The Mistress Maxed His Black Card

Susan said, "My sugar daddy was in the back seat the whole time, watching me live. And that funeral gig? It should've paid 700 dollars, but he had someone force it down to just 70."

As I took in the smug look on her face, I asked, "Doesn't it bother you that he has a girlfriend?"

Susan gave me a strange look. "His love, his money—everything he gives is mine. Anne, aside from the title of girlfriend, what does that woman even have?"

…

I didn't remember how I made it home.

The cramped, hundred-square-foot rental had once been something Eric and I built together with care. Back then, Eric had sworn it would be just the two of us forever. In that carefully woven lie, I lived happily for years, forgetting how difficult life had been.

Perhaps it was fate that I stumbled upon Susan's account.

She was in the middle of a livestream. The camera was pointed at Eric, whom I would have recognized even if I were reduced to ashes.

Eric pulled off the threadbare T-shirt he had worn for years and changed into a silk lounge set.

The comments flooded in.

"Is a gentle, wealthy, loyal man like this even real?"

"He looks so caring, and he even knows how to cook!"

"Don't you know? Sue has stomach issues, so Eric actually learned special recipes from a chef to make meals that are easy on her."

The endless stream of comments cut into me like a dagger.

For five years, I was so busy helping Eric clear his debts that I never had a proper meal.

Outside, fireworks cracked through the sky as people counted down.

I watched as Eric set the knife down and slowly stepped toward the camera.

A second later, the screen went black, and the sound of a heated kiss rang out.

Susan abruptly ended the livestream, but not before leaving a caption for her followers.

"If my sugar daddy wants it, it's his."

In the picture, Eric's strong, well-defined hand gripped Susan's waist with unmistakable dominance.

Outside, the city sparkled with light and celebration.

I found myself scrolling through Susan's posts, even though I knew I shouldn't. Amid her flaunting, the missing pieces began to come together.

On the very day Eric gave me a pair of cheap crystal hair clips, he had just spent millions of dollars on a diamond necklace for Susan. When he marked paying off half his debt with a single cup of coffee, he still made sure to send her money for the designer bag she wanted.

Whenever I needed him or worried myself sick over him, he was at the villa he gave Susan, chasing the thrill of their affair. Even the small charm I had once prayed over for his safety now dangled from his lover's bag.

My hands and feet turned ice cold as I curled up on the wooden bed.

…

Eric returned three days later. He had already changed back into his usual worn-out clothes and wrapped me in a familiar, warm embrace.

My stomach churned violently. I pushed him away and vomited until everything spun.

The happiness on his face shattered, giving way to panic.

His eyes reddened, and tears streamed down his face. "Anne, what's wrong? Don't scare me…"

There was nothing left in my stomach. Only sour bile came up in the end.

He frowned in concern. "Did you skip meals again? A coworker gave me some extra work, so I was delayed. How did you get like this?"

As I listened to his effortless lies, I felt an urge to laugh.

But as I did, even the man in front of me blurred out of focus.