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People in our elite social circle secretly mocked me, calling me a "paper tiger." For the past five years of our marriage, every single time I caught Liam cheating, I would completely lose my mind. I would scream until my throat was raw, throw expensive vases against the marble floors of our penthouse, and threaten to burn his entire life to the ground. But then, inevitably, the storm would pass. A few days later, I would be the one to initiate a truce, desperately trying to patch up the gaping, bleeding holes in our shattered marriage, pretending that if I just loved him enough, he would eventually change. That was the pattern. Until today. Today, Liam brought his mistress into our home. Standing outside the heavy mahogany double doors of our apartment, my hand hovering over the biometric lock, I heard a woman��s voice drifting through the slight crack. It was soft, breathless, and dripping with a sickeningly sweet tone. "Mr. Wright... aren't you afraid your wife will make a scene if she finds out you brought me here?" Through the narrow gap, I could see Liam. He was running a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, his tie loosened, a careless smirk playing on his lips. He simply shrugged his broad shoulders, looking entirely unbothered. "It doesn't matter," his deep voice rumbled. "She��ll throw her little tantrum, and then she��ll get over it. She always fixes herself." He said those words with such casual cruelty, right as I was about to push the door open. Hearing that, my hand froze in mid-air. I didn't burst in. I didn't scream. Instead, I quietly pulled my hand back, retreated down the heavily carpeted hallway, and slipped into the emergency stairwell. The silence of the concrete stairwell was deafening compared to the roaring in my ears. I pulled out my phone and typed a brief message to him. Liam, I left the office early today. I should be home in about ten minutes. I hit send, leaning back against the cold wall, staring blankly at the flickering fluorescent light above. Five minutes later, I pushed open the door to the stairwell and walked back toward my apartment, right as the front door clicked open. I collided squarely with a young woman. Her blouse was misbuttoned, and her collarbone was painted with harsh, undeniable red marks. When she saw me, her eyes widened in sheer panic. She stumbled backward, clutching her designer purse like a shield, her face draining of color. She probably thought I was going to lunge at her, claw her eyes out, or rip her hair from her scalp. In the past, she would have been right. I would have torn her apart. But today, I simply didn't have the energy for it. I didn't care. Because just an hour ago, sitting alone at an upscale lounge in the financial district, I had accepted a sleek, matte black business card from a strikingly handsome stranger. Looking at this terrified mistress, a radical, dangerous thought bloomed in my mind. I suddenly wanted to know��was cheating really as intoxicating as Liam made it seem? To avoid making him think I was trying to catch him off guard, I didn't use my fingerprint to unlock the door. Instead, I knocked three times, the sound echoing hollowly in the corridor. It took a while for the door to open. Liam stood there, casually dressed in a loose silk robe. His chest was partially exposed, and there was a faint, hastily wiped smudge of red lipstick near the corner of his mouth. Historically, this would be the exact moment the screaming would start. I would point at the lipstick, throw my bag at him, and demand a divorce I never intended to go through with. But now, my hand was tightly gripping the heavy cardstock of the stranger��s business card inside my purse. My thoughts began to wander into dangerous territory. If I cheated too, would I finally lose the right to stand on my moral high ground? Would it stop hurting so much if we were both betraying each other? Seeing me staring off into space, Liam frowned slightly, reaching out to pull me inside. "Why did you text me to announce you were coming home? You never do that." I forced a stiff smile and quickly found an excuse. "I forgot my keys. I was afraid you might still be at the office and I'd be locked out." As I walked into the sprawling, minimalist living room, my eyes immediately caught something out of place. There, resting against the pristine white leather of the sofa, was a scrap of black lace. A thong that definitely did not belong to me. I lowered my gaze, swiftly averting my eyes, and pretended it was invisible. This wasn't Liam's first affair. Not by a long shot. We had dated back in college, and we had actually broken up over his infidelity. I had loved him with a fiery, consuming passion back then, but I also had my pride. I walked away, holding my head high like a proud swan, fully expecting him to realize his massive mistake and come begging for my forgiveness. But he didn't come to coax me back. Instead, before he could apologize, the devastating news of my father's company going bankrupt hit the front pages of the financial times. My father was desperate, trying to force me into an arranged marriage with an older investor to save his legacy. Terrified of losing Liam forever and desperate for a lifeline, I broke my own rules. I swallowed my pride, sought Liam out in the pouring rain, and lowered my head. He had looked genuinely shocked as I stood there sobbing, refusing to let go of his jacket. But then his expression softened. He had pulled me into a tight embrace, whispering into my wet hair, "My sweet Chloe. It's my fault. How could I ever make you cry? Once we graduate, we're getting married." Three months later, we graduated, and I got my wish. He used his family's capital to save my father's business, and we had a lavish wedding overlooking the ocean. I thought we had fixed everything. I thought the storm was over. But looking back, that was the moment he realized he had me completely trapped. He found the ultimate leverage. After we married, his infidelity became as routine as his morning coffee. I would go hysterical, acting like a madwoman. Then, exhausted from the fighting, I would do everything in my power to maintain the illusion of a perfect marriage, desperate to hold onto the relationship I had begged for. He would just stand there, detached and cold, watching me perform my repetitive, agonizing one-woman show. Falling in love makes people so impossibly stupid. I hated his betrayal with a burning passion, yet I was terrified to let go. But the endless cycle of psychological torture was wearing me down to the bone. I needed an anesthetic. If I cheated, I reasoned, I wouldn't have the right to feel this agonizing pain anymore. If we were both unfaithful, the playing field would be level. The sound of rushing water pulled me from my bitter memories. Liam had gone into the bathroom. I stared at the black lace on the sofa for a long moment. Grabbing a tissue, I carefully picked it up, disgusted by the fabric, and shoved it deep beneath the heavy seat cushion. Just as I finished hiding the evidence of his crime, the bathroom door swung open. I jolted up, my spine rigid, my heart hammering against my ribs. Liam stepped out, casually toweling his wet hair. His sharp, predatory eyes swept the room and landed directly on the sofa. A cold sweat broke out across my back. He was the one who had just slept with another woman in our home, yet somehow, standing there with a stranger's business card in my purse, I was the one feeling guilty. Is this how the first step toward infidelity always felt? Before I could analyze my racing heart, Liam tossed the hairdryer at me. "Chloe, dry my hair." Without waiting for an answer, he sank into the exact spot on the sofa where the lingerie had been. I took the heavy Dyson dryer, moving behind him like a programmed machine. I switched it on, running my fingers through his damp strands, entirely absentminded. Sensing my lack of focus, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, reached back, and clamped his strong hand around my slender wrist, forcing me to stop. "What are you thinking about, Chloe? You're a million miles away." Maybe it was the low, hypnotic humming of the hairdryer that had numbed my inhibitions, or maybe I was just pushed past my breaking point. Without a single filter, the words slipped out of my mouth. "Liam... is cheating really that fun?"

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