Bringing a hot meal to celebrate their wedding anniversary, a wife was frozen in shock as she heard the secretary scream, “The boss is forcing me,” only to witness her husband ru.thl3:ssly pull out a kn!:fe and chase the woman down
PART I: THE SONG OF BLINDNESS AND THE SCENT OF GREASE
In a certain poor city, where rows of level-4 tenement houses were tightly packed within the grey smoke of manual mechanical workshops, the struggle for survival always engulfed people with a pressure as heavy as lead. Asphalt roads stained with grease from machine oil after every heavy summer rain bore the weary footprints of tens of thousands of wandering souls.
At that desolate corner of the street flickering with yellowish streetlights, her little family was once considered a rare peaceful sanctuary. Her husband, through the absolute loving lens of a devoted wife, had always been a model of patience and drive. For years, from the days of eating instant noodles meal after meal to the time he climbed up to become the head of the sales department of a small-and-medium commercial company, she had never begrudged a single drop of sweat or youth spent on him.
Today marked their tenth wedding anniversary.
Outside, early summer showers began to pour, drenching the dry dust of the road with a pattering, mournfully melancholic sound. In the cramped kitchen, she carefully portioned each of her husband’s favorite dishes into a gleaming stainless steel thermal lunchbox. The intoxicating aroma of stir-fried beef with onions and lotus seed rib soup wafted out warmly, enveloping all her hope, gentleness, and gratitude toward her life partner. She wanted to give him a sweet surprise. He had mentioned recently that the company was caught up in a major year-end audit, requiring him to work overtime late into the night to handle piles of backlogged contracts. Looking at her husband’s tired back these past few days, her heart clenched with pity.
Throwing on a frayed woolen coat, she clutched the warm lunchbox overflowing with love, walking out under the drizzle to reach the office building located a few kilometers away. In her mind, she painted a beautiful picture: he would widen his eyes in surprise, pull her into a tight embrace in the quiet office, and both of them would enjoy a simple yet laughter-filled dinner amidst this cold city.
Yet, she had no idea that the office door on the fifth floor of that skyscraper was not a peaceful harbor, but a hellish gate swinging wide open to welcome a bloody drama.
PART II: THE COLD SKYSCRAPER AND THE BLUE LIGHT FROM THE CRACKED DOOR
The office building stood tall and imposing amidst a commercial area sparse with passersby at night. The tempered glass facade reflected the blurred streetlights in the rain. The security guard at the lobby nodded politely to her, familiar with the woman who frequently brought late-night meals to the company’s diligent official.
She stepped into the elevator, her heart beating fast with anticipation. The lunchbox held against her chest still retained a gentle warmth.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. The long hallway was plunged into deep darkness, save for the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickering weakly every few beats. All departments were pitch black, except for the director’s office tucked far at the end of the hallway. A soft golden light from ajar window cast a dim glow on the red carpeted floor.
She walked closer to the room. Her cautious nature made her want to call out her husband’s name, but a strange sound coming from inside the partially closed door made her footsteps suddenly halt.
It wasn’t the clicking sound of typing from intense work, nor the usual tired sigh. It was hurried breathing, the rustle of clothing, and the unmistakable, ambiguous sounds of an illicit liaison.
Her heart felt as though it were being squeezed by someone. The lunchbox in her hand almost dropped to the floor. With a shred of remaining courage, she quietly tiptoed closer to the thick mahogany wooden door, peering through the small gap left by the unlatched hinge.
The scene before her eyes made the blood in her body freeze solid.
Beneath the desk lamp, the husband she shared a bed with was tightly embracing a soft figure. It was the young, sharp-witted secretary recently hired into the department. The two of them were entwined on the luxurious leather sofa with a fierce, frantic, and lustful passion. Clothes disheveled, tight embraces, and eyes burning with an inescapable infatuation.
The world in her eyes collapsed completely in a split second. All her sacrifices, her patient sweat, and sweet promises turned into the most base and vile joke in the world. She stepped back, her whole body trembling violently, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. This ruthlessly cruel betrayal stripped away her entire ability to make a sound.
PART III: THE LIFE-SAVING SCREAM AND THE SETUP
In the midst of extreme shock, her hand accidentally struck a ceramic vase placed on the decorative wooden table right beside the room’s door.
Crash!
The sound rang sharply through the silent hallway.
Inside the office, the unexpected noise instantly cut off the liaison. Her husband and the secretary snapped apart. Through the gap, she saw her husband whip his head back, his eyes cold and murderous, directed straight toward the doorway.
But before she could turn around to run or utter a cry of grievance, a spine-chilling twist unfolded.
The young secretary, who mere seconds before had been entwined in her husband’s arms, suddenly underwent a dizzying shift in attitude. Her gaze held none of the panic of someone caught red-handed. Instead, it glowed with a sharp, cunning, and vicious chill.
Before her husband could register the layout, the secretary suddenly let out a piercing scream that tore through the night:
“Help me! The boss… the boss is forcing me! He’s raping me! Somebody help me!”
As she screamed, she clawed at her own clothes until they were tattered, disheveled her hair, and bolted straight toward the doorway where she stood, acting as though she had just escaped a bloodthirsty wild beast.
She froze, completely paralyzed by the bizarre, treacherous play unfolding before her eyes.
And then, the true horror officially began.
Her husband stood frozen beside the sofa for a brief beat. Yet, on his face, there was not a trace of fear or confusion of someone framed or wronged. On the contrary, the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a cold, morbid, and scheming smile.
He slowly bent down to the floor. Right beside the desk leg, where a set of stainless steel fruit-peeling tools used for afternoon receptions lay unattended, he reached down and picked up a small, gleaming dagger under the light.
“Where do you think you’re going, my love?” – her husband’s deep, ice-cold voice rang out, gentle as the whisper of the grim reaper.
PART IV: THE PERFECTLY SET TRAP
Everything now clicked into place in her mind like a ghostly painting drawn with absolute cruelty.
This was not an accidental affair caught in the act. This was a trap. A ruthless plan meticulously designed down to every single detail between her husband and the ambitious secretary.
He wanted to seize all the shares and assets registered under her name inherited from her maternal family, while divorcing her to step into a wealthier lineage. But laws and courts wouldn’t easily divide assets without a weighty reason. And the most perfect reason of all was: turning the husband into a victim framed by a blindly jealous wife, or creating a horrific murder right inside the office during a lonely night, where the wife appeared as a crazed killer blinded by jealousy!
She stepped back, her legs going limp and refusing to obey commands. The lunchbox in her hand dropped to the floor with a thud, soup and white rice scattering and mixing onto the deep red carpeted floor.
“You… you people… you planned this beforehand…” – she tremblingly uttered broken words, her throat choked with fear and despair.
The secretary had stopped crying by now, standing tucked into the corner of the room, a triumphant smile with a spine-chilling coldness on her lips. She spoke in a sweet yet utterly venomous tone:
“You’re really slow on the uptake. Did you think an ordinary guy like him could climb to this branch director position by himself without my family’s backing? You’re just a thorn in the side that needs to be plucked out. Today’s anniversary night will be your first death anniversary, at the hands of the very husband you loved so dearly.”
Her husband stepped slowly toward her, the sharp dagger in his hand reflecting a cold, glaring light. In his eyes, not an ounce of marital affection remained, leaving only supreme ambition and the nature of a beast starved for warm blood.
“Blame yourself for trusting people too much, wife,” – he whispered, raising the dagger high in his hand. – “Don’t worry, the police will find your body along with divorce papers and a suicide note written in your own handwriting. Everything has been prepared.”
PART V: THE LIFE-AND-DEATH STRUGGLE IN THE DARK CORNER
The sense of impending death awakened the strongest survival instinct buried deep within the woman who had long been accustomed to endurance. She understood that if she stood here waiting for mercy, she would fall beneath the murderer’s blade without ever being able to claim justice for her life.
When the distance between her and her husband was less than two full steps, instead of retreating into the wall, she unexpectedly crouched down, using every ounce of remaining strength to hurl the small tea table laden with documents straight at him.
Crash!
Files, glass cups, and a teapot shattered across the floor. The surprise attack caused her husband to pause for a beat, stumbling back a few steps as he caught his feet on the glass shards.
Without a second’s hesitation, she spun around and sprinted for her life toward the elevator doors.
“Stop! You bitch, stop right there!” – her husband roared crazily from behind, heavy, pounding footsteps chasing right on her heels.
She bolted into the hallway. The elevator buttons were dark because the night energy-saving system had automatically cut power on the upper floors. With no time to wait for the elevator, she headed straight for the fire escape stairwell at the end of the hall.
Creeak…
She shoved the fire door open, plunging headfirst down the steep concrete steps into the thick darkness. The sound of her husband’s pursuing footsteps echoed in the hollow stairwell, sounding like the grim reaper’s knocks hurrying behind her.
“You can’t escape! You’re dead for sure in this building!” – his roaring voice echoed from the upper floor, accompanied by the sound of the blade scraping against the lime wall, hair-raising to hear.
She ran while panting heavily, sweat soaking the back of her shirt. Clunky high heels made her stumble and nearly collapse several times. In the height of panic, she decided to kick off the cumbersome high heels, running barefoot on the cold cement floor of the stairwell.
Blood oozed from minor cuts on her feet, mixing with dirt, but she could no longer feel the pain. Only a single thought remained in her mind: Must live! Must live to expose the base, vile face and disgusting crimes of those two scumbags to the light of justice!
PART VI: THE END OF THE BEDFELLOW AND THE LIGHT OF JUSTICE
Sprinting through five floors in an exhausted state, she finally managed to push open the ground floor fire exit door. The dim yellow light from the building’s main lobby appeared before her eyes.
She burst out into the grand lobby, where the elderly security guard was dazed and dozing off at his desk.
“Save… save me! Murder! My husband wants to kill me!” – she screamed with all her remaining strength, her voice hoarse as she collapsed onto the cold floor.
The security guard snapped awake, panicking as he looked at the disheveled woman with messy hair, soiled clothes, and bleeding feet clutching tightly to his legs. Before he could ask what happened, from the stairwell door, the silhouette of her husband lunged out with a blood-stained dagger in hand, his face twisted with murderous intent.
“You bitch, stop!” – he yelled, charging straight toward her.
The security guard realized the danger in shock, instinctively grabbing the patrol iron rod and shouting loudly: “Robbery! Murder! Call the police quickly!”
But her husband was blinded by malice and hatred. He swung the knife toward the elderly guard. During the scuffle, although aged and frail, thanks to the backup of a few night-shift staff who heard the noise and rushed out from the technical room, they managed to tackle him down to the floor.
The dagger flew away. Her husband thrashed wildly like a cornered beast, his mouth still muttering meaningless threats.
Not long after, wailing police sirens shattered the quiet night sky of that poor city. Flashing red and blue lights repeatedly illuminated through the lobby glass doors.
PART VII: DAWN OVER THE ASHES
The police arrived promptly at the scene. The fifth-floor office was unlocked and thoroughly searched. There, besides the puddle of tears and the crushed lunchbox of the wife, investigators also recovered CCTV footage from a hidden angle automatically saved by the storage system, documenting the entire fake framing act of the secretary along with the cold-blooded murderous attitude of the husband.
The true faces of the ambitious couple were officially unmasked before the law. There was no rape; it was merely a malicious conspiracy aimed at casting the devoted wife out onto the streets empty-handed after draining her vitality.
As the first rays of morning sun began to shine over that poor street, dispelling the fog and lingering rain of the previous night, she sat quietly on the stone bench outside the police station. Her feet were carefully bandaged, but the wounds in her heart would likely take a very long time to heal.
She looked up at the clearing blue sky gradually opening up after the storm. The wedding anniversary lunchbox had been forever buried beneath the ruins of betrayal, but she knew that from this moment onward, she had truly been reborn from the ashes of weakness to stride proudly forward on the path of life.
