Seraphina Gray's husband, Cedric Fox, had recently taken up golf. She asked about the weekly expense, but Cedric brushed it off as necessary—networking with bosses and colleagues at his new job. One rainy day, Seraphina went to the club to bring him an umbrella. Instead, she found him in the luxurious bathroom. Through a c***k in the door, she watched Cedric with his golf instructor, Ophelia Voss. Ophelia's moans echoed. "Oh my god, Cedric, yes!" Seraphina froze, her eyes locked on Cedric—the husband who she thought had a heart condition, the man she never let lift a finger at home. Now he was moving with a force she'd never seen. Cedric was her first love, her only love. They met when his delivery bike knocked her down crossing the street. Seraphina scraped her arm; his bike was totaled. When he mentioned his heart condition, she didn't ask for a cent—she even delivered his remaining orders herself, well past dark. After they married, Seraphina did everything. Heavy lifting, rough chores—she handled it all. Even in bed, she stayed on top, convinced she was protecting him from any strain. For years, his condition never flared. Seraphina thought her care had kept him safe. She never imagined he'd been lying from the start. Eight years—she'd been such a fool. The wave of anger passed, and Seraphina wanted to cry. But her eyes stayed dry. She crouched outside the bathroom door, pressing her hand to her mouth, her face twisting with pain. The sounds from inside wouldn't stop. "Bet you're not this good with your wife." Cedric paused, then smirked. "She's not worth the effort. You're different. You're soft. She's rough. You're wet, too. She's as dry as sandpaper." His words cut deep—a knife sharpened over eight years, slicing into her chest. Seraphina wanted to storm in, slap him, scream. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked exhausted, worn down. Eight years of marriage, she'd given Cedric everything. And in return, she'd faded into someone she barely recognized.