabbed my keys, and drove my Porsche, following the GPS tracker I'd planted on his car.

The car weaved through downtown and finally stopped beneath a highly discreet luxury apartment building in Manhattan.

I rolled down my window and instantly spotted Chloe in the garage.

She hadn't even changed out of her evening gown and was currently leaning into Vincent's embrace, acting all coy.

Vincent killed the engine, pulled her into his arms, and the two began kissing passionately, unable to wait.

They completely failed to notice that I was sitting in the shadows barely thirty feet away, quietly watching it all unfold.

My heart ached as if it had been pierced by a bullet.

I wanted to cry, but my throat felt sealed with concrete. All I could let out was a faint, cold sneer.

I had overestimated myself.

I thought I had already accepted the fact that he was cheating, but seeing him satisfy his urges on another woman with my own eyes still made me utterly sick to my stomach.

Why?

He clearly told me back then: "My father was a piece of shit who cheated and abandoned his wife and child. I will never be the kind of trash who can't keep it in his pants."

When he saw other mob bosses fooling around, he explicitly cursed them as animals in heat.

And now?

The sound of clothing rubbing together echoed in the garage.

Chloe panted and whined, "Daddy, you ignored me all day, just focusing on keeping up appearances for that boring wife of yours."

Vincent's voice was low and husky, "Be good, I'll feed you right now."

Pushing her luck, Chloe asked, "Say, if Mia knew we were doing this in her favorite garage right now... how mad do you think she'd be?"

Vincent's movements paused, and his voice instantly filled with a violent warning: "I'm warning you to know your place, or don't blame me for getting nasty."