[Warning: A little bit of NTR in this Chapter, you can skip this Chapter if you want]
The soft glow of a phone screen lit up his face. In the quiet corner of a nearly empty office, a man in a sleek black suit, known to many simply as Nanael, was completely absorbed in the world of fiction.
His fingers occasionally swiped across the screen, scrolling through the final lines of the story. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
A happy ending, huh? he mused to himself. Even if the main character was kind of... bland. Still, I'm satisfied.
The silence was suddenly broken by a voice he recognized all too well.
"Nanael! You're still here? Don't tell you forgot what day it is?"
The voice ca from a friend, more than that, a close colleague and his best buddy, leaning against the doorway with an annoyingly smug grin on his face.
Nanael looked up, blinking against the dim lighting. A pang of guilt nudged his chest.
He'd gotten so caught up reading, he'd completely lost track of ti.
He chuckled quietly, powering off his phone and rising from his chair.
"I guess I better get going, then," he said with a small shrug.
His friend gave him a lazy nod as Nanael walked past and exited the building.
A cool breeze greeted him, brushing against his cheeks like a silent reminder that the city never really slept.
As he wandered through the bustling streets, sothing caught his eye.
A small bakery, tucked between taller buildings, decorated with twinkling fairy lights and heart-shaped ornants in soft pink tones. It looked sweet and warm.
His smile widened without him even realizing it.
Lia would love this place, he thought, and with that single idea blooming in his mind, he found himself walking toward the entrance without hesitation.
The mont he stepped inside, a wave of sweet scents—vanilla, chocolate, strawberries, washed over him.
"Good evening, sir! How can I help you?" the young clerk behind the counter greeted him with a bright, welcoming tone.
Nanael's eyes landed on a small, heart-shaped cake adorned with delicate flower decorations. It wasn't big, but the craftsmanship was beautiful, almost too pretty to eat.
"Is that one for sale?" he asked, voice a little more excited than he ant it to be.
The clerk nodded. "Absolutely, sir. It's one of our most popular choices, especially for special occasions."
Perfect.
Without wasting ti, he pulled out his card. The transaction was quick and smooth, and the cake was carefully boxed up, finished with a neat pink ribbon. It was perfect for tonight.
Their anniversary.
He could already imagine Lia's face—the sparkle in her eyes, that soft smile, maybe even the slight blush on her cheeks as she hugged him.
By the ti he reached the lobby of their apartnt, his heart was beating a little faster. Not from exhaustion, but from pure anticipation.
A full year of marriage. A year of love, growth, laughter... and tonight was supposed to be another beautiful mory to add to the list.
He stepped into the elevator, catching his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his hair a little, smoothing down the ssy parts. Just a few more minutes and he'd be in her arms.
He imagined her opening the door, her surprise at the cake, her delighted expression. His steps were light as he walked down the hallway, humming softly under his breath.
He stopped in front of their door. Raised his hand.
And that's when he heard it.
A strange muffled sound.
He paused.
It sounded like... a moan?
His brows furrowed. His heartbeat faltered for a mont.
His grip on the cake box tightened.
A chill crawled up his spine. Every alarm bell in his body went off at once.
He rang the bell.
Instantly, the noise inside stopped. There was a flurry of movent. Clattering. Scrambling. Like soone in a panic trying to fix sothing that couldn't be fixed.
"Lia?" he called out, his voice strained. "You okay in there?"
Silence.
No response. Just the sound of his own breath and the blood rushing in his ears.
Worry turned into sothing else. Sothing heavier and sharp.
He pushed the door.
It didn't budge.
And then he kicked it open.
The door swung wide with a loud creak, and what he saw next rooted him to the ground.
Right there, in the center of their living room, stood Lia. Her hair was a ss, clothes half-falling off her trembling body. Her expression was frozen—pure shock, guilt, and sha swirling in her wide, tearless eyes.
Behind her, on the couch, sat a man with blond hair. He was hastily buttoning up his shirt, clearly caught mid-act.
Both of them stared at Nanael, eyes wide with fear. As if they'd just seen a ghost.
Nanael stood there, a small pink box still in his hand.
Lia opened her mouth, but no words ca out. Her lips quivered. Her face was pale, cheeks flushed in embarrassnt and panic.
The stranger beside her didn't speak either. His hands just fumbled with the buttons as if it would sohow erase what had just happened.
And in that mont, Nanael didn't need an explanation.
He knew.
His wife had cheated on him. For how long? Who knew. But it didn't matter.
That single word—cheated, echoed in his mind like a war drum, over and over, pounding at the walls of his sanity.
A sharp, searing pain pierced through his chest, as if sothing inside him had been ripped apart.
At the sa ti, everything felt... numb.
He stepped forward, legs trembling under the weight of what he'd just discovered. His expression twisted, grief, fury, disgust—all clawing their way to the surface.
The cake in his hand suddenly felt heavy. Like a cruel joke. A sick symbol of what this night should have been.
It was supposed to be their celebration.
Now, it was just proof of how foolish he'd been.
He stared at the box for a mont longer before a bitter laugh slipped from his lips.
It was hollow.
"...Heh. Wow... That's just... Ridiculous," he muttered, barely loud enough for them to hear.
"Ridiculous..."
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