AI Exposed His Secret, I Took His Empire

Chapter 3

I felt like my whole world had crashed down.

My husband cheated on me. And the other woman was my own biological mother.

Was there anything more absurd, more disgusting, more of a violation of basic human decency than this in this world?

In that instant, the lights of the coffee shop shattered into countless bright specks before my eyes, and a ringing roar drowned out everything else.

Just then, the holographic screen on the wall refreshed the incriminating evidence once more.

It read: Complex socio-ethical relationship detected. Activating built-in maximum authorization "Truth Restoration" per agreement. Deep-mining relevant data, reconstructing full event sequence.

The holographic screen on the wall flickered, and the image changed.

It was no longer chat logs, but a clear timeline.

It started three years ago, when an unfamiliar account added Howard via the "People Nearby" function.

The profile picture was a white lotus bud waiting to bloom, and the display name was Moonlight Drinker.

It was laughably pure.

AI projected their first chat log directly onto the screen in large text.

Moonlight Drinker: Hello. Looking at your posts, you work in tech, right? That's so impressive!

Howard: Hello. You flatter me.

Moonlight Drinker: My husband is a businessman; he doesn't understand me at all. I'm so lonely.

It was such a classic, overused opening line.

My mother used this carefully fabricated identity to package herself as a middle-aged literary woman with an unhappy marriage, who craved true spiritual connection.

And my ever-confident, high-and-mighty husband took the bait so easily.

AI fast-forwarded through the chat logs that made me physically sick.

My mother's voice messages had been converted to text by the system, scrolling across the screen one by one.

Every single line was a knife, driven hard into my heart.

Moonlight Drinker: Howard, don't blame her. She's just a bit of a career woman. I wanted to be a career woman too, but this lifetime, I'm meant to just be a woman who relies on you.

Moonlight Drinker: She says opening this coffee shop is for self-actualization? Don't be stupid. She's just bored staying at home; she wants to go out and flirt with all those handsome young guys. Look at all her customers—every last one of them is all slick and vain. What good could any of them be?

Moonlight Drinker: You treat her so well, but does she appreciate it? She only cares about herself! She loves your money and your status! It's nothing like me. I don't want anything at all. I'd be perfectly content just to have you spend more time talking with me.

So the root of Howard's deep-seated suspicion of me, his relentless derogation of my career, his ruthless denigration of my character was right here.

My own biological mother was the cruelest witch, feeding poison into my marriage for three entire years.

The image on the screen shifted once again.

Without any warning, several sickening photos popped up and covered the entire wall.

In the photos, my mother had put on a sexy silk nightgown so skimpy that it barely covered anything, with all sorts of seductive poses under the dim light.

Her eyes were hazy with desire, and her red lips were slightly parted.

In one photo, she was lying on her side on the sofa, her skirt hitched high up to expose a large expanse of pale skin.

Every photo was captioned with her flirty text.

Clara: Just got out of the shower, I smell nice. Too bad no one gets to smell me.

Clara: I'm all alone at home, so scared~ It would be nice if you were here.

Clara: Everyone says I look like I'm only thirty. What do you think?

I could no longer suppress the roiling nausea surging up from my stomach.

I lunged wildly for the sink behind the coffee bar and retched violently.

I retched so hard that I saw stars. My internal organs felt as if they had been thrown completely out of place, and the bitter taste of bile flooded my entire mouth.

Just then, a soft, cloying voice rang out completely without warning.

The screen on the wall suddenly switched, automatically answering and projecting an incoming video call.

On the screen was my mother's face, covered in a facial mask.

She couldn't see what a mess I was in over here, and asked excitedly in that cloying, high-pitched baby voice, "Honey, did you get her to sign the agreement yet?"