My Cheating Wife Picked a Fake Heir over Me

On my first night shift as a security guard at an upscale condo complex, my coworker nudged me to watch an explicit video on his phone.

At first, I watched with amused detachment, laughing and joking with him about what kind of fool would end up marrying a woman like that. Then, the camera caught her bare chest.

Right there was a tattoo identical to my wife’s. It was our matching couple's tattoo from when we were dating. No. It can't be. It’s just a tattoo, right?

People get similar designs all the time. Then came the woman’s breathless, teasing whimper from the speaker. "Babe, just one more time... I can’t wait any longer." That voice.

I would recognize it anywhere. It belonged to Chloe, my wife of ten years. In an instant, all the blood rushed straight to my head.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I gripped my phone. A toxic mixture of shame and boiling rage flared in my chest, a dull, agonizing ache that made it impossible to breathe.

Sitting next to me, Leo teased, "Whoa, Sean, chill out.

What, one spicy clip got you this red in the face?" He grinned and pulled me up. "Come on, I'll take you to the live show." Before I could react, Leo dragged me toward a secluded corner of the underground parking garage.

Following his pointing finger, I saw a luxury BMW rocking violently on its suspension.

Through the dim amber lighting and tinted glass, I could faintly make out two pale bodies moving against each other.

And there, flashing in and out of view, was that exact same tattoo. "Chl—" A gasp escaped my lips, but Leo clamped a hand over my mouth. "Shut up!

You want us to get fired?" Leo hissed a warning in my ear. The man inside was Brock, the son of one of the richest moguls in Miami, and the developer of this very property.

Ever since Leo caught them going at it during a patrol a while back, he and the other guards had made a habit of sneaking down here to watch. "You almost ruined our favorite latenight entertainment, man." I stared numbly at the car, feeling as cold as ice.

Lately, Chloe had become obsessed with "game nights with the girls." Every single evening, she claimed she was going out to play cards.

Whenever the weather was terrible, pouring rain or freezing wind, I had offered to pick her up. She always flatly refused, saying it was too much hassle. Now I knew the truth.

Game night was just a pathetic cover story to sneak out and sleep with another man. Leo didn't notice the storm brewing inside me. He was still watching with dirty fascination.

I muttered an excuse about using the restroom and stumbled away in a daze. My chest felt suffocated, as if stuffed with wet cotton.

After pacing for a few minutes, I pulled out my phone and dialed Chloe's number. It rang for what felt like an eternity before she finally picked up.

Her voice came through breathy and uneven. "Babe? What is it? Why are you calling?" I forced myself to steady my breath, pretending nothing was wrong. "Nothing.

When's your game wrapping up?

Should I come pick you up?" "Didn't I tell you not to bother?" When I stayed silent, she quickly covered her tracks. "Babe, you just started your new job.

What if your supervisor catches you sneaking out? You worked so hard to get this gig." Every word out of her mouth sounded so considerate.

If this were yesterday, I would have fallen for it completely. "Anyway, I've got to go, it's my turn to play. Bye!" She hung up before I could say another word.

I stood frozen in the dark corner of the garage, watching as she stepped out of the BMW, clothes disheveled, swaying her hips as she clung to Brock's arm on their way up the private elevator.

Tonight was destined to be a sleepless night—for both of us. When I got home from my shift the next morning, Chloe was already there.

She was lounging on the couch with a sheet mask on, not even bothering to open her eyes when I walked in. "What took you so long?

Did you get the sourdough from the bakery I asked for?" "If it’s not from that specific shop, you're turning right around and standing in line again." "And another thing—why didn't you do the dishes before leaving for work last night?

Since when did you get so lazy?" "Are you expecting me to wait on you hand and foot?" Just like always, she barked orders and complaints at me.

When she realized I hadn't made a sound, she pulled off the corner of her mask and glared. "What’s with the long face first thing in the morning?" I stared at her, unblinking. "Where were you last night?"

Perhaps it was the coldness in my eyes that unnerved her.

She froze for a second, then quickly hopped off the sofa, wrapping her arms around my waist in her usual sweet, manipulative way. "Where else could I be?

I told you, playing cards with the girls." "Look, if you hate me going out, I just won't do it anymore, okay?" Seeing her act so innocent and sincere, a familiar pang of weakness hit my chest.

Whenever she pulled this act in the past, I had melted instantly. But not this time.

I peeled her arms off me and stepped back, my voice flat. "Do you really have nothing else to tell me?" She opened her mouth to speak, but her phone suddenly lit up and chimed.

She glanced at the screen, and her expression flickered before she set it facedown. I knew who it was. Playing dumb, I asked, "Who is it?

Why aren't you answering?" Her eyes darted away, and she quickly hit decline. "Are you picking a fight with me, Sean?

You finally get a job after months of sitting around, and now you’re acting all paranoid!" "I didn't want to bring you down when you landed that gig, but let's be real—on a security guard's pathetic paycheck, what right do you have to pressure me about having a baby?” “If I hadn't had the foresight to stay on the pill, I'd already be stuck as an exhausted housewife with a crying brat!" I didn't argue.

I simply walked over to the kitchen and tossed the artisan pastry I had waited two hours in line for straight into the trash can.

Chloe watched me, frowning, before softening her tone slightly. "Fine. I won't go out to play cards anymore. Happy?" My heart gave a bitter thud. "You mean that?" "Yeah.

Actually, I took a night shift job. Starting next week, I'll be working out of the house from ten at night until eight in the morning." A cold laugh echoed in my head.

What was I even hoping for? She was just setting up an even more convenient lie so she could keep sleeping with her rich lover.

I turned my back to her, unable to look at her face for another second. Chloe completely lost her temper.

She shoved me hard from behind. "Did you hear me talking to you, you ungrateful jerk?" "You're a nobody with zero ambition, and you dare give me attitude?" "Why did I ever marry a pathetic cripple like you?

Useless, with a terrible temper!" The shove sent me stumbling. My injured knee slammed violently into the hard edge of the coffee table, reopening an old wound.

Blood began to seep through my pant leg. "Yeah, I'm useless," I said quietly, clenching my teeth through the pain. "But would I even have this limp if I hadn't taken a pipe to the knee saving you from those muggers ten years ago?" "I’ve worked three jobs every single day just to give you the lifestyle you wanted, despite my bad leg." "The only reason I took that security job is because my knee flared up so badly I couldn't do heavy labor anymore!" Chloe didn't even blink.

She grabbed her designer bag, stormed out, and slammed the front door shut. Later that afternoon, while she was out, I quietly set up a hidden camera in the living room.

Deep down, even though the truth was already staring me in the face, a tiny, foolish part of me still clung to a shred of denial. Until I left for work.

Less than ten minutes after I walked out, Chloe and Brock appeared on the live feed on my phone. The moment the door clicked shut, they were all over each other.

I watched, like a masochist, recording every second to my device. Their muffled giggles and heavy breathing trailed from the entryway to our master bedroom.

Right under the massive wedding portrait hanging above our bed, they threw themselves onto the mattress. My pillow was tossed onto the floor, stepped on and kicked aside.

It felt like a serrated knife twisting in my chest, a pain so sharp I couldn't catch my breath.

If this was how she wanted to treat me, then I was going to give her a sendoff she would never forget.

That evening, our living room was packed with people.

Chloe's parents, her younger brother, her best friends, and a few of her college roommates—everyone I could round up on short notice was there.

Suddenly, the electronic lock chimed from the front door. I signaled for everyone to be quiet and flicked off the main lights.

When Chloe pushed the door open, she was greeted by a dining table bathed in romantic candlelight, scattered with red rose petals, and a balloon banner on the wall that spelled out I LOVE YOU.

And there I was, holding a massive bouquet of red roses, down on one knee. "Happy tenth anniversary, baby," I said softly. "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier.

Can you forgive me?" Chloe froze in the doorway, paralyzed. Her lips were swollen, her lipstick smudged across her cheek. Her stockings were completely gone.

And beneath the hem of her loose jacket, a man's rough hand was still resting on her waist, casually squeezing. In a split second, all the color drained from her face.

Behind me, the room full of friends and family gasped. The lights flicked on, exposing everything.

I stared at her in fake shock. "What... what are you doing?" Recovering from her initial panic, Chloe looked down at me, her expression turning into pure contempt. "What does it look like?" "What, Sean?

Did you really think I was going to slap myself and beg for your forgiveness?" "Look in the mirror.

You're not worth it." Brock stepped out from behind her with a smirk. "Hey, Sean, right? I like your wife.

Name your price." With that, Brock casually leaned down, smoothed the wrinkles on Chloe's skirt, and smiled at her.

They acted as if getting caught in the act was the most casual thing in the world. A wave of nausea hit me. "You two have no shame. Bringing your affair right to my front door.

You want a divorce? Fine." I looked straight at Brock. "Give me your leg in exchange." Brock burst out laughing. "Sean, oh Sean, you've got some nerve.

I offered you cash out of pity because you've been rocking green horns for months, and now you want to act tough?" "If Chloe hadn't begged me to take pity on you, who the hell would have hired a cripple like you as a security guard at my building?" "You want my leg?

Go ask around Miami and see if anyone dares lay a finger on me!" Before I could reply, Chloe threw her arms around Brock's neck. "Sean, just take the money and sign the papers.

Don't make this ugly for everyone." "Brock isn't just an executive. His family runs this town.

Nobody messes with him." I looked at their intertwined hands, then turned coldly toward Chloe's parents. "Is this how you raised your daughter?" Hearing that, Chloe's mother marched forward.

She had always looked down on me, convinced I was beneath her precious child. "Watch your mouth! Keep it clean!" "Look at how aggressive you are.

You must treat my daughter like dirt behind closed doors!

I told her ten years ago she was making a mistake marrying you!" "Now that she's found someone who can actually provide for her, why can't you just let her go?

You're so selfish, Sean, wanting to drag my girl through poverty for the rest of her life!" Following her mother's lead, the rest of the relatives and friends avoided my gaze and chimed in. "Come on, Sean, Chloe deserves better.

Just let her go." "He's offering you a settlement! You should be thanking them, not throwing a tantrum." "Guess losing a leg made him lose his mind, too.

Passing up a payday like that?" Whispers and mocking chuckles filled the room.

My face burned with humiliation. "You people..." "Enough, Sean," Chloe cut in smoothly. "Brock and I are truly in love." "If I hadn't felt sorry for you ten years ago, do you really think I ever would have married you?"

Ten years ago, my heroics in fighting off armed robbers to save her had made local headlines. The tragic hero crippled in the line of duty, winning the heart of the beauty he saved.

Back then, she had clung to my arm on local television, tearfully confessing her eternal love.

Now, out of her mouth, it was reduced to mere "pity." I didn't know how long she had been sleeping with him, but on paper, she was still my wife.

I couldn't just swallow this insult. "Chloe, you realize this is adultery, right?" I glared at her. She couldn't hold my gaze and looked away.

Brock immediately pulled her closer, playing the role of the protective white knight. "Adultery? Who cares? You just think the payout isn't big enough, don't you?" "Name a figure.

I've got more money than you'll ever see in your miserable life!" I looked at this arrogant, bloated trustfund kid as if he were a circus clown. "Actually, I changed my mind.

If you take her through that door tonight, it won't just cost you a leg." "Give me an hour, and I'll make sure you lose everything you own." The moment the words left my mouth, Chloe snapped. "Stop bluffing, Sean!

Who do you think you are? Bankrupt Brock?

We've been married ten years—if you had that kind of power, would you be limping around in a cheap security uniform?" The room erupted into laughter. "Right?

You marry at your own level! A broke, crippled loser like him was bound to get cheated on eventually." "Mr. Sterling is the real deal here.

Look at his wealth, his connections!" Everyone scrambled to flatter Brock. Not a single person spoke up for me. Ignoring their sneers, I turned to walk toward the door.

Before I could take two steps, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. "Leaving so soon?

Did I say you could go?" Brock stood over me, his smirk dripping with condescension. "Sean, I'll give you two choices.

Either take the money, sign the divorce papers, and walk out of here... or I snap your other leg." Chloe leaned into his chest, whining playfully, "Oh, Brock, don't be so violent, you're scaring me." Brock laughed. "Fine.

Then how about this? Crawl between my legs, or take the payout and sign. Pick one, Sean.

Think carefully." Suppressing the fire raging in my veins, I spoke evenly. "I'll sign the divorce papers. And I won't take a dime of your money.

But..." I paused, letting the silence hang. "...I need to call my father first.

I can't finalize a divorce without his approval." Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Did you hear this guy?

A grownass man in his thirties needs daddy's permission to get divorced!" "What, do you need him to wipe your nose for you, too?" Chloe sneered. "Let him call, Brock.

His father abandoned him before he was even born. He's a bastard with no family.

I want to see which imaginary daddy he pulls out of thin air." "Fine," I said, staring at her. "Once I make this call, don't regret it." Chloe tossed her hair smugly. "The only one regretting anything tonight is you." I pulled out my phone and dialed the private number.