My Beloved Cheating Husband

Chapter 2

Sarah POV

The preparations for dinner were finally complete. The dining table was laid out neatly with a variety of dishes I had spent the entire afternoon cooking. Roasted lamb with herbs. Creamy mushroom soup. A tray of hors d’oeuvres lined in perfect symmetry. Even the dessert was ready, sitting in the refrigerator, untouched, pristine. It should be enough to satisfy Ryan. It had to be.

I went back to my room to get ready. Standing in front of my wardrobe, I picked out a black pencil dress. Knee-length, half sleeves, with a V neckline that wasn’t too deep. Sophisticated. Formal. Appropriate for a dinner with Ryan’s colleagues and boss.

I sat down in front of the mirror, setting out my makeup kit. I had learned long ago to keep my makeup minimal. Too much and Ryan would accuse me of looking cheap. Too little and he’d accuse me of being careless. So I stuck to something simple, safe. A touch of concealer, a thin layer of foundation to blur the marks that still lingered on my chest and neck. A little eyeliner to make my blue eyes stand out. Nude lipstick. Neutral. Polite. Acceptable.

I let my long, raven-black hair fall loose around my shoulders. Brushed until it shone like silk. On my right wrist I clasped a thin silver bracelet. My left hand I left bare except for the wedding band.

My eyes caught on the ring.

The ring dragged me backward into the past.

University days. I had been the awkward girl with the blank expression. Always standing a little too far away from the crowd. Not because I didn’t want to be part of it. But because I couldn’t read the invisible rules everyone else seemed to know. Alexithymia, they called it. Or Autism Spectrum Disorder. Words that felt too heavy for a eight year old girl when the doctors first said them.

I remembered sitting in classrooms, watching girls laugh together, boys whispering secrets. Someone would cry beside me, but I never understood why. I couldn’t tell anger from frustration, sadness from disappointment. Faces were masks I couldn’t decode. My own face remained blank because I never knew which emotion belonged where.

My parents… they tried. They were simple people, struggling to make ends meet in the countryside. They wanted to help, but they often looked at me with worry, guilt, sometimes even helplessness. I hated that look. So I often stood in front of mirrors, stretching my lips with my fingers into a smile. Over and over. Practicing. Because if they saw me smile, maybe they wouldn’t feel like they’d failed me.

Defective. That’s what I often felt like. A defective piece.

Then there was Ryan. He had been my senior by a year. Handsome, confident, always surrounded by people. He found me different. Intriguing, he had said. He used to prank me, tease me, poke and prod just to get a reaction. He once told me I looked prettiest when I smiled.

Maybe that’s why I agreed to date him. Not because I loved him then, but because I was jealous. Jealous of how easily he could laugh, how naturally he wore every expression. For him, smiling was effortless. For me, it took years of practice and even then it never felt right.

And now here I am. Sarah Millar. Wife of Ryan Millar. Still practicing. Still trying.

Five years into this marriage and Ryan changed. And me? I was still trying. Still adjusting. Still practicing to be perfect.

I straightened my shoulders, looked at my reflection, and stretched my lips into the smile I had learned long ago. “Smile, Sarah,” I whispered softly. “You have to smile.”

The bedroom door opened.

Ryan entered, his tie loosened, shirt collar undone, coat draped over his arm. His jaw was tense, his brows pinched. Irritation radiated from him the moment he stepped in. His eyes landed on me. I rose instinctively, walking toward him.

His gaze traveled down my figure. Instead of softening, his face tightened further with annoyance.

I studied him carefully. I always tried to memorize his expressions, to piece together their meaning. But before I could decode, his voice cracked like a whip.

“Do you want me to lose face, Sarah?”

I blinked. My body didn’t flinch. The words didn’t quite register. Lose face? What did that mean? My mind scrambled for the answer, but the code was missing.

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling with irritation. “For God’s sake, Sarah. When are you going to learn? And stop staring at me with that blank expression! Do you have any idea how insane you look?”

He threw his coat to the floor.

My throat tightened. “Did I do something wrong? Are the preparations not enough? Did I forget something?”

He strode over in two quick steps, grabbed me by the elbow, and spun me toward the mirror. His grip was iron, his voice venom. “Look at yourself. Just what the hell are you wearing?”

I looked at my reflection. My black dress was neat. Proper. There wasn’t even a wrinkle or stain. I couldn’t see the problem.

His voice grew sharper. “I told you to look good. To look pretty. This? This is what you came up with?”

Confusion knotted in my chest. I didn’t understand. The dress was formal, appropriate. Exactly what I thought the situation demanded. “Is there something wrong with my outfit?” I asked quietly.

He jerked me back, anger flaring in his eyes. “I have my boss coming. Important investors. This dinner is my moment. My time to shine. To prove who I am and to show you off as my wife. And you dress like…” He sneered. “Like a f*****g nun. Like you’re going to a funeral.”

His words pierced me, but I still couldn’t understand. The dress didn’t look like anything close to a nun’s attire. It was formal. It was safe. But if he was this angry, then clearly I had failed.

I lowered my gaze. “I’ll change,” I whispered.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths. He turned sharply, yanking open the wardrobe, rummaging through the hangers until fabric flew across the floor. Finally, he pulled out a dress and threw it at me.

It landed in my hands like a warning.

A deep, alarming red.

“You have five minutes. Change.”

I nodded silently and walked into the closet. My fingers shook as I unzipped my dress. I slipped the new one on.

The moment the fabric clung to me, dread pooled in my stomach.

The hemline barely reached my thighs. One wrong step, one slight bend, and my panties would be visible. The neckline plunged dangerously low, held up by only two thin straps over my shoulders. My heavy breasts strained against the fabric, threatening to spill out with every movement.

I remembered this dress. Ryan had bought it for me long ago. I had hidden it in the closet, too afraid to wear something so bold, so exposing. It felt more like lingerie than a dinner dress.

Now, staring at myself in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the woman I saw.

This wasn’t me.

But it didn’t matter.

I smoothed the fabric down my thighs with trembling hands, forced the practiced smile back onto my lips, and whispered to my reflection.

“Smile, Sarah. You have to smile.”