FIANCÉE AU MILLIARDAIRE

"Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore."

Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

"Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him."

"Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..."

Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat.

After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that damn press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece.

Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife.

It was named "Love Nyla."

He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic.

The world was buzzing about their enviable love.

Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?"

Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night.

She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went.

At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you."

Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?]

Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.]

[Your husband is with me now.]

[I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.]

[What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.]

Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it.

The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.]

Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary.

Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding.

She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened.

A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning.

A pair of black lace panties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table.

From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door.

Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, naked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's penis.

Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, moaning, "Yes, that's it, great..."

The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?"

Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla, you little slut?"

Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her hips from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's moans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps.

The scene completely devastated Nyla.

Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in heaven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place.

She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk.

"Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?"

Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now."

Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding."

Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..."

"There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick."