Nine Years Wasted, They’ll Pay

Terminal Cancer: I'm Sending My Husband and His Mistress on Their Honeymoon

The day I got my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis, William Smith, my husband, was personally feeding the proposal I'd spent three sleepless nights writing into the shredder.

Over the roar of the machine, his voice was cold and matter-of-fact. "We're putting Zoe's name on this proposal. She just got promoted and needs this achievement to establish herself."

I said nothing, my fingers crumpling the diagnosis report in my pocket. I turned and opened a booking app, reserving a seven-day, six-night overwater villa honeymoon package at Dreamhaven Isles for William and his mistress Zoe Campbell—first class all the way, top luxury customization.

When William saw the order, he actually smiled at me for once, condescendingly saying, "At least you know your place. When I get back, I'll bring you a handbag."

I told him softly, "No need."

Because you two aren't coming back.

1

At 3 PM in the CEO's office, the shredder finally stopped roaring.

The project proposal I'd spent three whole nights on, revised seventeen times, had become a pile of shredded paper in the trash.

William dusted the paper fragments off his hands, looking down at me with his brow furrowed. "Jasmine, who are you putting on this dying act for?"

"Zoe just joined the company—no foundation, no connections. This project opportunity is like a lifeline for her. You've been at the company nine years. What major project haven't you done? Fighting her for this—don't you feel ashamed?"

Zoe was sitting in my office chair, legs crossed, swinging her brand-new designer heels. When she saw me come in, she jumped up immediately, wringing her hands, eyes instantly reddening as she shrank behind William.

"Jasmine, this is my fault. I shouldn't have put William in this position." She bit her lower lip, looking pitiful. "But I really need this opportunity. If I fail to get promoted this time, my parents will force me to go back home and get married."

William pulled her into his arms and turned to look at me with eyes like ice, filled with towering rage.

"Jasmine! Do you have to push her to death before you're satisfied?"

"She's just a girl fresh out of college. You're a thirty-year-old woman—what are you competing with her for?"

I took a deep breath, suppressing the bloody taste rising in my throat and the sharp stabbing pain in my stomach.

I tried to keep my voice calm. "This project involves complex financial models and risk control systems. Zoe hasn't dealt with these before. She won't understand them and can't handle the responsibility."

"What are you saying?" Tears instantly fell from Zoe's eyes as she buried herself in William's arms, crying harder. "Is Jasmine saying I'm stupid? That I'm not qualified for this project? William, I know my education isn't as good as Jasmine's, and I'm not as capable, but I've really been working hard to learn."

"Enough!" William slammed his palm on the desk so hard the glass jumped.

He strode up to me, getting in my face, his voice low but bone-chillingly cold. "Jasmine, stop acting so high and mighty."

"You've been freeloading at this company for nine years using your status as my wife. Now I'm asking you to help Zoe a little, and you're putting on airs?"

His gaze swept over the gauze covering the IV port on my left arm, a contemptuous smile curling his lips. "Been donating blood for charity again? How boring. You'd be better off spending that time caring about company business."

I looked down at my arm.

Under the gauze was the IV port left from this morning's gastroscopy biopsy—not blood donation, and certainly not the charity work he assumed.

The terminal stomach cancer diagnosis was in my pocket right now, like a red-hot branding iron burning my chest.

"Fine." I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm. "Give the proposal to Zoe."

Zoe's tears instantly turned to smiles. As she turned, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes.

She picked up the cup of freshly brewed hot Americano from the desk and walked over to me with an obedient smile. "Jasmine, don't be angry. Let me buy you coffee to apologize, okay?"

She handed me the cup. Just as I reached for it, her wrist suddenly flipped.

The scalding coffee splashed precisely onto my left arm, soaking through my shirt and hitting the IV port wound.

Searing pain shot through my entire body. I couldn't help crying out—it felt like someone was tearing at my flesh with red-hot pliers.

My head buzzed. I gripped the desk edge, barely able to stand.

"I'm so sorry, Jasmine! My hand slipped!" Zoe shrieked, her big innocent eyes wide, though her tone held no remorse. "But why didn't you hold it steady?"

William rushed over, immediately grabbing Zoe's hand and examining it frantically, his voice panicked. "Zoe, did it burn you? Do you have any blisters?"

Zoe shook her head, tears streaming down. "William, I'm fine, but Jasmine got hurt."

William whipped his head around, his eyes full of disgust and violence.

The next second, his hand clamped around my throat, slamming me against the floor-to-ceiling window. The heavy glass made a dull thud.

"Jasmine! Are you blind?!"

"Zoe kindly brought you coffee and you deliberately tried to burn her, didn't you? How can you be so vicious!"

Oxygen deprivation instantly turned my face purple. My hands instinctively clawed at his arm, my throat only able to squeeze out broken syllables. "I didn't."

"Still lying!" His grip tightened, his eyes flashing with crazed ferocity. "Zoe didn't do it on purpose. If you dare glare at her like that again, I'll gouge out your eyes!"

The air was being squeezed from my lungs bit by bit. My vision started going black, my ears filled only with Zoe's fake attempts to intervene. "William, don't do this. Jasmine will get angry."

Get angry? I was about to stop breathing.

In the second before losing consciousness, I struggled to reach into my pocket, pulled out the two freshly printed tickets and hotel reservation, and held them in front of him.

"Go to Dreamhaven Isles."

William froze, his grip finally loosening slightly.

I gasped for air and shoved the reservation into his hand, my voice hoarse like sandpaper. "I booked a honeymoon trip for you and Zoe. Consider it celebrating her promotion."

William snatched it away. Seeing the hotel specifications and price, he snorted coldly, satisfaction crossing his face. "At least you know your place."

"Zoe's been exhausted from work lately. Perfect timing to take her away and help her relax."

Only then did he completely let go.

I slid down the glass window to the floor, clutching my throat and coughing desperately, each breath bringing piercing pain.

William walked out with his arm around Zoe's shoulder. She looked back at me, a sweet, malicious smile playing on her lips.

"Jasmine, work hard at the office, okay? We'll bring you a gift when we get back."

The office door slammed shut.

I sat slumped on the cold floor, slowly rolling up my left sleeve. The skin around the IV port had been scalded into several large blisters, red and swollen, oozing blood, painful at the slightest touch.

I took out a tissue and calmly wiped the coffee stains off the tube, then pulled out my phone and took photos one by one—the finger marks on my neck, the burn on my arm, and the puddle of coffee on the floor.

Evidence needs to be collected thoroughly.

I opened my contacts, my finger hovering for a few seconds over the number marked "Officer Miller," but finally darkened the screen.

No rush.

The show has only just begun.