The Cuckolded Wife

My mind was foggy. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or if what I saw was reality.

The room was dim. However, when I got a good look at the man on top of me, I felt as if I had been hit on the back of my head. Instantly, I regained my lucidity.

I surreptitiously glanced at the ashtray on the bedside table.

Then, catching the man off-guard, I grabbed it and brought it down on his head. It happened far too quickly for him to react in any other way than to snarl, "What the hell? How dare you attack me?"

Before he could strike back at me, I used all the strength I could muster to bash him in the head over and over again.

It was only when his blood had stained the white sheets red that I came back to what little senses I had left.

My body was trembling, though I didn't know whether it was out of anger or fear—or perhaps the joy of being reborn back in time and getting a do-over.

At some point, I started tearing up, and my tears were now dampening my cheeks.

I was still consumed by my thoughts.

In my previous lifetime, it was on this very day that I lost my dignity and reputation as a woman.

While I was unconscious, a group of people stormed into the room and woke me up.

Before I could realize what was happening, I heard the voice of my husband, Andrew Stone, ringing out icily.

"Ella Turner, is this the birthday surprise you prepared for me?"

When I tried to get up, I realized that there was an arm around my waist. A sense of unease crept through me, and I heard the repulsive voice of an unfamiliar man asking me, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

At that very moment, I felt as if my blood had gone cold. It was as if I had plunged into an icy abyss. A man I didn't know was lying in bed beside me. It wasn't my husband.

I'd been raped.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried to explain that I had no idea who the man was and that he had forced himself onto me, no one believed me.

A multitude of evidence appeared out of nowhere to make it seem like I had been cheating on Andrew with this man for a while now.

During that loneliest and most helpless point in my life, I desperately turned to Andrew.

He was the man I had loved the most throughout my entire life. We met in college before we got married, and we'd been together for seven years by then.

In those seven years, he cherished me like no other. He doted on me even more than my parents did. I was living the life I had fantasized about as a teenager.

Everyone envied me for the way Andrew lavished his love on me.

I was an ordinary college student, and yet I was able to end up with someone who was clearly destined for great things. Not only that, but he even adored me so.

But alas, from that night onward, everything changed—for good.

Choking back my sobs, I had pleaded with him, "This isn't true! You have to believe me, Andrew."

He silently came over and hugged me, saying, "Don't cry. I believe you."

I clung to him as if he were my savior. From that moment onward, I loved him with every fiber of my being. But at the same time, I started behaving in extreme ways. I was no longer myself. I refused to let any woman get near him.

Yet, Andrew indulged in my ways. He even squashed my scandal, though it had already caused a huge commotion. Everyone in our social circle knew that I had cheated on him.

Still, he never said a single word about that. He protected me, forgave me, and allowed me to do whatever I wanted.

In fact, the online community even started calling him the most pure-hearted and loving man. He was voted as the nation's model husband. Everyone wanted someone as wonderful and devoted as him to fall in love with them.

But it was all a lie.

Returning to the present, I felt my stomach churning. Something was threatening to spill out of me. I fled to the bathroom and puked my guts out.

I was still in the bathroom when I heard the commotion outside. In the heavy silence of the room, the familiar voice rang out with unusual clarity.

"My wife prepared a surprise for me. It should be right here in this room."