Divorcing My Cheating Wife From Golden Boy to Millionaire

Three years into our marriage, my wife grew sick of me. It took her only three years to stop seeing me as her bright, warm golden retriever and start treating me like an unhinged, rabid stray. When she hurled her designer bag right at my face again, the cold metal zipper slashed the outer corner of my eye. I suddenly burst out laughing. Looking right at her, I said, "That's it, Wendy. I'm done. I want a divorce." She froze. It took her a long moment to scoff coldly and brush it off: "Whatever. Suit yourself." A year later, I was lounging on a sun-drenched beach, my arm wrapped around my gorgeous new girlfriend. Wendy, however, showed up looking like a disheveled mess, dropping to her knees and begging through tears for me to take her back. Carrying the fresh bakery cake and bouquet of flowers I had just picked up, I stood outside our front door. Just as I slipped my key into the lock, Wendy’s voice drifted through the wood, chatting with her friends. "Honestly, Wendy, you really got the best deal out of all of us. Your husband is young, totally obsessed with you, and caters to your every whim." "Right? You casually mentioned craving that cake from that old shop near our high school, and he literally rushed out to get it without a second thought. Our high school is easily fifteen miles away from here. He treats you so damn well." I grinned, leaning in a little closer, practically pressing my ear to the door just to hear better. I waited for her sweet words of praise or agreement. Instead, all I got was an ambiguous, cold scoff, followed by a dismissive drawl: "Him? He's just... okay." The chill in her tone swept through me like an icy gust of wind. In an instant, I felt as if I had been pulled straight out of freezing water, shivering down to my bones. No. This wasn’t right. We had been married for three years, and our relationship had always been rock solid. I didn’t deserve such a casual, almost mocking brush-off. "Wait, really? He’s amazing to you! Wendy, what else could you possibly want?" her friend asked, sounding confused. That was the exact question burning in my chest. All it took was one word from her, and I would drive across the entire city just to pick up a pastry she offhandedly mentioned. If she liked a piece of jewelry, it would be sitting on her vanity the next morning. Whenever she wanted to travel somewhere, I gave her my full support—whether that meant funding the trip or clearing my schedule to be by her side... Over the past three years, my conscience was completely clear. I just wanted to know: what had I done wrong to make her so dissatisfied? After a long pause, her voice came through again. "He's fine, but he's just too childish. You know how younger guys are. Immature, clingy. It was cute in the beginning, but after a while, you just get sick of it." The living room fell quiet for a second before erupting into giggles again. "Totally get it. You're drop-dead gorgeous, Wendy. You could have anyone you want. It's been three years—it's totally normal to get bored." "Exactly! Oh, by the way, have you heard? That guy from high school is back in town. He was asking me about you recently, begging for your Snap. Should I give it to him or what..." Wendy's voice cut through the chatter, ringing crystal clear in my ears. She chuckled softly and replied, "I know. He already reached out to me." "Holy crap! That's Julian Vance! The ultimate campus heartthrob, the straight-A genius... You really had him wrapped around your finger back then..." The chatter and laughter behind the door carried on, but my heart plunged straight into an abyss. I couldn't stop shaking. So three whole years of my devotion boiled down to nothing more than: He's just okay. Turns out, you don't even need the seven-year itch to grow completely sick of someone. And the real reason... was because he was back. Julian Vance. Wendy’s first love. Her untouchable white moonlight.I slowly slid my key out of the lock and took half a step back. Only after forcing my breathing to steady did I raise my hand and knock on the door. It was almost funny. For the first time in my life, I had to knock to get into my own home. The laughter inside cut off instantly. A long moment passed before the faint shuffle of slippers approached. Then, the door was pulled wide open. Wendy stood there, her face a mask of shock. I caught every single micro-expression—the brief flash of eager anticipation in her eyes, followed by the immediate disappointment when she saw it was just me. Still, her practiced smile snapped right back into place. "You're back! Wow, is this for me?" Beaming, she took the cake and flowers from my hands, her voice dripping with sweetness: "Thanks, babe." She delivered the line with utter ease. You would never guess that just seconds ago, she had been tearing me down in front of her friends with cold detachment. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I never would have believed that the wife who always played the devoted partner in front of me could hold me in such utter contempt. So why, Wendy? Just because he came back, I'm supposed to step aside and roll over? Like hell I will. I mirrored her smile, keeping my expression perfectly tender and attentive. "Why are you being so polite with me? You're my wife. If I don't treat you well, who else would I spoil?" So don't push me to my limit. I emphasized the word wife, fixing my gaze on her without blinking. I didn't miss the split-second panic flitting across her eyes. Her friends poked their heads out from the hallway. "Wendy, everything okay?" The moment they saw me, guilt from their earlier gossip clearly hit them. Looking startled and uneasy, they hurried to grab their coats. "Oh, hey! Your husband’s home! Well, we... we actually have somewhere to be, so we'll get out of your hair!" Grabbing their purses, they slipped their shoes on at lightning speed and mumbled hasty goodbyes. Wendy politely saw them to the door. But the second the lock clicked shut, she turned around and tossed the bouquet carelessly onto the floor. Not satisfied, she ground her heel into the petals, her brows knitting into a furious scowl as she lashed out at me. "Ethan, could you grow up for once? These flowers are completely useless! They just sit there taking up space, die in a couple of days, and then attract fruit flies while they rot. You bought them back then, and you're still buying them now. It's been three years—do you ever learn?" I stared at the bruised, mangled blossoms on the hardwood floor, refusing to back down quietly. "Wait... you literally told me lisianthus was your favorite flower, which is why I—" "Enough!" Wendy snarled, cutting me off viciously. "You said it yourself—that was the past! Can't I change my mind? I hate them now, okay?!" The moment the words left her mouth, she spun around and slammed into the bedroom. The heavy thud of the door echoed through the empty hallway. I stood frozen by the entryway, staring blankly at the ruined flowers at my feet. I couldn't fathom how someone could have two completely different faces. How someone could be so fickle, falling out of love and changing their tastes in the blink of an eye. First the flowers... and now me.That night, my best friend Liam called to invite me out for drinks. I glanced at the shut bedroom door and murmured, "Send me the address. I'll be there in twenty." When I arrived at the bar, Liam grinned and playfully punched my shoulder. "Look who it is! Rare sight for our resident domesticated family man to come drinking with single losers like me. What, did Wendy grant you a hall pass tonight? Did something happen?" "I need a favor." I gave a self-deprecating smile, ordered a whiskey, and took two bitter sips. The burn in my throat couldn't mask the bile rising in my chest. "Wendy's first love is back in town." "Wait, what?" Liam inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide with pure shock and a hint of gossip-fueled adrenaline. "The golden boy who supposedly moved abroad years ago? Did she... is she cheating on you? What do you need me to do? Want me to get a few guys to jump him? Say the word and it's done!" "Shut up, stop talking crazy," I said, lightly shoving his shoulder with fake irritation. "She's my wife. She wouldn't go that far." I paused, staring into my glass. "Just... look into him for me. His name is Julian Vance." "Man, if that's all, what are you even stressing about? Consider it done." Liam shrugged, signaling the bartender for another round. I ordered another drink too. As the alcohol clouded my head, I suddenly stared at him and asked, "Hey... do you think she really loved him back then?" "Oh, come on, Ethan. Don't do this to yourself." Slurring slightly, Liam clinked his glass against mine and slung an arm around my neck. "Isn't the answer obvious? They were together back then—of course they loved each other." Right. My fingers suddenly went limp. The glass slipped from my grip, shattering on the floor into a million sharp fragments. They were lovers. Of course they loved each other. Then what about me? What the hell was I? A distraction when she was bored? A disposable plaything she could toss aside whenever she pleased? Yet she never once stopped to ask... She never asked if I was willing to be her biggest joke. Liam and I drank until the early hours of the morning, completely wasted, crashing right there in a booth at the pub. It wasn't until dawn that the bartender gently shook me awake. "Hey, buddy. Wake up." I nudged Liam, who was dead to the world beside me. He swat my hand away groggily, covering his ears and keeping his eyes glued shut. "Five more minutes, man... Your missus is probably blowing up your phone again, right? Just head back first..." "...Yeah. Okay." I nodded quietly. What he didn't know was that this time... nobody was blowing up my phone. The second I opened my eyes, I had checked my phone a dozen times. Not a single missed call. Not a single unread notification from her. The only unread text was an automated bill reminder from my carrier. A bitter, mocking smile tugged at my lips. This had never happened before. She never used to be like this. Wendy and I met in college. She was a senior when I was just a freshman, and she was the very first person I ran into on campus during move-in day. At first, I couldn't stand her. Simply because... the first time we ever met, she slapped me and called me a pervert.It genuinely was an accident. I mean, how was I supposed to know the wheel of my bulky rolling suitcase would catch the hem of her knit maxi skirt? I didn't even notice, dragging it along for a couple of yards until half the fabric unraveled right off her. Her long skirt turned into a micro-mini right there on the sidewalk, and I ended up taking a hard slap to the cheek. She went off like a bottle rocket, firing a barrage of insults at me. Yet the only word that stuck in my head was pervert. That, and the way her eyes flashed—half furious, half pouting. Her tear-filled glare looked devastatingly pretty. Even though she was livid, framed by those expressive eyes, it felt strangely captivating. I took the slap and gave her a sincere apology. They say fighting breeds familiarity. We were in the same department, she was my upperclassman, and naturally, our paths kept crossing. The more we interacted, the deeper I fell. It was only natural for feelings to develop. Yet she was the one who confessed first. During that time, my parents went through an excruciating, vicious divorce. My mother's side piece had the audacity to show up at our house, flaunting the affair right in my father's face. In a blind rage, my dad snapped, severely injuring the man with a kitchen knife. While the man landed in the ICU, my father suffered a total mental breakdown and jumped from the roof of our building. Before he died, he wept bitterly, begging me never to trust a woman easily. If Wendy hadn't been by my side through those darkest days, I never would have survived. She helped me pack up my father’s belongings and organize the memorial service. She went with me to the hospital to confront my mother, only to be screamed at and cursed out. She stood by me when the side piece's family banged on our door demanding compensation, even using her own savings to help me pay off a chunk of the legal settlement... "I'm so sorry for dragging you into this mess," I whispered back then. "You shouldn't have to hear them say such vile things about you. You're not even obligated to be here..." We used to huddle close on the floor of the dim living room by my father's portrait, listening to the quiet murmur of the neighborhood and staring out at the pale moon, sitting awake until sunrise. Back then, the words I said most often were I'm sorry. After my father's violence, my mother's betrayal, and the creditor's harassment, an instinctive "I'm sorry" was all I had left. Sorry for my father's crime, sorry for my mother's cruelty, and deeply ashamed of leaning on Wendy's kindness while feeling utterly worthless. Yet she never seemed to care about any of that baggage. She would always smile softly, her eyes crinkling. "It's okay, silly. We're friends, aren't we?" Then, one quiet night, she fell silent for a long time before suddenly speaking up: "You're right. Technically, I'm nobody to you." A bizarre mix of relief, hollow disappointment, and shock gripped my chest. Had she finally had enough? Was she finally walking away from my broken life? Then she continued, "So... can I become someone to you? Like, your girlfriend? Or... your future wife?" In that single second, I swear I heard fireworks going off inside my chest. After we made it official, Wendy made me promise to check in with her constantly. Outside of work hours, if I stepped out for more than an hour, she would call asking where I was. If I didn't pick up the first time, she’d keep calling until I answered. I once asked her why she was so hyper-vigilant. She just smiled brightly, giving me an entirely shameless excuse: "Because I have zero sense of security!" "A guy I used to know... loved pulling vanishing acts on me. That's why I'm like this now." "Besides, checking in on you means I care. It means I'm worried about you, that I love you! If I ever stop caring, I won't bother asking you a single thing!" She stated it as an absolute truth, and I took it straight to heart. Later on, to give her peace of mind, I turned down countless networking dinners and nights out with friends, making regular check-ins a second nature. Over time, though—whether out of trust or sheer indifference—Wendy stopped asking where I was. Looking back now, maybe it was just like she said yesterday. She was simply... sick of me.I made a sharp U-turn, heading away from home and pointing the car toward Wendy's design studio instead. She loved interior architecture. After graduating college, she had co-founded a boutique firm with a classmate. Word was that the business had been booming lately, taking over two full floors of a prime downtown office tower. I used the keycard she had given me years ago, stepping out of the elevator smoothly onto the seventeenth floor. I had visited a few times in the past and still vaguely remembered where her private office was. As I approached the hallway, I noticed her frosted glass door was cracked open. Faint, hushed voices drifted out. It was her... and a man. Who was that? Just as my hand touched the door handle to push it open, I heard Wendy's voice, tinged with a coquettish, teasing sulk: "Why did you come back looking for me? Didn't you love ghosting people? Didn't you swear you'd never move back to the States, that you never wanted to see me again?" A man’s voice let out a low, raspy sigh. "I'm sorry. But I realized... I couldn't stop thinking about you. I needed to see you." "And what about you? Didn't you say you got married? Why did you still agree to meet up with me today? Did he treat you badly?" The man’s words were laced with anxiety and tender concern, making Wendy giggle playfully. My fists clenched tight. I took a step back, forcing myself to stay calm, determined to catch this adulterer red-handed without humiliating myself completely. "I knew it. As long as I stayed put, you'd always come back to me." Wendy looped her arms around his neck, her gaze lingering, her tone dripping with intimacy. "Jealous? Relax, what is he even worth? He could never mistreat me. You're the only one who gets to push me around." The man hooked an arm around her waist, effortlessly lifting her onto the executive desk, scattering stacks of blueprints across the floor before leaning over her. "Is he better, or am I? Honestly... why did you even marry him in the first place?" Wendy chuckled softly, planting a featherlight kiss on his lips, her words muffled against his skin: "You, obviously. What is he compared to you? Just a little toy to kill time with." "And you have the nerve to ask? If you hadn't ghosted me and fled the country without a word, I never would have come up with that petty scheme just to piss you off." "You little brat..." The man let out a deep groan. Before Wendy could say another word, his lips crashed onto hers, swallowing the rest of her breath whole. Through the ajar door, watching their dark silhouettes tangling together against the blinds, I stood frozen as they pressed closer and their clothes fell into disarray. We were all adults. I knew damn well what was happening under those unbuttoned shirts. My knuckles turned stark white. Standing on the other side of a single thin wall, peeking through the crack, watching my lawful wife fooling around with another man... the final pieces of my heart shattered into dust. "Julian!" Wendy gasped out, a mix of breathy pleasure and teasing annoyance. That one name tore the veil entirely off the ugly truth. So... it really was him. Julian Vance. He was actually back. No wonder. It all made sense now... A toy to kill time with? Why the hell did I deserve to be treated like an amusing little pastime?! Why did his return mean I was suddenly reduced to absolute garbage?! Unable to stomach the fury tearing through my veins for another second, I raised my boot and kicked the office door off its latch!