Chapter 3
1185 Words
Rick stared sharply at Samantha, fury flashing in his eyes. He could not believe that his wife—his quiet, obedient, ever-forgiving wife—had barged into his bedroom at the very moment he was about to reach his climax with Catriona. The interruption hit him like cold water.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rick snapped, his voice sharp with irritation.
He moved aside, pulling away from Catriona’s body and grabbing the blanket to cover both of their nakedness. The room smelled of sweat, lust, and betrayal—an air that made Samantha feel like she was suffocating.
“How could you do this in our own house?!” Samantha yelled, her voice trembling with both rage and heartbreak.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to hit him. She wanted to slap Rick across his face, scratch him, punch him, anything—anything to make him feel even an ounce of the pain that was currently tearing her apart. But she had no strength. Her body felt cold and weak, like it had turned into nothing but air.
“So?” Catriona cut in, completely unfazed.
Samantha snapped her head toward her. She couldn’t believe the woman’s audacity. How could she lie naked on another woman’s marital bed and still look so calm? So confident? So shameless?
“So?” Samantha repeated, her voice sharp. “You are f*cking someone else’s husband! You’re a mistress—a shameless, home-wrecking mistress!”
Catriona blinked, almost amused.
Beside the bed, Rick stiffened. He had never heard Samantha raise her voice like that. It was the first time he saw her anger, real anger—not her quiet tears or her trembling voice or her forced smiles.
But even then, Rick didn’t care.
Samantha’s feelings had never been a priority to him.
“Shut up, Samantha!” Rick roared.
He stood from the bed despite being completely naked, not even bothering to hide himself. He faced her with burning eyes.
Samantha immediately looked away. Not because of embarrassment, but because the sight physically hurt her. It was her first time seeing her husband naked, yet she wasn’t the woman who undressed him. She wasn’t the one he wanted. She wasn’t the one he touched.
“Shut up and just leave us alone,” Rick ordered coldly.
Something inside Samantha cracked.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned. And before she could stop herself, tears spilled down her cheeks.
Without another word, she turned around and walked out of the room. Every step felt heavy. Every breath felt sharp.
She walked out of the house.
The moment she stepped outside, cold night air hit her. It was still midnight. The streets were silent. And she felt painfully, unbearably alone.
She got into her car, hands shaking as she started the engine. She had no idea where she was going—only that she couldn’t breathe in that house anymore.
She couldn’t go to her father. She already knew what he would say.
“Endure it. He is your husband.”
“Rick’s family is important to my business.”
“You’re lucky to marry him.”
Lucky?
Lucky to be humiliated? To be disrespected? To watch her husband f*ck another woman in their bed?
“Fck! FCK THIS LIFE!” Samantha screamed as she drove, her vision blurred with tears.
Her chest felt like it was collapsing. Every breath hurt. Her heart felt swollen, bruised, torn apart.
“What did I ever do wrong?” she cried, pounding the steering wheel. “Why? Why me?!”
Was she a sinner in a past life? Was this her punishment?
She slammed the brakes and pulled over on the side of an empty road. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed until her throat burned.
After several minutes, she stepped out of the car to breathe in the cold air. Her whole body shook. Her eyes were swollen. Her soul felt shattered.
She had nowhere to go.
No one to run to.
After a long moment of silence, she whispered bitterly, “F*ck this life.”
And she got back into her car.
With no choice, Samantha drove back home—back to the place where her husband was probably still inside another woman.
When she arrived, the lights were off, except for the faint glow coming from Rick’s bedroom.
She paused in the hallway.
They were moaning again.
Samantha closed her eyes in agony. The betrayal echoed through the walls, slicing her open piece by piece.
She hurried into her room, locked the door, and collapsed on her bed. She cried until exhaustion took over her and she finally fell asleep.
The next morning, Samantha woke up with swollen eyes and a pounding headache. Her chest still hurt. Her throat was raw. She dragged herself to the bathroom and stared at her reflection.
It didn’t look like her.
Her hair was a mess, her lips were pale, and her eyes were red. She wanted to pretend everything last night had been a nightmare, but the woman staring back at her told otherwise.
She took a deep breath.
Just survive today, she told herself. Even if it hurts.
After cleaning herself up, she went downstairs. She assumed Rick and Catriona had already left for work.
But the moment she reached the first floor, she heard voices from the kitchen.
She froze.
She wasn’t ready to see them—not after last night. Her legs began to tremble, but she couldn’t move.
“That woman is really stupid,” Catriona said, laughing.
Rick was laughing with her. They were cooking breakfast together. They looked like a married couple—comfortable, affectionate, sweet—something Rick had never been with Samantha.
“Yeah,” Rick agreed.
Samantha placed a hand against the wall to steady herself. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay silent.
Then Catriona spoke again.
“You know what? We should really go through with our plan.”
Samantha’s eyebrows furrowed.
Plan?
She took a step closer quietly, her heart hammering in her chest. Something didn’t feel right. Every nerve in her body told her to listen.
Rick’s voice dropped.
“What? Killing Samantha?”
Samantha’s entire world stilled.
Her heart stopped beating. Her stomach dropped. Her skin turned cold.
Kill me?
Catriona laughed softly, almost casually. “Yeah.”
Samantha pressed a hand against her mouth to stop herself from gasping.
Her knees felt weak. Her vision blurred.
They wanted her gone.
Not divorced. Not separated.
Dead.
Her husband—the man she loved since childhood—was planning to end her life.
Not because she wronged him. Not because she asked for anything. Not because she was a terrible wife.
But because she was in the way.
Her fingertips turned numb. Her breath shook violently.
The world narrowed into a tunnel around her.
The kitchen voices continued—Catriona laughing, Rick agreeing—as if they were discussing nothing more serious than what movie to watch later.
But Samantha knew.
They were serious.
They will kill me.
- Writer
