I Caught My Husband With His Mistress

"Sophia, what's gotten into you? You actually bit me," Dillon Palmer shouted, trying to peel off Sophia's clothes while wincing from the sharp pain in his wrist where she had bitten him. Blood oozed from the wound.

Fuming with anger, he was all set to teach Sophia a lesson, but she had already broken free from his hold, hands protectively covering her belly. Her eyes, usually gentle and inviting, were now fierce with defiance and a hint of fear. Her lips quivered slightly, enhancing her fragile appearance, yet there was an undeniable strength in her eyes.

Somehow, Dillon's raised hand fell to his side, his face still twisted with anger, but his fury beginning to fade. "Sophia, I'm giving you one more chance: either stay or leave!"

Instead of striking her, as he'd seemed ready to do, he vented his frustration by hurling a pillow across the room. The action startled Sophia; he was not known for reining in his emotions.

Warmth spread through her palm, as if the life growing within her gave her strength. Taking a deep breath, she faced Dillon, the man she once adored, and said, "Dillon Palmer, I want a divorce."

The words were a stab to her heart, and she couldn't help but hold his gaze, anticipating his agreement. He had always been eager to break away. "A divorce? Is this why Grandma had me come here? Sophia, what do you want now?" Dillon scoffed.

His grandmother had already tasked him with spending one weekend a month with Sophia. Wasn't that enough? What more could she possibly want? He had always known her desires to be endless.

Dillon doubted Sophia was serious about the divorce. He caught her yearning gaze and assumed she was bluffing.

"Yes, I admit it was me who asked Grandma to arrange your visit before," Sophia admitted. "We hadn't seen each other for half a year, and I missed you. You wouldn't answer my calls, and I was at a loss for what to do."

Hearing her admission, Dillon's face lit with a smug smile, as if he'd known all along. But as Sophia continued, his smile faded.

"But this time, I didn't know. I know you won't believe me, so let's just go to court tomorrow morning and file for divorce."

She wanted to end things cleanly, avoiding future regrets. Dillon seemed incredulous, "You really want a divorce?"

Sophia nodded, "I even brought my ID."

"So, are we going at eight tomorrow morning?"

Sophia locked eyes with him, eyes that shone with a determination she once had when she first poured out her heart under the moonlight. Back then, she promised she would only look at him, begging him not to reject her yet.

He hadn't turned her down then, and now he couldn't give an immediate answer. It was unsettling. He couldn't quite identify the irritation.

Then, noticing the anticipation on her face, he understood. Why should things always go her way? She wanted a divorce, and he wouldn’t stop her, but he wouldn’t make it simple either.

"My time is precious, and you don't deserve me wasting it."

"You want a divorce? Then wait for it!" Dillon wanted to leave her presence, even for a moment. He straightened his clothes and stormed out.

Inside, Sophia could hear Dillon's grandmother chastising him as he departed. Nothing went as she had hoped. Hadn't he always wanted the divorce? Now that she offered it, shouldn't he be jumping at the opportunity? Was he really that busy?

Her mind was a whirl of questions, keeping her awake all night.

The next morning, she looked drained. Dillon's grandmother assumed she was distressed by his sudden exit and comforted her for a long time, promising he'd be with her next time.

Sophia knew there wouldn't be a next time. She didn't want to dismiss the elderly woman's kindness; she had always been good to Sophia.

After leaving the family estate, Sophia called Dillon's assistant, Julian, trying to sneakily inquire about Dillon's schedule. She wanted to finalize the divorce before her pregnancy became obvious. But Julian, as usual, was unyielding, and Sophia hung up feeling frustrated.

Later that afternoon, her friend Mara brought some promising news: a producer was interested in her TV series script and wanted to meet her for dinner that evening to discuss it.

At eight, Sophia arrived at the venue Mara had texted her, hesitating as she looked up at the lavish entrance of Dillon's preferred club. She didn't want an accidental encounter to complicate things further.

Just as if sensing her hesitation, Mara called her, "Sophia, are you here yet? Director Harris and Mr. Smith are eager to chat about your script. Hurry, they’re really interested; if it pans out, you could earn a hundred thousand dollars for it."

"A hundred thousand?" Sophia was stunned. As a rookie without any famous works to her name and having penned a suspense thriller, she'd never expected it to fetch much.

"Yes, a hundred thousand! So, come quickly..." Mara's voice mingled with the clinking of glasses and the crowd's urging to drink. Through the phone, Sophia overheard Mara's conversation with others. "Sophia's nearly here. Let's have another drink while we wait."

After wrapping up her call, Mara continued, "We're in 4311. Hurry up."

Sophia could tell Mara had drunk quite a bit. She knew it was for her sake, so whether for the money or Mara's support, she had to go.

A club employee led her to room 4311. Just as she opened the door, a strong hand grabbed her wrist. A man she didn't recognize, reeking of booze, pulled her into a laugh and said, "They always say the last one to show up is the most stunning. Let's see how lovely you are."

Seeing her face, the man's eyes widened. "Wow, this place has some real beauties."

He mistook her for one of the club's escorts. Sophia struggled, "You've got the wrong idea, I'm not—"

She scanned the room for Mara, in search of help. But a quick glance revealed no sign of her friend, though she did spot Dillon.

He sat on a couch, detached, a cigarette lazily perched between his fingers, seemingly unfazed by the raucous scene. Beside him, Carolina Lopez nuzzled up to him, offering a glass of red wine. She seemed shocked to see Sophia and assumed Dillon had invited her to unsettle her. But noting Dillon's indifference, Carolina knew even if he had, it was just to demean her.

Carolina shot Sophia a triumphant look, feeling victorious.

The drunk man pressed on, "So, you're not late? Don't fret; make me happy, and I won't mind."

"Now, give me a kiss." The man, foul-smelling and corpulent, leaned closer, his lips nearing her face.