He cheated, then gifted me something his mistress used—I didn’t get mad, I got even

Charles and I were together for seven years. He always claimed he didn't understand romance, yet for another woman he was willing to buy roses, pick out a ring, and travel through two cities overnight just to be with her. That it turns out, Charles wasn't clueless about romance; he just didn't love me enough.

People around him used to say that the one who isn't loved is the real outsider in a relationship, so I chose to walk away and let that woman have him. But for some reason, Charles regretted it. The day I was promoted to partner at the law firm, my friends threw a celebration dinner.

Charles didn't show up, yet another important moment in my life that he managed to miss. For the past few years, my birthdays, Valentine's Days, even our wedding anniversaries, Charles had never been there. He was always busy, always had something more important to do.

Whenever those special occasions came around, he'd brush them off, saying he didn't understand romance and had no interest in pointless rituals. When my friends asked where he was, I just smiled awkwardly and said he was a very busy man. I arranged the flowers my friends had given me into a bouquet, snapped a picture, and sent it to Charles.

It took him half a day to reply with a single word: "ugly. " I pursed my lips and typed back, annoyed, "When's the last time you even bought me roses? " Half an hour later, his belated response arrived: "We're not dating.

" Of course we weren't dating; we were married! Seven years—that was all it took for us to go from passion to indifference, from something full of life to something utterly lifeless. After the celebration, I came home to an empty, soulless house.

Naturally, Charles wasn't there. I flopped onto the couch and scrolled through my phone out of boredom. Buried among hundreds of unread messages in a muted group chat, something caught my eye: a photo of Charles and another woman.

She was cradling a bouquet of pink roses, leaning into his chest with a shy smile. Charles had one arm around her shoulders, his other hand carrying her handbag. Someone in the chat had casually mentioned how Charles and Mia made such a stunning couple, and the comments below were filled with endless praise: "Mia, you two are perfect together!

" "Such a gorgeous couple, love it! " "Damn Charles, how long were you planning to keep your beautiful girlfriend a secret? " Most of the people in this group were Charles's friends; they had probably forgotten I was even in there, not surprising considering I never posted or chatted.

I scrolled through the flood of messages in silence and saved the photo of Charles and this Mia. A few moments later, a notification popped up: the group chat had been deleted. I smirked.

How boring, I thought; there'd be more drama to enjoy. Charles didn't come home until nearly dawn. The moment he stepped through the door, he went straight to the bathroom, probably trying to wash off the lingering scent of another woman's perfume.

By the time he emerged, I was waiting in the living room. "Why so late? " I asked, my voice cold and abrupt.

Charles clearly hadn't expected me to still be awake; he startled for a split second before masking his surprise with indifference. "What's this, an interrogation? " I let out a soft laugh, my tone laced with disdain.

"What, got something to hide? " "Riley, I'm exhausted; can you not be so childish? " he muttered, making his way to the fridge for a bottle of water.

Normally, when we argued, Charles had to win, had to have the last word, but this time he didn't even bother. If he wasn't guilty of something, I'd bet my law degree he was. At some point, Charles finally returned to the bedroom and lay down beside me.

I was still awake, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. It grated on me like nails on a chalkboard, sharing a bed while living separate lives. If there was ever a cruel irony in marriage, this was it.

I slipped out of bed, padding silently to the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of red wine. Standing before the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, I stared out at the night cityscape, trying to make sense of how we ended up like this. There was a time when Charles and I had been madly in love.

When had it all unraveled? I didn't hear him wake up, but suddenly he was beside me, taking the glass from my hand. "Go back to bed, Riley.

" I turned to face him, searching his eyes. "Tell me the truth, Charles. Have you done something you regret?

" He didn't deny it; instead, he deflected. "Why do you always overthink things? " That was all the confirmation I needed.

As a lawyer and as a woman, I trusted my instincts, and every instinct in my body was telling me it was time to prepare for what came next. I thought that after my questions that night, Charles would be more cautious, making it difficult for me to find solid proof of his affair. Turns out, even the universe wanted me to be free from this mess.

On an ordinary day, while sorting through Charles's suits for dry cleaning, I stumbled upon a few luxury brand receipts tucked inside a pocket—expensive handbags, the kind I had never seen in our home. That was all the confirmation I needed to start digging deeper. I began keeping a close eye on his recent transactions.

I also found a way to retrieve footage from the dash cams in both of his cars, and that was when I realized if I wanted to find proof of Charles's infidelity, I didn't have to look far. Man, who once claimed he didn't understand romance, had somehow mastered the art of it for someone else. He picked out flowers for her, carefully planned gifts for every anniversary, and even crossed two cities overnight just to be with her.

They kissed in his car, checked into hotels—every plane ticket, every receipt—proof of their so-called love. Charles hadn't been incapable of romance; he had simply decided I wasn't worth the effort. Only I wasn't even heartbroken, just disgusted.

From 25 to 32, I had spent six years of my life—the most valuable years, perhaps—chasing success in every aspect except the one that mattered most. Instead, I had built and sustained an utterly failed marriage. People probably expected me to lash out, to lose my mind, to become the bitter scorned wife cursing her cheating husband.

But when the truth finally stared me in the face, I felt nothing but calm. Years as a lawyer had shown me more broken marriage nightmares than I could count. I'd seen couples who once swore eternal love end up despising each other.

I used to believe Charles and I were different—that we weren't. That we had fallen into the same inevitable cycle: two people who had grown to loathe each other. And I had no intention of holding on to something so thoroughly rotten.

Thankfully, we had a prenuptial agreement. Whatever we had before marriage remained our own, and as for the marital assets, he was the one at fault. I wouldn't leave a single dime on the table.

All I wanted now was to end this ridiculous farce as quickly as possible and reclaim my life. Charles must have assumed that, since I hadn't confronted him again, I had given up. So he got bolder, brazen even.

Word got around that he had hired Mia as his secretary, and the two of them were practically glued together at work, playing out their perfect little love story in broad daylight. Through the security camera at our front door, I saw Mia personally escort Charles home after a late-night business dinner, his body swaying drunkenly. She didn't even bother hiding it, clinging to him, letting him hold her, putting on a show right at my doorstep as if daring me to react.

She wanted me to see. Too bad for her; she played right into my hands. That night, Charles never made it inside.

Instead, he staggered back into her car, and the two of them disappeared from the camera's view. I didn't need to guess where they went. Once a challenge like this is issued, it never stops at just one round.

First, it was Mia leaving her lipstick in Charles's car. Then it was the faint, unmistakable scratches on his back—subtle little hints all designed to remind me that I was sharing my husband with another woman. The more I ignored them, the more impatient Mia became.

And then one day, she did something truly amusing: she reached out to me and invited me to meet her at a café. To my mistake, her taste in coffee shops, it turned out, was just as poor as her taste in men. I barely touched the coffee in front of me, pushing it aside as I studied the woman sitting across from me: Mia Carter, the third person in my marriage.

Expensive dress, perfect curls, a fresh-faced glow that still carried traces of youth. I had to admit she was a pretty girl, but I wasn't here to judge her looks because the truth was, no matter how much I disliked Mia, Charles was the one who had betrayed me. He bore the greater blame; she was just a byproduct of his choices.

That was until she opened her mouth. Mia had the audacity to say that I lost Charles because I wasn't good enough to keep a man's heart—that as a wife, I was the definition of failure. She even offered a half-hearted apology before dropping her real intention: "I'm sorry, but I really love Charles.

" I almost laughed. I didn't care if she loved Charles; I didn't even care if Charles loved her. The only thing I cared about was what I could take from this marriage when I walked away from it.

My emotions were no longer in play; this was strictly business now. I stared at her for a long moment before asking, "How did you and Charles meet? " "At a university business forum," she said.

"Charles came to give a talk. I was part of the student council team assigned to host him. " I cut her off with my next question: "Did you know he was married?

" Mia hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I saw the ring on his hand," she admitted, "and well, someone like Charles—his personal details are easy to find online. But so what?

" Sunlight poured through the café windows, illuminating her face. At that moment, I realized her youth was her greatest weapon, and it was at that same event, that same university forum, where she and Charles had exchanged numbers. From there, the script was painfully predictable: shared interests, long conversations, secret meetings, the inevitable transition from emotional connection to physical intimacy.

Mia recounted their love story like it was something beautiful that I thought I might actually vomit. "Mr. Anderson, you let us be together, won't you?

" I tilted my head and corrected her. "Riley. " I met her gaze evenly.

"Call me Riley or, if you prefer, Miss Harris. " Mia blinked, then smiled. "All right, Miss Harris," she said, amusement flickering in her eyes.

"You're not what I expected. " I could guess what she had expected—maybe a drink thrown in her face, maybe a public meltdown. Instead, I sipped my terrible coffee, unbothered.

Then I asked the only question that truly interested me: "How much does Charles pay? " You per month? Mia, still too young to know better, answered without hesitation; the number was generous, at least by her standards.

To me, it was nothing more than pocket change—a fraction of what I earned on my own in a month. Then I glanced at my phone and decided I had wasted enough time. "I have to go," I said.

Mia frowned slightly. "Something urgent? " I didn't answer her directly, but as a successful law firm partner, I had no interest in prolonging a conversation that held no value to me.

More importantly, I had already gotten everything I needed from her. Charles and I met for the first time because of work. Back then, his company was still in its early stages—nothing like the empire it is today.

He had gotten into a contract dispute with a major corporation, and the case had escalated to court. I was the attorney representing him. To meet all of Charles's demands and conditions, I worked around the clock, pulling endless late nights to build the strongest case possible.

Meanwhile, that bastard made a habit of dropping by every few days, supposedly to check on my progress. I was under immense pressure, and when it became too much, I’d slip into the stairwell for a quick cigarette—a single thin lady cigarette—just to keep me going. One evening, I ran into Charles there.

He borrowed my lighter, and somehow we ended up talking. A few days later, he started inviting me out to dinner, and before I knew it, I was dating Charles. I never really understood what he saw in me, so I tried to become whatever it was he liked.

After we got married, I learned to be the perfect wife. In public, I played the role of Mr. Anderson flawlessly; in private, I worked tirelessly to draft and negotiate contracts that protected both Charles and his company from risk.

But maybe he never truly saw any of it, or maybe, to him, my efforts were simply expected—nothing more than my duty. It was a marriage built on illusion, with a husband who didn't love me. Seven years of my life wasted on a joke.

Maybe once upon a time, Charles did love me after all. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have married me. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have quit smoking for me after we wed.

But love for Charles had an expiration date. Or maybe he just liked spreading it around too much. Charles came home unusually early tonight.

For the first time in what felt like forever, we actually sat at the same table and had dinner together. A few years ago, this would have been just another ordinary evening, but now it felt almost surreal—strange, even. After all, Charles had long since made a habit of finding excuses to leave early and come home late, too busy out there chasing girls like Mia, doing things he didn't even bother hiding anymore.

"I met Mia today," I said casually. I caught the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before he masked it. "To be honest, I kind of like her," I continued, watching his reaction with mild amusement.

"If I were a man, I think I’d also enjoy dating someone that young and beautiful. " "Riley," Charles tried to cut me off, but I didn't give him the chance. I stated it as plainly as I could, with no emotion, no hesitation.

"Charles, let’s get a divorce. " His fork paused midair. "If you refuse," I added, "I'll file for a divorce lawsuit.

" Charles stared at me in disbelief. "If you don't like her, I can make her leave," he said so easily, as if it were a simple fix, as if I was supposed to just nod and accept that. I had no idea how a person could be this morally bankrupt.

"Riley, are we really going to throw everything away over some clueless college grad? " Besides, he exhaled as if I were the difficult one here. "I only got involved with her because you were always too busy.

She gave me what you couldn't. " Unbelievable. Not only was Charles cheating, but he actually thought I was to blame for it—blaming me for having my own successful career, blaming me for not being a housewife who blindly obeyed his every word, blaming me for not throwing a tantrum when he first showed signs of cheating, as if that would have somehow stopped him.

He must have lost his damn mind. At this point, I only blamed myself for one thing: how blind I had been to ever think this man was worth my time. I wasn't going to argue with him.

I wasn't going to entertain his nonsense. Instead, I laid down my final card. "Charles, I'm a lawyer, and the evidence of your infidelity is endless.

" I met his gaze with unwavering certainty. "If this gets ugly, it won't end well for either of us. " I was certain Charles would agree to the divorce.

Keeping a mistress in secret was one thing; having his affair turned into a public scandal was another. And for someone like Charles, a businessman with a growing company, bad press was the last thing he needed. Sure enough, as soon as I drafted the divorce petition, Charles messaged me to say he agreed.

After leaving the courthouse, he offered to drive me home. I turned him down without a second thought. The only thing I wanted from him now was his complete disappearance from my life.

Unfortunately, Charles was a terrible ex-husband. Instead of fading into oblivion, he started showing up in my life more often than when we were married. I never expected him to come to my firm; his company had recently been hit with a copyright infringement lawsuit, and he wanted to hire me as his outside counsel.

I won’t lie; professionally, it was complicated. It was a tempting case. Charles's company was no small player, and winning this lawsuit would bring substantial commercial value and solid PR, both for me and for the firm.

But I wasn't stupid; that was a wolf showing up at the hen house with a gift. No thanks. I had no interest in working with Charles again, so I declined the case outright, suggesting that he hire one of my colleagues instead.

They were more than capable of handling it. Charles let out a low, amused chuckle. "Riley, are you afraid of working with me now?

" I met his gaze, unimpressed. His skin was thicker than a city wall. "Not afraid," I said dryly, "just disgusted.

" His smirk faltered for a second before he threw out something unexpected: "I sent Mia abroad. She won't be coming back. " I snorted.

"And what was I supposed to care? Mia was gone, but give it a few weeks and another ‘C’ or ‘Leah’ or whatever would pop up in her place. If our divorce had taught me anything, it was that Mia was never the first, and she certainly wouldn't be the last.

But none of that had anything to do with me anymore. " "Riley, we were together for seven years. Are you seriously telling me you never regretted the divorce?

Not even once? " I rolled my eyes. Now he wanted to play the emotional card?

Where was this energy before he cheated? "Charles," I said, "we got divorced because you cheated. You were the one at fault.

" That shut him up for a moment. He just looked at me as if searching for something. Then, after a beat, he muttered, "You're colder than I thought.

" I shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. Just remember one thing: we're never getting back together.

" With that, I turned and walked away, leaving him behind. Charles might just be the most shameless man I've ever met. Even after I gave him a final warning, he still had the audacity to show up at my firm like nothing had happened.

This time, he even got smarter about it, playing the nice guy and making it hard for me to outright throw him out. Every time he came, he brought something—flowers, little gifts—putting in more effort now than he ever did when we were dating, as if he had suddenly decided he needed me back. But the moment he handed me the exact same roses and lipstick he once gave me, I barely made it to the restroom before dry heaving into the sink.

Absolutely disgusting! I tossed every single thing he brought into the trash and told him to get the hell out. For someone who'd been running a business for years, Charles must have felt a rare sting of humiliation, because for a few blissful days, he finally stopped bothering me.

But I thought that would be the end of it. Then Mia showed up again. Storm barely settled, and another was already rolling in.

Same café, same setup, only this time Mia's expression was more complicated. Her fingers brushed over the slight curve of her belly, her posture carefully constructed to look fragile, helpless. "Miss Harris, I'm pregnant.

" I looked up from my coffee, unbothered, and Mia bit her lip, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "Charles loves me. He sent me away because he still felt guilty toward you.

That's why he's been avoiding my calls. But if you truly let go, if you give us your blessing, I know he'll marry me. " At that, I couldn't help it; I laughed—a quiet, amused, pitying laugh.

"Your child and your marriage have nothing to do with me. " My tone was calm but absolute. "If you want to marry Charles, take it up with him.

Leave me out of it. " Mia's face stiffened, clearly not expecting such indifference. Just then, the café door swung open.

Charles strode in, looking smug, carrying an extravagant bouquet of red roses. I could already tell what was going through his mind; he must have thought he'd finally won me over. That after a few days of silence, he could waltz in like some victorious hero and charm me back.

But what he didn't expect was Mia. The second his gaze landed on her, his confident grin froze. "Mia?

" Mia's eyes lit up, clearly thinking Charles had come for her. She quickly stood, her voice eager. "Charles, I've missed you so much!

" But Charles's expression darkened instantly. He strode past her without a glance, moving to stand between us, as if he needed to physically shield me from her presence. Then his voice dropped to an icy tone.

"Who told you to come back? " I sighed internally. Here we go again.

Mia hesitated, her face falling. "I. .

. I just wanted to talk to Riley. " "And what does she have to do with you?

" Charles cut her off coldly, his eyes filled with pure irritation. "I already told you, Mia; there was never anything real between us. You were just a distraction.

" Mia paled, her lips trembling. "But you said you'd marry me! " Charles let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Don't flatter yourself. The day I paid you to leave New York, I made it clear: don’t come looking for me again. " For a moment, Mia looked like she was struggling to process what she just heard.

Her shock twisted into fury, her hands clenched into fists. Finally, she spat out a venomous, "You'll regret this! " before storming out.

I watched the entire scene unfold, utterly indifferent, because at the end of the day, none of this had anything to do with me. Charles turned back to me, regaining his confident smirk, holding out the bouquet as if nothing had happened. "I glanced at it but didn't take it.

Have you forgotten? We're not together anymore. I'm not accepting gifts from you, especially not useless flowers.

" His smile faltered. Riley, we were together for seven years. You really don't miss any of it.

You saw what just happened. Mia meant nothing to me. I made mistakes, but I can fix them.

I didn't bother responding; I simply stood, gathering my things as I walked past him. I left him with just one final thought: "Charles, you had plenty of chances to buy me flowers back when we still loved each other, not after we divorced because you cheated. " Charles kept calling and texting, refusing to give up.

I ignored every single one, blocking his number without hesitation. But soon enough, he no longer had the time to play the role of the regretful ex-husband. That copyright lawsuit, the one I refused to take, ended up going unclaimed by my firm.

My colleagues later told me over drinks that no one in our office wanted to lift a finger for a man who never supported or respected his ex-wife's career. Besides, Charles's chances of winning were slim to none. Desperate, he was forced to hire an unfamiliar firm; worse still, he had no one by his side to guide him through it.

Charles had always been clueless about legal matters. Every time his company had faced trouble in the past, I had been the one burning the midnight oil, cleaning up his messes, making sure he never had to deal with the consequences. But not this time.

Words soon spread: his company was crumbling. The lawsuit ended in a devastating loss. Not only was Charles saddled with astronomical legal fees, but his company was ordered to pay an even larger settlement.

His cash flow was completely severed. The media pounced on the scandal, dragging his business through the mud. Investors pulled out, partners withdrew, clients fled; everything fell apart in a matter of months.

It was only then, when his empire had collapsed around him, that Charles finally realized his success had never been entirely his own—that I had been his strongest pillar, the one making sure his company avoided legal landmines, protecting him from risks he had never even been aware of. And now he had lost everything. While Charles was scrambling to salvage what remained of his career, Mia refused to fade into the background.

She had the baby, but Charles didn't marry her like she had expected. Soon after, she sued him for child support, adding yet another layer of chaos to his already shattered life. Then one night, I got a call from an unknown number.

It was Charles, drunk and rambling, his thoughts scattered and nonsensical. Near the end of that call, he finally said it: “Riley, I regret it. ” He regretted getting involved with Mia; he regretted divorcing me.

But I knew better: his regret wasn't real; it was just the inevitable consequence of losing everything he once took for granted. Had things gone differently—had he not lost his company, his reputation, his stability—he would have never realized what he had lost in me. And even if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would still make the same mistakes.

But me? I had no regrets. Charles had been my worst investment, both as a partner and as a person.

He once called me selfish, too focused on myself. Maybe he was right, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that everyone, especially women, should love themselves first. "Charles, you're drunk.

" He was drunk and desperate; he even showed up at my door begging to see me. That night was winter; there was no heating in the hallway. He sat outside my apartment all night, waiting for me to soften, but I never did.

Days later, he fell seriously ill. Not long after, his company declared bankruptcy. Mia, in the end, got her child support.

The next time I ran into her on the street, she was alone with her child, looking years older, all traces of her former glamour gone. Both she and Charles had made their choices, and in the end, they had to live with them. A year later, I never expected to run into Charles again.

It was in a restaurant, and he was unrecognizable. His shirt was wrinkled and clung to his frame like it hadn't been washed in days. His cheeks were hollow; his eyes sunken, dark circles etched beneath them.

A scruffy layer of unshaven stubble covered his jaw, erasing all traces of the polished, self-assured man he used to be. "Riley," Charles looked at me, then his gaze flicked to the man beside me. "You and him?

" A hollow laugh slipped from his lips. "So you and Vincent, huh? " The man standing next to me, Vincent, was my former mentor, now my colleague and law firm partner.

Our firm was expanding, opening a new branch in another state, and Vincent had invited me to join him in overseeing its launch. Vincent, ever the gentleman, softly lowered his voice. "Do you need me to handle this?

" He stood behind me, his presence steady, protective—not out of fear, but because anyone could see that Charles was in no state to be reasoned with. Charles parted his lips as if he wanted to say something more, but all that came out was my name. Then, after a moment, his face twisted into something bitter, something ugly.

"Riley, you and I are the same. " The words were laced with cold mockery. "Do you have Mia?

Do I have Vincent? ” He wanted to twist my choices into some distorted reflection of his own failures, to pretend that if I had moved on, then somehow we were even, as if that could absolve him of his past. Charles had always been trash, and this?

This was just another desperate attempt to drag me down to his level. I didn't bother explaining anything to him; I simply exchanged a glance with Vincent. Vincent nodded and turned to leave, and that’s when Charles snapped.

Without warning, he lunged at Vincent, fist swinging. Vincent wasn't the type to start a fight, but he also wasn't the type to back down from one. The two men collided, but Charles had long since been hollowed out by alcohol and indulgence; he was no match for Vincent.

This was nothing more than self-inflicted humiliation. The restaurant staff called the police. When the officers arrived, Vincent calmly explained the situation: self-defense, nothing more.

Charles, on the other hand, kept ranting, hurling insults, spitting out every filthy word he could muster. That’s when I’d had enough. I stepped forward and slapped him across the face—hard.

The room fell silent. Charles stared at me, stunned. "Charles," I said, my voice steady.

"I know you’re miserable, but you need to understand your misery has nothing to do with me, Aria, or anyone else. Every choice you’ve made, every mistake, every misstep has been your own. You’re a grown man, and it’s about time you learned to take responsibility for yourself.

I’m not going to be the one you drag down with you, and I sure as hell am not going to be the one to save you. I have my own life to live, and it doesn’t include you. " In the end, I accepted Vincent’s invitation and decided to help him run the new law office in another state.

Together, leaving behind the city where I had spent most of my life felt both surreal and liberating. But it’s not like I was running away; I was moving forward. When I arrived at the office on the first day, stepping into a sleek, sunlit space buzzing with energy, my name was already on the door: Riley Harris, Managing Partner.

I traced my fingers over the engraving, feeling a deep, unshakable sense of satisfaction that I had built this life for myself—not as someone’s wife, not as someone’s mistake, but as Riley Harris. That night, as I sat on the balcony of my new apartment looking out over a skyline I had yet to explore, I let myself think—really think—about everything that had led me here. For seven years, I had given my all to a marriage that had never truly been mine.

I had tried to mold myself into the perfect wife, the perfect partner, convincing myself that love was something I had to earn. But love—real love—wasn't something that came with conditions; it wasn’t something you had to prove your worth for. And Charles?

He had never been worth it. He had taken and taken, mistaking my patience for permanence, mistaking my devotion for duty. But I wasn’t his crutch, I wasn’t his safety net, and I wasn’t his anymore.

Looking ahead, there was an entire future waiting for me, full of possibilities, free of dead weight. And no matter what came next, one thing was certain: nothing and no one would ever stop me from living exactly the life I wanted.