My Mate, My Killer

One day, Wendy discovered that her husband Stanley was having an affair.

He had been seeing a college student.

It was Stanley's birthday. Wendy had prepared a table full of dishes early in the day. Just then, she heard a notification from his phone.

Ding!

He had left his phone at home.

Wendy switched it on and saw a text from the college student.

[I hurt myself when I was carrying the cake. It hurts so much.]

Attached was a selfie—not of the sender's face, but of her legs. The girl in the photo wore pulled-up white socks, black leather shoes, and a blue-and-white skirt that had been pushed up to reveal her long, slender legs. Her pale knees were visibly reddened from the bump. The youthful, vibrant image of her body paired with coquettish words exuded a forbidden allure.

People often say successful businessmen like Stanley favored this type of woman when choosing mistresses.

Wendy clutched the phone tightly, her fingers turning white from the pressure.

Ding!

Another text came from the college student.

"Mr. Hawk, see you at Cloud Hotel tonight. I want to celebrate your birthday!"

So, his mistress wanted to celebrate his birthday tonight.

Wendy grabbed her bag and headed straight to Cloud Hotel. She had to see for herself who this college student was.

She soon arrived at the hotel, ready to go in. Just then, she saw her parents, Harry and Lilian at the entrance. Surprised, she walked up to them.

"Dad, Mom, what are you doing here?" she asked.

Harry and Lilian, caught off guard, exchanged a glance before responding to her hesitantly.

"Wendy, your sister's back in the country. We brought her here," Harry said.

'Jessica?'

Through the hotel's gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows, Wendy spotted her sister Jessica and immediately froze.

Jessica was wearing the exact same blue-and-white skirt from the photo in Stanley's phone. The college student was none other than her own sister!

Jessica had always been a beauty, known as the 'Red Rose of Hovendale,' and she was famed for having the most beautiful legs in town. Many men had been captivated by her charm. And now, her darling sister was using those legs to seduce her husband.

Wendy found it laughable. She turned to her parents and said coldly, "So I'm the last to know?"

Harry gave a sheepish smile. "Wendy, Mr. Hawk doesn't even like you."

"Exactly, Wendy," Lilian chimed in. "Do you know how many women in Hovendale are dying to be with Mr. Hawk? Better to let Jessica have him than some other woman."

Wendy clenched her fists. "Dad, Mom, I'm your daughter too!"

Turning on her heel, she started walking away.

Lilian called after her. "Wendy, tell me—has Mr. Hawk ever touched you?"

Wendy stopped in her tracks.

Harry's voice turned sharp. "Wendy, don't act like we owe you anything. Three years ago, when Stanley and Jessica were Hovendale's golden couple, everyone thought they'd get married. But then Stanley got into a car accident and went into a coma. That's the only reason we had you marry him instead."

Lilian gave Wendy a disdainful once-over. "Look at yourself, Wendy. In the past three years, you've turned into a housewife who revolves around her husband. Meanwhile, Jessica became the principal ballerina of her company. She's a white swan, and you're just an ugly duckling. What do you have to compete with Jessica? Just give Mr. Hawk back to her already."

Every word felt like a knife into Wendy's chest. Tears filling her eyes, she walked away.

-

Back at the villa, night had fallen. Wendy had sent the maid Mathilda home, so the house was empty, dark, and cold.

She sat alone at the dining table.

The once-warm meal had gone cold. The cake she had carefully prepared had 'Happy Birthday, Honey' written on it in frosting.

It was glaringly ironic, just like her existence—a complete joke.

Stanley and Jessica had been the golden couple of Hovendale, with Jessica as Stanley's cherished 'Red Rose.' But three years ago, a sudden car accident left Stanley in a vegetative state and Jessica disappeared entirely.

That was when the Crone family brought Wendy back from the countryside and forced her to marry Stanley in Jessica's place. Wendy had agreed willingly when she found out it was Stanley—the man she had loved all along.

For three years, Stanley remained in a coma. During those years, Wendy devoted herself to caring for him. She stayed by his side, gave up socializing, and focused solely on nursing him back to health, living as a dutiful housewife. In the end, her efforts paid off. Stanley woke up.

Wendy lit the candles on the cake.

The flickering glow illuminated her reflection in the nearby mirror—a plain housewife in a dull black-and-white dress, devoid of charm or excitement.

Meanwhile, Jessica, now a successful ballerina, was young, vibrant, and beautiful.

Wendy was an ugly duckling, while Jessica was the white swan.

After waking up, Stanley abandoned the ugly duckling and returned to the white swan's side.

Wendy let out a bitter laugh.

This wasn't love; it was self-delusion. Stanley had never loved her, but she had loved him. The first one to fall in love always lost.

Today, Stanley had made her lose completely.

Tears welled in her eyes as she blew out the candles, plunging the villa back into darkness.

Just then, two bright headlights pierced through the night. Stanley's Rolls-Royce Phantom sped up the driveway and came to a halt on the lawn.

Wendy's eyelashes quivered. He had come back. She had thought he wouldn't return tonight.

The villa door opened and Stanley stepped in, carrying the cool air of the night with him.

Stanley Hawk, the heir of the Hawk family, had been a business prodigy from a very young age. By 16, he had earned dual master's degrees from Harfield. Later, he took Hawk Group public in Hawthorne, making a name for himself internationally before returning home to lead the company as Hovendale's wealthiest man.

Stanley walked in.

"Why didn't you turn on the lights?" he asked in a deep, magnetic voice as he turned on the wall lamp with a click.

The sudden brightness made Wendy blink. When her eyes adjusted, she looked at him.

Dressed in a custom-tailored black suit, Stanley exuded a cold, aristocratic elegance that left countless socialites dreaming of him at night.

"It's your birthday," she said.

Stanley's handsome face remained indifferent as his gaze swept lazily over the dining table. "Don't waste your time on this again. I don't celebrate such occasions."

Wendy smiled faintly. "Is it that you don't celebrate, or you just don't want to celebrate with me?"

Stanley glanced at her, his gaze impassive. "Think what you like."

With that, he turned around and started up the stairs.

He had always been like this—distant and cold. No matter what she did, she could never warm his heart.

Wendy stood and called after him. "It's your birthday today. I have a gift for you."

However, Stanley didn't stop or turn around. "I don't need it."

Wendy let out a soft chuckle and said, "Stanley, let's get a divorce."

Stanley froze mid-step, one foot already on the staircase. He turned around, his deep black eyes locking onto her.