Hasta que el contrato nos separe: casada con el enemigo

Raymond, a handsome young man with a built physique, wore a bright, cheerful smile. Tonight was a sacred evening for him and Rahma, his wife—their fourth wedding anniversary.

Raymond was merely a car salesman at a dealership notorious for slow sales, as they sold imported cars from China.

Damn it… Still halfway home, Raymond was forced to pull over and take shelter. The light drizzle had suddenly turned into a heavy downpour.

Out of nowhere, his old phone chimed with an incoming message. Raymond assumed it was his wife checking in, as it was already past nine in the evening. But when he opened it, the message came from an unknown number.

“Hmm… Who sent this? Why is there an image attached?” Raymond wondered.

A sudden jolt went through him as he opened the three photos. His eyes widened; his heart hammered against his ribs.

The photos showed a breathtakingly beautiful woman with long flowing hair, wearing a blazing red, sultry nightgown—so sheer her lingerie was visibly outlined underneath. Any normal man would drool at such a tantalizing sight.

Although the pictures were slightly blurry—taken discreetly in what looked like a pub or a dimly lit nightclub—her face was unmistakably recognizable.

The woman wasn't alone. An older, distinguished gentleman had his arm wrapped around her waist, kissing her cheek intimately.

The woman bore an uncanny resemblance to… Rahma, his wife.

Raymond felt the ground pull away beneath him; his whole body froze into stone.

Was that really Rahma? Why was she so close and intimate with this dapper, visibly wealthy older man?

So… were the ugly rumors true after all? The whispers he had heard ever since her career skyrocketed and eclipsed his own—that Rahma had climbed the ladder by selling herself?

Overwhelmed with blinding rage, Raymond abandoned the 145,000-rupiah cake right there on the bench of the bus stop where he had taken shelter. Ignoring the pouring rain, he revved his engine and sped straight home.

Arriving at the house, Raymond noticed her car was missing from the garage. Rahma wasn't home yet.

He desperately tried to suppress the raging turmoil inside him, clinging to a thread of optimism. Surely, the woman in the photo was just a look-alike.

But… why were those three photos sent to him? What was the motive behind it? His mind raced in agonizing confusion.

Around 11:45 PM, the sound of a car engine echoed outside. Rahma unlocked the front door and headed straight for the bedroom. Both of them carried their own house keys.

Noticing Raymond lying in bed with his back turned toward her, Rahma merely sighed. She walked into the bathroom to wash off her glamorous makeup.

In truth, Raymond was wide awake, his chest burning with anxiety and rage over those photos.

Less than fifteen minutes after lying down beside him, Rahma's soft, rhythmic snoring filled the room. Raymond turned around. In the soft silhouette of the nightlight, he saw his wife's face—she looked utterly exhausted.

“Hmm… Did she forget our fourth anniversary? But… why does she look so drained?” Raymond thought, the seeds of suspicion taking deeper root.

The next morning at the breakfast table…

Raymond still couldn't shake the three images from his mind—photos he had yet to delete—as he looked at his wife, who looked even more radiant in a cream-colored blouse.

Her long hair was styled in soft curls, dyed a rich shade of brown falling past her shoulders, accompanied by the subtle trail of expensive perfume. Rahma was undeniably gorgeous, with her fair, smooth skin and tall, slender frame. She was born of mixed heritage—her father an Australian native, her mother Sundanese.

Raymond was itching to ask where she had been until nearly midnight last night. But before he could speak, Rahma’s vibrant red lips moved first.

“Honey, my stepmom and older sister are arriving from Australia this afternoon. They’ll be staying with us while they’re in Jakarta. Apparently, their house back home is under renovation, so they're coming back to the country for a bit of travel and a short visit,” Rahma blurted out, slicing a piece of toast and chewing slowly.

Raymond remained silent, waiting. Would she remember that today marked exactly four years since they became husband and wife?

Yet… right up until Rahma bade him goodbye to leave for work, not a single word was spoken about their anniversary. Raymond could only let out a long, heavy sigh.

It was Sunday, but Rahma was still working!

“Oh, right… I might come home late again tonight. I’m accompanying the boss to a meeting with a major client who’s planning to build a shopping center in Kalimantan,” Rahma added casually before stepping away.

He was a man rendered powerless, completely overshadowed by his wife's career and income.

This time, Rahma didn't drive her own car. Instead, she was picked up by a luxury vehicle waiting outside.

Raymond could only nod, lacking any authority to stop her. He knew his place; these days, ninety percent of their household expenses came directly from Rahma’s pocket.

Ever since Rahma’s career took off, they had ascended from a modest family to an elite middle-class household. Naturally, their lifestyle adjusted accordingly… and whether he liked it or not, Rahma was the one footing the bill.

Raymond began clearing the breakfast dishes—a small chore Rahma used to do, but one that now fell entirely on him, as they couldn't afford a housekeeper.

In that quiet moment, he felt his dignity sink to an absolute low.

TO BE CONTINUED