I Made the Cheater Pay

At half past seven in the morning, the city lay swathed in a half-conscious mist. The banquet hall's central air conditioning never ceased; its low drone mingled with the quiet, forming the sole background sound. Sunlight slanted through the three-story tall floor-to-ceiling windows, softly spreading over the pristine white linen tablecloth. Bathed in this light, the crystal glass shimmered with countless tiny fragments, dazzling to behold. I stood at the entrance of the banquet hall, my fingertips unconsciously tracing the pearls along the hem of my gown. One pearl after another, their smooth, rounded touch unsettled me further instead of soothing my nerves. Today was my ninth engagement banquet. Yet Bruce Collins, my Fiance who should have been by my side, was nowhere to be found once again. A waiter passed by, carrying a tray where the champagne bubbled faintly, still softly dancing. I stepped aside, pulling my phone out of my handbag. The screen lit up—7:35. Only twenty-five minutes remained until the engagement banquet would begin. My finger hovered over the call button, paused for three seconds, then pressed it. The phone rang once, twice, three times... Just as it was about to disconnect, someone finally answered. But the voice that came through the receiver wasn't Bruce Collins'. Instead, it was a woman's breathy, delicate moans, interlaced with the faint creak of a bedframe—sticky and sickening. "Hello?" Bruce's voice followed, casual and lazy as if just waking, with a trace of impatience in his tone, as if I were disturbing his pleasure. I took a deep breath, forcing down the anger on the tip of my tongue, trying to keep my voice steady: "The engagement banquet is about to start. Where are you?" "Oh." He chuckled softly, the sound coming through the receiver like tiny needles piercing my heart. "Forgot to tell you, my female cousin was way too clingy this time. She held onto me half the night—I couldn't get away. Wait another year. Next time, I promise I'll be there." The words "next time"—he's been repeating them for eight years now. I stared at the name "Fiance" on the screen, my knuckles white from gripping too hard, the edge of the phone case cutting painfully into my palm. Nine years. From eighteen to twenty-seven, my entire youth was swallowed by this. Every night before the engagement banquet, he would sleep with someone close to me. The first year, it was my college roommate—we'd lived together for four years, and I had often brought her breakfast. The second year, it was my secretary; I taught her to prepare reports step by step and entrusted her with important projects to practice on. The third year, it was our maid—her family was struggling, and I even secretly slipped her money. The fourth year, it was my distant cousin; when we were kids, she even took me cherry picking... He seems to be collecting the "people around me," deliberately making sure I find out every time. Watching the friendship and trust I had, along with love, shatter into fragments, he appeared to take some twisted pleasure in it. Of course, I knew exactly why he was doing this. Nine years ago, my close female friend Mindy Lynn seduced Bruce Collins while I was away, and I caught them red-handed. I couldn't hold back; right in front of Bruce Collins, I slapped Mindy Lynn ten times. Every slap landed with all my strength; my palms went numb. Mindy cried as she packed her bags and left the country, while Bruce Collins remained silent. But later, I learned he'd told his childhood friend, "If Nova Scott dares to slap Mindy ten times, I'll make her pay for ten years of 'Fun.'" Ten years? I sneered coldly into the empty banquet hall and slipped my phone back into my clutch. He won't make it ten years.