He Picked a Rose, Got the Thorns

I stood at the master bedroom door, Herman Chester's voice mixing with another woman's coquettish laughter drifting from behind the half-open bathroom door—a poisoned needle stabbing my heart just as I'd slipped into my wedding dress. Tonight is my wedding night. I didn't storm in to confront him, nor did I break down in tears. I just quietly slipped out and sat on the living room sofa until dawn's first light. When Herman came out, his shirt collar was undone. He saw me sitting there with no hint of guilt—just a frown. "Why are you sitting here?" "Waiting for you." I stood up, my voice calm and still as a stagnant pond. He hadn't expected my reaction; he hesitated for a moment before saying casually, "I drank too much last night." I didn't answer, just said, "I want to work at the Chester Group." Herman raised an eyebrow, probably finding my request odd, but still nodded, "Whatever, pick whichever department you want." I knew he never truly cared about me. To him, this marriage was just a deal trading family interests. Over the next three years, I started from the bottom at the Chester Group and climbed my way up to project director. And Herman's mistresses kept changing, one after another. I never asked, never made a scene, just like an outsider, watching his nonsense with cold detachment. That was until he brought Nancy Frank home. Nancy was his childhood sweetheart, her eyes and brows carrying a proud defiance. The first time we met, she sat on the sofa I always used, holding the warm water Herman handed her, and said bluntly to me, "Susan, Herman loves me. Sooner or later, I will become the lady of this house." I paused mid-wipe of the table, not looking up: "Mr. Chester never mentioned that to me." "It's not too late to say it now." She stood up, walked over, looking down at me, "Be smart. Leave on your own—and keep some dignity." I set down the rag and looked at her calmly. "This is my house. If anyone has to leave, it's you." Herman came out of the study, and Nancy's eyes immediately welled up with tears. Her voice was heavy with grievance: "Herman, she's bullying me." Herman's gaze turned icy as he looked at me. "Susan, don't push it too far." I said nothing and turned back to my room. That night, I worked late and came home past midnight. Just as I reached the bathroom door, unbearable sounds spilled out from inside. I pushed the door open. Herman and Nancy were tangled together, both completely naked. Seeing me, Nancy screamed and hid behind Herman. Herman showed no shame—instead, he snapped at me, "Who told you to come in? What if you scared Nancy?" I stood frozen, my heart hammered as if hit with a blunt force, yet my face stayed calm: "This is my bathroom." "Yours?" Herman sneered, "This whole house belongs to me—let alone this bathroom!" I didn't argue. I turned and packed a few things, then moved into the study. I thought giving in would buy me a moment of peace, but I never expected Nancy to chase after me. She stormed into the study, pointed her finger at my nose, spat a few curses, then suddenly collapsed, clutching her stomach and screaming, "Ah! Susan, how dare you hit me!" Herman came rushing over at the sound, and when he saw Nancy on the floor, his face instantly went pale. "Susan Truman, have you lost your mind?" He strode up to me and raised his hand, ready to slap me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the blow. But his hand froze mid-air—probably thinking it beneath him to hit a woman. "Kneel and apologize to Nancy." He gritted his teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument. Nancy lay on the ground, looking at me with a victorious smile. I took a deep breath and slowly bent my knees. As my knees touched the cold floor, I felt my heart shatter.