The ninth time I walked in on Andy Lowe in bed with another woman.

I didn’t lose control, and I didn’t question him.

I casually tossed a piece of clothing at the girl and said calmly, “Leave through the back garden door.”

She froze for a moment, glanced at me nervously, then grabbed the clothes and fled.

Andy leaned back against the headboard, looking relaxed, and slowly lit a cigarette.

“It’s her first time here,” he said as if it were only natural. “Don’t scare her.”

“She’s very innocent, unlike you. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

He paused, then added, “It’s her birthday today. I won’t be coming back tonight.”

I nodded and said nothing more.

As I turned around, I smiled.

He seemed not to know that the “innocent” girl had AIDS.

The bed was in complete disarray, used condoms scattered across the floor, the air still heavy with the remnants of intimacy.

I didn’t look at Andy Lowe. I put on a mask and pushed the window open.

He lounged against the bed, exhaling smoke, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Why are you keeping quiet today? Not gonna make some noise about divorce anymore?”

I felt his gaze settle on my back. My fingers paused on the window frame for a beat before I pushed it all the way open.

“I’ve thought it through.”

He snorted, laughing under his breath.

“About time.”

He got out of bed at an unhurried pace and started getting dressed.

“In families like ours, marriage doesn’t mean much anyway. It’s always been everyone doing their own thing. You accepting it makes things easier for everyone.”

I turned around.

Four years into the marriage, he was still handsome, that careless, nothing-ever-matters air about him remaining fatally attractive to young women.

“Tonight?” I asked.

“I won’t be back.”

He fastened his belt and glanced at me. “What—today’s some big day?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He shrugged, casually picking up the watch from the bedside and putting it on.

It was the birthday gift I’d given him last year, a luxury custom piece that took six months to make, one of a kind in the world.

At the door, he suddenly stopped, as if remembering something.

“We’re out of condoms at home. Remember to restock.”

“Okay.”

I stood by the window, watching his car cut across the garden.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Come in and take care of it.”

Five minutes later, three cleaners in full protective gear entered the room.

They moved with practiced efficiency, sealing each item from the floor one by one, disinfecting every inch of the room with high-strength solution, stripping all the bedding and sealing it away.

The middle-aged woman leading the team nodded at me. “Miss Scott, everything has been handled according to the highest standards. Please rest assured.”

“Good. I trust your work. This bedroom needs to be thorough. I want zero risk of infection after the cleanup.”

“Understood.”

I left the room and closed the door.

The hallway lighting was soft, the dark floors reflecting a faint sheen, my wedding photos hanging along the wall.

In the picture, I was smiling brightly.

Andy was holding me, his expression gentle and attentive.

Back then, we had truly been husband and wife.

Now, beneath the photo, there were traces left by a stranger’s lipstick.

Those people were also the reason I lost two children, and any chance of ever conceiving again.

Downstairs, a cake box sat on the coffee table.

I took out the candles and lit them.

Andy remembered that girl’s birthday.

But he had forgotten that today was also my birthday and our fifth wedding anniversary.

The flames flickered. I watched them for a long time, then blew them out.

Yes. I had thought it through.

What was divorce, anyway?

I wanted his inheritance—his money, power, and reputation. I wanted it all.

For the next several days, Andy didn’t come home.

Instead, that girl sent me messages and videos on schedule every day.

[Andy said I’m the woman he wants to be with.]

[He said he got sick of you a long time ago.]

[He’s not coming back again tonight. Are you lonely by yourself, Ellen? Feeling empty?]

I didn’t reply. I took my medication on time, rested, and went to a private hospital for checkups.

I only had my assistant categorize and archive every screenshot.

On the sixth day, Andy called me.

I had just finished a round of tests at the hospital and was waiting for the results.

Over the phone, his voice was hoarse with the aftermath of indulgence.

“Ellen, someone snapped photos of me with Janet Lane. Come to the company tomorrow and hold a press briefing to help clear things up for her.”

I was silent for two seconds.

“Clear up what?”

“Say it was a misunderstanding. She’s just a student I sponsor. There’s nothing between us,” he paused. “She’s young. She can’t handle the scrutiny.”

“Alright.”

I lowered my head as I agreed, the needle mark on my arm just being covered with a bandage.

He clearly let out a breath of relief.

“You really are sensible. Should I come back tonight and keep you company? It’s been a while since we…”

I cut him off. “I’m on my period.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Then forget it. Get some rest and don’t overthink it.”

After hanging up, I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

I just found him filthy, yet he thought I was saving myself for him.

The interview the next day was arranged in a conference room at the group’s headquarters.

The room was full of reporters, cameras popping nonstop, all lenses locked onto us, the so-called couple putting on a show.

I looped my arm through his, my makeup immaculate, my expression gentle.

When the scandalous rumors were brought up, he instinctively looked at me.

“It really was a misunderstanding,” I smiled.

“Miss Lane hasn’t been in great health. My husband merely looked after her a few times. I hope everyone won’t read too much into it.”

A reporter pressed on. “Mrs. Lowe, do you believe him?”

I turned my head toward him, my gaze warm and trusting.

“Of course I believe him.”

At that moment, his hand at my waist tightened noticeably.

Before the interview ended, his phone lit up.

His expression changed dramatically.

He stood up at once, microphone in hand. “Sorry, there’s an emergency.”

With that, he walked straight out.

Someone in the audience called after him, “Mr. Lowe, are you rushing off because Miss Lane has been hospitalized?”

His steps paused for a brief moment.

I remained seated alone under the flashing lights, finishing the act on his behalf.

After the crowd dispersed, my assistant asked me quietly, “Ma’am, are you alright?”

I stood up with a smile and smoothed the creases in my clothes.

“I’m fine.”

And I truly was.

Because I knew he was personally handing everything he had over to me.

That night, he sent me a message.

[She’s burning up badly. I’m at the hospital. Go to sleep first.]

I replied with a single word.

[Okay.]

After a moment’s thought, I added another line.

[I have some family matters to take care of and need to be away for a while. I’ll be back in a month.]

[Do you want me to go with you?]

[No need. I’ll handle it myself.]

[Alright.]

I put my phone down and continued reading the test report that had just been delivered.

It stated clearly:

The incubation period had ended. The condition was now infectious.

…

Early the next morning, I left the residence.

As I got into the car, I looked at the house I had lived in for five full years through the rearview mirror.

The lawn was trimmed to perfection, the entire garden bursting with flowers in full bloom.

He had specially commissioned them years ago from a private nursery on the West Coast, all because I had casually said they were “beautiful.”

Raised as the heir to a prominent East Coast family, he had always been accustomed to solving everything with money, yet he spent more than half a year with me, planting these flowers by hand, one patch at a time.

To achieve the best visual effect, he even revised the garden design more than a dozen times.

Because he said, “This is the place we’ll live in for the rest of our lives.”

A lifetime?

I looked away, leaned back against the seat, and slowly closed my eyes.

Now, the women he brought home came and went.

Only these roses were still tended by me alone.

I didn’t go back to my parents’ place.

Instead, I went straight to a private recovery center on the outskirts of the city.

The doctor was already waiting.

“Miss Scott, at the moment, there are no abnormalities. But to be cautious, over the next month, it’s best for you to avoid close contact with anyone,” he said, flipping through the test results.

“I know.” I nodded.

“As for Mr. Lowe…”

He paused and didn’t continue.

“Just keep observing,” I finished for him. “If there’s any change, inform me immediately.”

I moved into the quietest small building in the recovery center.

On the seventh night, Andy called me.

The background noise was chaotic.

“Where are you?”

His tone was a little impatient.

“At home.”

“Why haven’t you been replying to my messages?”

He coughed lightly. “I haven’t been feeling well these past couple of days. When are you coming back?”

“My mother was hospitalized,” I said softly. “I need to take care of her for a few days.”

He sounded displeased, holding his temper as he reminded me, “Alright. Take care of yourself.

“Oh, and Janet has already been discharged. She doesn’t really know anyone, and I wasn’t comfortable with her staying alone in a hotel, so I let her move into the house for now. She’s staying in your room. Don’t overthink it when you come back.”

I acknowledged him.

Of course I wouldn’t overthink it.

That bedroom was the space I had personally cleared out for them.

Another five days passed.

This time, it was his assistant calling.

Panic was evident in the voice on the other end.

“Ma’am, something has happened to Mr. Lowe.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

“He developed a fever last night. It hasn’t gone down at all. He was rushed to the ER this morning.

“The doctor says the situation is a bit complicated and recommends that a family member come as soon as possible.”

I was silent for two seconds. “Which hospital?”

The assistant gave me the address.

It was the same one Janet had stayed at before.

“I understand, I’ll head over.”

After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed.

The weather was too beautiful to suggest that anything bad was about to happen.

The doctor knocked and came in.

“Miss Scott.”

He looked at me and asked, “Are you going out?”

“Yes.” I stood up. “To see my husband.”

He seemed to want to say something, but in the end only reminded me, “Please make sure to protect yourself.”

I smiled and put my mask on properly.

“Don’t worry.”

I had always taken better care of myself than anyone else.

…

As the car entered the city, my phone lit up.

It was a message from Andy.

[Where are you now]

I stared at the words for a long time before replying.

[On the way]

[I don’t feel very well. The doctor is running some tests]

He was probably starting to feel uneasy.

In the past, whenever he was sick, I was always the one keeping watch by his bedside.

He had long grown used to the certainty that I would be there.

This time, all he could do was wait for my replies through a screen.

I didn’t respond.

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was sharp and heavy.

The assistant stood outside the ward, his expression grim.

“Ma’am.”

He lowered his voice, “The doctor has completed the initial assessment and recommends more specialized testing.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

When I pushed the door open, Andy was leaning against the headboard, an IV drip in his arm.

He was visibly thinner, his face pale.

The moment he saw me, he let out a breath, his features easing. “You’re here.”

In that instant, an instinctive reliance flickered in his eyes.

I walked over and sat by the bed. “Where does it hurt?”

“My whole body feels weak. My head hurts too,” he said casually. “The doctor thinks it might just be a cold.”

I straightened the blanket around him, my movements gentle.

“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “You’ll be fine.”

He suddenly reached out and caught my wrist.

“Ellen.”

His voice was a little hoarse. “You’ve worked hard.”

I lowered my gaze to his hand.

Those hands had held mine through crowds more times than I could count.

“We’re husband and wife,” I said.

Only then did he truly relax, slowly closing his eyes.

Not long after, the doctor motioned for me to step outside to talk.

Before handing me the report, he looked at me.

“Miss Scott, the results have been confirmed.”

I took the report, my eyes falling on the most critical line.

—Infection confirmed.

“Does he know yet?” I asked.

“Not for now,” the doctor said. “In situations like this, it’s usually recommended that a family member inform him.”

I nodded.

When I returned to the room, Andy was still asleep.

Sunlight fell across his face, quiet and harmless.

I sat by the bed and looked at him for a long time.

“Andy.”

He opened his eyes. “Mm?”

I looked at him, my tone still gentle.

“The doctor said you’re ill.”

He froze.

“What illness?”

I didn’t answer right away.

I simply placed the report slowly in front of him.