I Faked an Affair for a Divorce but My Cold Husband Refused to Let Me Go Chapter 06

I Faked an Affair for a Divorce but My Cold Husband Refused to Let Me Go Chapter 06

I got a reply from Lucas. 

Lucas: [Did you have any other photos or videos of 

her?] 

It took me a second to process what he was 

asking. 

I texted back: [Bro, I’m not that kind of guy. I didn’t 

film women.] 

Lucas: [So you fooled her with your smooth talk? 

She’s so young. You sick bastard.] 

I was so confused I almost laughed. 

Me: [? We were genuinely in love.] 

Also, what did he mean “so young“? I was twenty–three. I was almost done with my master’s. 

Lucas: [Leave her. Name your price.] 

That made me angry. 

Me: [I already told you, bro, we were genuinely in 

love. How about you leave her and I’ll name you a price, huh?] 

Lucas: [You weren’t worth her love.] 

I hated that. Even in this gender–swapped act, I 

was still more than enough, thanks. 

I doubled down. Forcing myself not to cringe, I 

saved a photo of toned abs off the internet, plus 

another suggestive shot, then sent them both to 

Lucas. 

Me: [Don’t worry, I’m well–endowed. Your wife was 

very satisfied.] 

This time I didn’t hear anything being smashed. 

A second later, Lucas, sitting in the living room, let 

out a sudden, mocking, contemptuous chuckle. 

“Heh.” 

Was it not big? 

I hadn’t had any personal experience, but the guy 

in the photos looked more than fine. 

So what was he laughing at? 

Lucas’s next message popped up fast. The 

moment I saw it, I froze in terror. 

Lucas: [On the 27th of last month, you, or 

someone you hired, went to Barcelona and bought a SIM card there, right?] 

Lucas: [Did you really think a prepaid SIM meant I couldn’t find out who you were?] 

Lucas: [I’ll check, one by one, carefully, like I was 

uncovering every detail. You’d better have gone to Barcelona yourself. If you had someone buy it and mail it back, there was an address.] 

Lucas: [You’d better sleep with your eyes open, bro.] 

The last two words were full of malice. 

I wouldn’t back down. 

Me: [Of course I’ll sleep with my eyes open, so I 

can look at your wife a little longer.] 

Smash. 

Outside the door, Lucas threw a cup again. 

Lucas: [She was just playing with you.] 

I gritted my teeth. 

Me: [Yeah? Then take a look at how your wife has 

been changing lately.] 

I locked my phone screen. 

Instantly, I forced myself to calm down. 

Changing… what kind of “changes” did people 

show after they found a side piece? 

I started working out. 

Every morning, I did forty minutes of strength training and fifteen minutes of cardio in the home 

gym. 

Not even two days later, the butler said awkwardly 

that the gym wasn’t usable. 

I said it was fine, I’d use whatever machine still 

worked. 

He said none of them were working. Even the gym. 

door lock was “broken,” it wouldn’t open. 

Fuming, I rolled out a yoga mat in the living room. 

and started following a cardio routine. 

For some reason, Lucas had been working from 

home lately, and of course he had stayed on the 

sofa the whole time. 

He stared at his laptop, then asked without 

looking up, “Why are you working out all of a 

sudden?” 

Perfect timing. I turned my face away. 

“I don’t think I’m thin enough yet.” 

On the TV, the fitness influencer bent forward, 

fingertips to toes, stretching. 

I copied the move. 

I swallowed hard. His voice came out slightly. 

rough. “You were thin enough.” 

Breathing hard, I said, “I want abs so I’ll look 

better.” 

Lucas asked so fast it was almost sharp. “Who 

said that to you?” 

I froze. 

I didn’t know why, but I hesitated, whether to 

expose the truth right then. 

This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? 

And yet, my instincts took over, like I’d really cheated, like I needed to hide it desperately. 

I found myself making excuses. Maybe it was 

because things felt too normal between us, too 

normal, too unlike us. 

Lucas and I had always been hurried. Always 

distant. He worked, I endured his work. 

We’d never been like this, sitting in the same room. doing our own things, saying a word now and 

then, like a real married couple. 

While I was still lost in my own confusion, Lucas 

gave up, lightly. 

“That won’t save you. We’re not getting a divorce. 

It doesn’t matter.” 

He let the chance to dig for the truth drift away like 

it weighed nothing. 

In that moment, a strange chill ran down my spine.” 

It was like we both knew what we were doing, quietly protecting our fragile bond between us, 

delicate as crumpled paper. 

But a few minutes later, when I went to the 

bedroom to change, I saw a new message from 

Lucas. 

The Lucas who’d sat perfectly calm on the sofa 

had, at some point when my back was turned, 

typed with sharp intensity and sent this to the 

anonymous number: 

[You sick bastard. I want you dead.]