During the holiday season, my husband had cleared his schedule, planning to take me on a vacation. Just as we were about to board the plane, he received unexpected news that his mother was unwell.

“Honey, I'm really sorry. My mom's unexpectedly not feeling well, and I need to check on her. I can't join you this time,” he said.

Although a bit disappointed, I understood the importance of his mother's health and agreed. After he left, I tore up my plane ticket. I wanted to see how my mother-in-law, who had passed away three months ago, was supposedly doing.

I discreetly followed him back to our house and didn’t rush out of the car. I opened my phone and was stunned to see our maid’s daughter flaunting on Instagram from inside our home.

“Your generous love is the best birthday gift I had at 21!” she posted, wearing a white Victorian-style dress, leaning against a man. That man was, of course, my supposedly devoted husband.

With determination, I marched inside. As soon as I stepped into the foyer, I saw about a dozen guests in the grand living room, which was decorated with balloons. They were chanting:

“Kiss! Kiss!”

By the time I entered, Patrick had pulled Amyra into a passionate French kiss amid the excited cheers. He finally noticed me standing at the entrance, his eyes widening in shock. Instinctively, he tried to push Amyra away, but I was faster, landing two swift slaps across his face.

The room fell into stunned silence. Amyra turned, spotted me, and screamed, clutching Patrick’s arm and hiding behind him. I looked at him with a mocking smile.

“When did you get yourself a new mom?” I asked.

Patrick's eyes darted around in panic, trying to explain, but then a girl with a bob cut confronted me.

“Who are you to storm into someone's house and start hitting people? Are you crazy? Apologize to Amyra’s boyfriend right now!”

Her remark encouraged others to chime in:

“You can’t just hit people! There’s the law, you know. An apology isn’t enough—someone should call the cops!”

“I agree. We should have the police look into her. If she’s hitting people now, who knows what she’ll do next?”

“A perfectly good birthday party spoiled by some lunatic. Do you even know who you're hitting?”

I smiled slightly at them before turning back to Patrick. “Do you also think I shouldn't have slapped you?”

Patrick licked his lips, starting to speak when Amyra tugged on his sleeve, shaking her head. I watched their little interaction with amusement, waiting for their next move.

Patrick glared at me angrily. “Reagan, what nonsense are you spouting now? It’s Amyra’s birthday. If you have something to say, save it for later. Don’t embarrass yourself here and ruin Amyra’s day. Get out now!”

He was clearly worried about his mistress losing face in front of her friends. I smirked, giving him a casual look.

“Patrick, are you telling me to leave, or are you afraid your little secrets will come out?”

The next moment, Amyra began to sob softly. “Reagan, I know you’ve always had a crush on Patrick, and seeing us together makes you upset. But love is a two-way street. Patrick loves me. We’ve been together for two years. He promised to marry me once I graduate. Please stop clinging to him.”

Patrick hadn’t expected her to say that and glanced at me with a guilty expression.

Amyra’s words left me stunned. Patrick and I had been married for just over two years. That meant he’d been cheating a month into our marriage, bringing Amyra and her mother into my home under the guise of hiring a maid. They had deceived me for a full two years.

The girl with the bob cut spoke again. “I get it now. You’re the maid who has a crush on Amyra’s boyfriend. I didn’t expect you to be so shameless, trying to steal someone else’s boyfriend in public.”

I found the label of “maid” ridiculous and laughed. “Amyra, are you still dreaming? What makes you think you’re worthy of having me as your maid?”

No sooner had I finished speaking than a drink was thrown in my face. The girl holding the glass looked at me smugly. “The one who needs a reality check is you. Everyone knows who Amyra is, and her mom is a successful businesswoman. Her boyfriend runs a company. This whole mansion is hers. And you…look at those clothes. Not even a brand name. You’re only fit for menial work.”

Rags? My clothes were unbranded because they were custom-designed by a master tailor. Other girls chimed in, defending Amyra, “Exactly! Apologize to Amyra, or you’ll lose your job!”

Then a guy added, his tone arrogant, “Lady, you should know your age. Competing with Amyra for a man? If you’re so desperate, I could help. I haven’t tried a woman over thirty before. How about two hundred for a night?”

His comment made others laugh. I wiped the drink from my face, glaring at Patrick. “Patrick, I’m your wife, and you just stand by while they insult me for your mistress? I warn you, you'll regret this!”

Patrick looked at me coldly. “Amyra is my girlfriend. You brought this on yourself.”

With so many backing her and Patrick siding with her, Amyra stood tall and spoke with confidence. “Reagan, I call you ‘sis’ out of respect for your age, but don’t forget your place. Throw tantrums all you want, but today, in front of everyone, you slapped Patrick. He’s the CEO of a company. Did you ever think about how you made him feel?”

Then, softening her voice, she turned to Patrick. “Patrick, I may be young, but I know how to support my man and respect you in public, unlike Reagan…”

Her insinuations were clear, aiming straight at Patrick’s fragile pride. I chuckled. “You’ve reminded me. I forgot to slap you.”

In a flash, I grabbed her hair and landed two firm slaps on her pale cheek. Amyra screamed and began to cry.

“Reagan, how dare you hit me! I won’t forgive you!”

“Are you going to bark again?”

I raised my hand to slap her again, but Patrick caught my wrist, pushing me hard. His force was strong, making me topple over a champagne tower, crashing to the floor with shards of glass in my hand.

Patrick ignored me, holding Amyra protectively, and scolded, “Reagan, apologize to Amyra!”

I looked at my bloodied palm, gritting my teeth to bear the pain, and slowly began picking out the glass shards.

Two years of marriage felt like glass splinters in my hand. Amyra Herrera, snuggled into Patrick Garcia’s arms, shot me a smug grin.

The pain cooled my voice, sharpening it: "Patrick, you're celebrating your mistress's birthday in my home and blatantly cheating right in front of me. You're even demanding that I apologize to her. Have you lost your mind or do you think Reagan Kim is easy to push around? Remember, I am your legal wife. I can wrap you in luxury or leave you penniless in a heartbeat!"

My words visibly unsettled Patrick, but Amyra quickly cut in, "Reagan, Patrick built up his company through his own hard work and brilliance. He achieved financial independence himself. Don't act like you were such a big help."

I paused, brilliance? Skill? Financial independence? He couldn't even handle a basic business proposal, so where's this genius coming from?

When he wanted to launch a business, I withdrew a million dollars from my family’s funds for him and secured several million-dollar projects from my father’s company. To maintain his confidence, I even brought in senior directors from my father's company to guide his core departments. He basked in the illusion that his talent attracted elite professionals to his fledgling company. Without my influence, how could he possibly transform a small startup into a company nearing an IPO in just two years?

Our exchange sparked whispers from the onlookers.

"That woman claims this is her home, and Amyra is the other woman. Could she be telling the truth?"

"I think it's possible. That woman's age seems close to Amyra’s boyfriend's. I’ve always wondered why Amyra’s boyfriend was so much older; she might be getting duped!"

"But look at how her boyfriend protects her. If she were the wife catching the mistress, a cheating man wouldn’t dare act like this."

"Grab your popcorn, folks, this is about to get interesting."

Treasure Powell couldn't resist jumping in, "Stop speculating! This is Amyra’s home; I’ve been here multiple times. I’ve personally seen Amyra and her boyfriend in the master bedroom. Her mom—now she is a real lady!"

I felt sick thinking about them in my bed. Amyra fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger and added, "This is my home, and everyone here can vouch for that. You need to leave, Reagan. Patrick, I don’t want her here. Can you make her go?"

Patrick nodded, "As long as Amyra is happy, this is your home." Treasure grabbed my hair and started dragging me out.

"Lady, have some self-awareness. How can you openly steal someone’s boyfriend and still act so shamelessly? Who wants to see this woman taught a lesson for Amyra?"

I shielded my chest, panic flooding my eyes. Some of the young men couldn’t resist and began tearing at my clothes. I struggled fiercely, shouting at Patrick, hoping he would stop them.

Patrick hesitated, his brows furrowed, but Amyra held him back. "Patrick, don’t worry. My friends know their limits. They just want to stand up for me. And besides, this lets you control her even better, doesn’t it?"

Patrick pinched her cheek, amused by my struggle. “Let me go, this is illegal!”

Treasure slapped me hard, "This is for justice. Aren’t you the one who likes to snatch men? Enjoy having all these guys here."

As her words rang out, I felt countless hands on me. Just as despair set in, a voice emerged from the entrance.

"How’s the birthday going, darling? Your mom’s gift has arrived."

Elliana Wheeler, dressed in a dark green Victorian-style dress and carrying an exquisite box, stepped in, dazzlingly bejeweled. She screamed at the sight before her.

“What are you all doing?”

Treasure quickly complained to Elliana, "Aunt Wheeler, you just stepped out for a moment, and someone barged in, causing trouble and hit Amyra."

Elliana saw my face and turned ghostly pale, her lips quivering and her gaze nervously avoiding mine.

Amyra responded, "Mom, I’m sure Reagan didn’t mean any harm. She was just upset seeing me with Patrick, and my friends wanted to stand up for me. Please forgive her this once."

Elliana stumbled over her words. "Well… carry on, I’ll just head upstairs."

My anger flared, my voice icy: "Elliana, you’re allowing Amyra to act recklessly. Do you really think these people can help you now, and always?"

I discreetly grasped my phone as I spoke. Elliana puffed up her chest, giving me a disdainful glance, unable to hide her unease.

"Little hussy, don’t speak nonsense. You think I’m afraid of you? Everyone knows my daughter is Patrick’s prized possession; only someone like her deserves to be with him. Women like you need a lesson. Show no mercy; I’ll back you up.”

I held back my anger, buying time.

“What can you back up? A housekeeper or a real lady?” I fixed my eyes on Patrick, “Patrick Garcia, no one who hurts me today will get away with it, and that includes you.”

Amyra charged at me, but I used all my strength to collide into her. She fell to the ground, sparking Patrick’s anger.

“Don’t go easy on her, I’ll handle the consequences!” Someone grabbed my hair, slamming me to the ground.

“If Patrick’s spoken, we don't fear anything. Let’s do what we want!”

“Get her clothes off!”

Amyra lunged at me, pinning me down, ruthlessly tearing at my clothes as I struggled to protect my skin. Just as I felt my body growing more exposed, the door burst open.

A group of cops stormed in. Amyra gasped, covering her mouth in shock. Those pinning me froze, raising their hands.

“Who called the police?” one officer demanded.

I raised my hand slowly from behind them: “I did!”