My Versatile Wife

Chapter 3---You Lost Again

Aurora stared at Emily's fragile, pitiful figure and felt a wave of revulsion.

She jerked her arm away. "Don't touch me!"

She hadn't used much force, but Emily staggered, shrieked, and collapsed to the floor.

"Emily!"

Henry lunged forward, catching her just in time. He turned on Aurora, his voice low and seething. "Aurora! What the hell was that?"

"I didn't—"

Aurora's face paled, instinctively trying to explain, but Emily cut her off.

"Henry, it's not your sister's fault. I was the one who tempted you. Even if she slapped or cursed me, it would've been fair."

Aurora's eyes widened in shock.

She looked up—into Henry's gaze, filled with utter disappointment.

"I never thought you'd sink this low. This is my fault. Take your anger out on me! What gives you the right to hurt Emily?"

Her words caught in her throat—like a thorn lodged deep, sharp and suffocating.

"You think…" she whispered, "I pushed her?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. How could I be wrong? I always thought you were just cold, but still good at heart. Now I see—your true nature is cruel and vengeful. All these years, I've been blind!"

Aurora stood frozen, unable to believe what she was hearing.

She turned to Emily, whose eyes gleamed with malice and triumph.

A cold numbness crept through her chest.

Then, softly, she laughed—a cold, mocking laugh.

"Henry, only today have I realized how utterly stupid you are."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. You two are so in love—fine! I'll step aside. But tell me this: would anyone ever serve food in a bowl that once held filth, even if it's been scrubbed spotless?"

Henry's face darkened. He never expected this woman—so composed, so refined—to speak so coarsely.

"Don't push your luck, Aurora!"

She laughed again, her smile icy.

She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the spot where Emily had touched her, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Enough. I don't have time for this circus. From now on, take your little songbird and vanish from my sight. I wish you—"

Her eyes flickered with mockery. She smiled, sharp and cruel. "...a slut and a cur, united in eternal bliss."

And without another word, she turned and walked away.

Henry's face turned crimson. "What the hell do you mean? Get back here—"

"Henry…"

His arm was grabbed. Emily, pale and trembling, clutched her stomach. "Henry, it hurts so much."

Henry's face changed instantly. "Emily, what's wrong?"

"I don't know…"

A thin red line of blood trickled down her thigh.

Henry's breath caught. His body went rigid.

"Don't be afraid. I'm taking you to the hospital now."

...

Henry carried Emily to the hospital.

Aurora sat in her car, watching their taillights fade. She let out a bitter laugh.

She didn't go home. She drove to the Furara.

The hotel's first floor was a sprawling bar, its interior pulsing with neon, alive with music and vice.

Leaning against the counter, she drank one glass after another.

She wasn't one to drink her sorrows away, but right now, only alcohol could dull the ache.

Before Henry and Emily, she could play the cold, composed woman.

But only she knew how deeply it cut.

Six years of love—shattered by a lie. Just as she dreamed of growing old with him, he was in bed with another woman.

The irony was unbearable.

Aurora raised her glass and downed another shot.

Even with her high tolerance, the alcohol was catching up.

Her phone buzzed in her bag.

Dazed, she fumbled for it, answered.

"Who is it?"

"Sister, you lost again!"

Emily.

Aurora sneered.

"Called to gloat?"

Emily giggled. "Sister, you don't know—I'm pregnant."

Aurora's face hardened.

She stared at the dancers writhing in the club, her voice glacial. "Why tell me? I didn't sleep with you."

"The baby is Henry's. He just promised to marry me. You two were together six years—he never touched you. Call it ‘Platonic' if you want. Truth is, you repulsed him. Just looking at you made him sick."

Aurora's hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

"You know? We make love every day. He says he's never felt so free, so happy—with anyone. Especially not with you. You're cold, lifeless. No spark.

Other women know how to please a man. Strip your skin off and throw it into a crowd—it'd be indistinguishable from a man's. Being with you is like being with another woman!"

Aurora's fists trembled.

Her heart felt like it was being ripped apart.

She inhaled sharply. Then, a cold laugh escaped her.

"Emily, I thought you'd have better material. That's all you've got?"

"Sister, if you're angry, say it. I won't mock you."

"Why be angry? Only someone like you would treasure another's trash. No matter how clean you wash a used rag, it still stinks. Would you wipe your face with it and not gag?"

"You!"

"Enough. I don't have time for this. One warning: stop provoking me. The price of truly enraging me is one you can't pay."

She hung up.

It hurt.

She didn't say it, but Emily's words carved into her.

She remembered Henry's words when he pursued her.

He said he loved her purity, her aloof grace—like a flower on a snow-capped peak, beautiful to admire but not to defile.

True love, he said, was Platonic—spiritual, untouched by desire.

Now? He was in bed with Emily. They were having a child.

A wave of bitter irony rose. She covered her face, her eyes burning.

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

"Well, well. Miss Wright. Out this late—let me guess, peddling yourself again?"

Aurora turned. A group of flashy young women stood there. Leading them was Scarlett Thompson, Henry's sister.