Double Revenge After One Night Stand

***Diana's POV*** "Mrs. Taylor, you can’t go in." "Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Taylor is in a meeting with a client! You can’t go in there!" Anthony’s secretary called after me. “A meeting? Then why aren’t you in there with him?” I shot back with a cold sneer, keeping my eyes fixed ahead as I walked down the lobby. Years of wearing heels had made me quick, leaving her far behind. The elevator doors slid shut, finally blocking out the secretary’s hurried footsteps and calls. As the elevator rose, I exhaled a long breath and pulled out my phone. The image on the screen burned into my eyes like a blinding light. Just three hours ago, I’d been waiting at an upscale restaurant, fully dressed to impress, waiting for my husband, Anthony Taylor, to celebrate our third wedding anniversary. It was supposed to be a surprise: I booked the restaurant two months ahead, had my outfit and makeup custom-designed, and sent the invitation to his inbox at 10 a.m. sharp—the time he usually checked his emails. Everything was supposed to be flawless, just like people think our marriage is. I’d been waiting there for three hours, hungry enough to down two salads and four glasses of lemon water, but Anthony still hadn’t shown. Instead, I got a text—and a photo. The background was all too familiar: Anthony’s elegant walnut desk, the one I had picked out for him. In the photo, Anthony's hand held a woman’s in a classic wedding-photo pose. But on his ring finger, where his wedding band should have been, was only a faint, pale outline where the ring used to sit. It looked like a sad, ironic symbol of our empty marriage. And the sender? Megan White——my best friend. She had also included a single line with the photo: “Guess what’s missing?” followed by a smirking emoji. What the hell was this?! Had they been together, cheating behind my back on our anniversary? Then why had she even sent me this photo—just to mess with me? All of the questions felt like stones dropped in my heart, growing heavier as the elevator ascended. The doors opened on the 30th floor, and I stepped out. It was 9 p.m., and nobody was working this late. The offices on this floor were as quiet as a tomb—until a burst of laughter broke the silence. It was coming from down the hall, from Anthony’s office. I froze in the doorway, reluctant to find out what was behind the door. But something in my heart pushed me forward. I tiptoed toward the office, quiet as a cat. The door was slightly open, a thin line of light spilling into the hallway. I could see everything through the gap: Anthony sat at his desk, his computer screen glowing, though he barely looked at it. His was looking at Megan’s face with a flirting glint in his eyes, and his hand rested casually on her waist. Megan was leaning into him like she was a boneless snake, whispering something in his ear.Even though they weren’t doing anything overtly wrong, a wave of nausea rose in my throat, making me feel sick and disgusted. "Damn! That’s a good one!" Anthony suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands and letting out a laugh—one of those deep, genuine laughs he hadn’t shared with me in ages. “So, let’s doc it down,” Megan said with a sweet smile. As her fingers flew across the keyboard, she leaned in even closer, almost dropping onto Anthony’s lap. That's enough! I felt all the blood rush to my head. I had imagined Anthony’s betrayal countless times, but never had I expected my best friend to be part of it. Megan White—she had once been a supermodel, just like me. We had joined a top agency together, built our careers side by side, and became superstars in New York’s modeling scene. Along the way, we also became best friends. After I married Anthony, I gradually stepped away from modeling to focus on family. Megan, however, kept pursuing her career until last year, when her stress led to a severe eating disorder, forcing her to leave the industry. She faced a huge breach-of-contract penalty and came to me in tears, begging for help. Of course, I supported her, paying off part of her penalty and finding her a decent, well-paid position at Anthony’s company. And this was how she repaid me. I felt my heart burnt to ashes. Finally, the secretary caught up, her hurried footsteps breaking the silence as she reached Anthony’s door, interrupting their little moment. Both of them turned to look at the door, with barely a trace of guilt on their faces. I couldn’t contain my anger any longer. I slammed the door open with such force it nearly cracked. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor, I couldn’t stop her.” The secretary was breathing hard, her gaze shifting nervously between Anthony and me. Anthony’s expression turned impatient. It was the same look he had whenever he was bothered. He waved her away, tapped a few keys on his keyboard, and said casually, “Diana, what are you doing here? I told you I’d be working late tonight.” Working late? When did you ever tell me that?! I knew this was just another excuse—one of the many times he’d used “work” to brush me off. But this time, he didn’t even bother to send me a text. Just at that moment, I sworn I saw a fleeting smirk cross Megan’s face. She pulled back from Anthony’s shoulder, feigning a panic expression as she adjusted her low-cut blouse and short skirt. Looking me in the eye, she said in her most innocent voice, “Diana, you look so pale, what happened? Is there an emergency?” “Emergency?” I let out a short laugh. “So I can only visit my husband if there’s an emergency? Who are you, his personal assistant?” Megan fell silent, caught off guard by my words. She took a step back as if intimidated, only to lean closer to Anthony again. Anthony looked up, frowning. "What’s gotten into you, Diana? Why the attitude?" “Oh, I’m the one with the attitude?” I scoffed, marching up to his desk. I slammed my Hermès Mini Kelly down in front of him. "Do you even know what today is?" “What day?” he asked without a moment’s hesitation, his tone making it sound like I was just causing trouble. A sourness lingered from my tongue to my heart, just like the lime I’d bitten out of hunger while waiting at the restaurant. "You really don’t remember?" My voice rose. "Today is our third wedding anniversary!" Anthony’s face had a fleeting hint of guilt. His gaze shifted back to his computer screen, as if checking his calendar. “Hold on…is it today? Let me check…” Before he could finish his words, Megan cut in eagerly. “Oh, please don’t blame Anthony, Diana. He’s been overwhelmed with work. We landed a big client last month, and he’s been stressing over the pitch. The design team just hasn’t delivered anything up to his standards. It’s been such a tight schedule, so he had no choice but to stay late. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me; I’m leading this project…” What an innocent confession of regret! I almost believed her. If not for that smirk earlier, I might have fallen for her act. Anthony, still glancing at his calendar, was now fully focused on Megan. He stood up, giving her shoulder a gentle pat, and handed her a tissue. “This isn’t your fault,” he said softly. “It’s those idiots on the design team! I should have fired them all!” Megan even managed to squeeze out a tear—easily done for a former model. She shot me a quick glance before speaking again, her tone a pitiful murmur. “But… Diana seems so upset. It must be my fault! Maybe if I hadn’t asked you to stay late tonight… It’s your anniversary! Oh my god, how could I forget?” Yes, how could she forget? She was my maid of honor on our wedding day! She must have remembered this date—that’s why she sent me that message, just to piss me off. Go on, keep acting, I thought, crossing my arms and watching her performance. And then, Anthony spoke up. “You did the right thing by coming to find me,” he said to Megan, then turned to me with a slight frown. “Diana, you’ve been out of the workforce for so long. You wouldn’t understand how crucial this client is to my company, how much our quarterly goal depends on it…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he sighed and said, “Never mind. You wouldn’t get it. Besides shopping and spas, what else do you know?” I didn’t mind when he emphasized “my company” instead of “our company,” but that last line? It cut through me like a knife, splitting my heart in two.