He Celebrated Our Success by Making Out with Her

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

The cheering surrounded the two people in the center of the sofa. James had his arms around Vivian. She was half-heartedly biting one corner of a playing card while the other corner was slowly making its way between James's lips.

I stood a few meters away, holding James's suit jacket he'd just taken off, clutching documents that needed his signature.

I'd busted my ass for a solid month to land this S-level project—pulling all-nighters, living on coffee and antacids when my stomach started acting up. The proposal went through over ten rounds of revisions before it finally got the green light yesterday.

But right now, I didn't feel like some conquering hero. I certainly didn't feel like his secret wife. I felt more like a clueless maid.

"Mr. Brown, still hesitating? Ms. Clark's getting embarrassed!"

James chuckled softly, and amid everyone's cheers, he leaned down and took the card in his mouth. Their noses touched as they kissed passionately.

"Mr. Brown, when can we attend your wedding?"

The colleagues watching kept making noise. What was supposed to be my celebration dinner for landing the project had turned into someone else's show.

That suffocating feeling made it impossible to stay another second. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall, stood in the empty corridor, and called James.

After half a minute, James got up and strode out.

He tugged at his tie impatiently. "I'm right inside. What's so important you couldn't just come in and tell me? You had to call me out?"

I stared at him, my voice shaking. "You heard what they were saying in there."

"What about it?" James leaned against the wall casually. "About attending a wedding? You actually believed that? I was just playing along."

"Does playing along require kissing her in front of me?" I stepped forward. "We've been married for three years. You said we had to keep it secret for the company's image—I put up with it. You said Vivian is the partner's daughter and we need to take care of her—I put up with that too. So what now? Do I have to buy birthday presents for your kids before you'll go public?"

James's face darkened, and that authoritative pressure instantly closed in. He grabbed my chin, squeezing so hard it hurt.

"Sophie, watch your mouth." His voice was cold. "That was just some dumb party game. If I didn't play ball, I'd be disrespecting our investors. You seriously don't get that?"

"What I don't understand is why you have to trample all over my dignity just to kiss up to your investors!"

"Enough!" James let go of my face, his eyes full of disgust. "Don't be so hysterical out here. You look really ugly when you're hysterical like this."

He straightened his collar without looking at me again. "Pull yourself together before you come back in. Don't embarrass me."

Hysterical?

Eight years together, five years married, helping him build his business, and now he's calling me hysterical.

I laughed at the sight of this man's back.

James had barely taken two steps when Vivian came out from inside, blocking my way out.

She was wearing a custom gown worth $180,000, looking me up and down with utter contempt. "So you're Mr. Brown's lover? Such a country bumpkin—how could he possibly be interested in you?"

"Want to know how I found out about you?" Vivian lowered her voice, her tone full of malicious pride. "Last night at the hotel, when Mr. Brown went to take a shower, I saw your name in his phone."

She paused, her smile dripping with suggestion. "Oh, and the things he does in bed... way more than what he does with a maid like you."

My blood instantly froze. So they'd already...

Before I could process this disgusting revelation, Vivian's lips curled into a strange smile. She suddenly splashed her red wine onto her own expensive dress, then before James could turn around, she shoved me hard.

Sharp pain shot through my ankle as I crashed to the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking my back.

Vivian screamed, "Sophie! Why did you push me?"

James spun around at the sound, pushing past the approaching waiters to rush over. He glanced at Vivian's stained dress, frowning, then looked down at me collapsed on the floor.

I looked up at James through gritted teeth, a last shred of hope in my eyes. "I twisted my ankle. I can't move."

"You fell on carpet—how bad could it be?" James cut me off impatiently, lowering his voice. "Vivian's dress costs $180,000. Stop making a scene and get up and apologize."

I looked at him in disbelief. "She pushed me."

"She spilled wine on her own dress to frame you? Sophie, when did you become so unreasonable?"

James crouched down, not even glancing at my swollen ankle. He just leaned close to my ear, his tone softening like he was coaxing a difficult child:

"Be good and give her some face. Just apologize and we'll move past this. Next week for our anniversary, I'll take you to Iceland to see the northern lights. I already bought the tickets."

So he did remember our anniversary. He did remember I was his wife. But he was using that as leverage to make me swallow pain like broken bones and bow my head to the mistress who framed me.

"Iceland..."

I braced myself against the wall and stood up straight, ignoring the piercing pain.

James thought I was giving in and relaxed, about to reach out to help Vivian.

"Keep the tickets for yourself," I said calmly, looking at him as the last bit of light left my eyes. "I'm not going."

James froze, his brow furrowing instantly. "What do you mean? What are you trying to pull now?"

I ignored his question. Without looking at either of them, I walked straight to a nearby trash can and threw in the suit jacket I'd been holding all evening.

"I mean, I'm done serving you."

With that, I dragged my injured foot and turned to leave without looking back.

James's angry shouts came from behind me. I didn't listen.

Walking out the hotel doors, I pulled out my phone and opened the pinned contact.

No hesitation. No long explanation.

I typed a few words and hit send:

[James, I want a divorce.]