Bringing a special lunch to the office to celebrate their wedding anniversary, a wife was frozen in shock as she heard the secretary scream, “The boss raped me!” and saw her husband turn around with a chilling, sinister smile
CHAPTER I: PRIDE IN THE SHADOWS
In a certain poor city, where asphalt roads stained with patches of motor oil after every heavy rain always bore the heavy tracks of livelihood, survival was never a gentle melody. Clamped tightly together beneath the grey smoke of artisanal machinery workshops, level-4 tenement houses harbored people who scraped together every single small coin just to trade for two hasty meals a day.
At that dreary street corner illuminated by dim, yellowish streetlights, her small family was once regarded as an unyielding fortress of peace and fidelity.
Her husband was a man commanding respect through his willpower and composure. From a struggling nobody at the bottom of society, he climbed step by step to the position of commercial director of a large trading enterprise thanks to his interpersonal skills and commercial acumen. The trait he was most proud of—the one he frequently pulled out as a moral benchmark during idle drinking chats with colleagues—was his absolute discretion and unyielding loyalty to his steadfast wife at home.
He always projected the image of a model husband. Never a tiny blemish existed in his schedule. His dress shirts were always impeccably ironed, his briefcase clean, and a gentle smile was perpetually ready on his lips as he crossed the threshold of the cramped rented room. Everyone in that poor neighborhood praised her for her tremendous good fortune in landing a husband who was both successful and thoughtful.
Yet, the inner world of man is always a bottomless abyss. No one knew that beneath that immaculate facade and towering arrogance, her husband was a man of bone-chilling duality.
His pride did not lie in his faithfulness, but in the smugness of believing he had too skillfully concealed a shattering secret: a clandestine affair spanning two years with a young, sharp secretary right inside the towering office building. He felt self-satisfied, thinking himself a master of psychological manipulation, maintaining the image of a gold-standard husband at home while indulging in depraved pleasures inside the high-tech office during nights of lies pretending to work overtime to resolve contracts.
He was convinced no flaw would ever leak out. He fancied himself standing atop the pinnacle of contempt, silently mocking the innocence and blind trust of the wife who waited day and night, longing for home-cooked meals.
Until fate struck a thunderous blow on that anniversary night.
CHAPTER II: THE WARM LUNCHBOX AND THE RAINY ROAD
Outside, the poor city was submerged in a heavy, early-season rain shower. Raindrops lashing against the street surface created a rhythmic, sorrowful, and cold sound.
Inside the cramped kitchen, she carefully portioned out her husband’s favorite dishes into a shiny stainless steel thermal lunchbox. Today marked their tenth wedding anniversary. Her heart had brimmed with a sweet, fluttery emotion since afternoon, akin to first love. Looking at the wall calendar, she whispered to herself that her husband had been working terribly hard lately, pulling several consecutive late nights to prepare for the company’s major audit. He was a responsible man who cherished his wife and child; no wonder her youth, however faded by hardship, was entirely worthwhile.
She threw on a frayed woolen coat, cradling the warm lunchbox tightly against her chest to shield against the biting cold of the rainy night, and stepped out of home. The distance from the poor ghetto to the downtown skyscraper took about half an hour on foot. Under the water-streaked streetlights, her small figure trudged along, carrying all the tenderness and absolute trust entrusted to her life partner.
When she set foot in the main lobby of the skyscraper, the clock struck half-past nine at night. The security guard at the lobby nodded to her familiarly, as people were well-used to seeing this humble woman frequently bringing late-night food to the diligent director.
She stepped into the elevator, her heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of her husband’s surprised and happy face upon seeing his wife appear in the dead of night.
Ting.
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. The long corridor was plunged into deep darkness, with only fluorescent ceiling tubes casting a pale, chilling white light. All departments had turned off their lights and locked doors, except for the director’s office situated deep at the far end of the corridor. A gentle yellowish glow from an unlatched window cast a dim stripe of light across the red carpeted floor.
She stepped closer to the office. Her cautious nature and desire to give her husband a complete surprise stopped her from calling out. She softly took noiseless steps across the thick carpet.
Yet, when she was merely a few steps away from the heavy mahogany door, a strange sound from within caused her feet to suddenly halt, her blood freezing into ice.
CHAPTER III: THE AJAR DOOR AND THE ULTIMATE SHOCK
It was neither the clicking sound of typing during intense work nor the usual tired sigh. It was gasping sounds, the rustling friction of clothing against fabric, and the unmistakable, depraved moans of a corrupt liaison.
Her heart felt as though squeezed by an invisible force. The lunchbox in her hand almost slipped to the floor. Gathering a sliver of fragile courage left in her shattering chest, she stealthily stepped closer to the wooden door, which was left slightly ajar due to an unlatched hinge.
She peered through the gap.
And her world completely collapsed in a single split second.
Beneath the desk lamp, the husband she shared a pillow with, the man she once proudly praised as the embodiment of fidelity, was tightly embracing a soft figure. It was the young, sharp secretary. The two of them were entwined on the luxurious leather sofa with a frenzy, madness, and intense lust. Disheveled clothes scattered the floor, tight embraces and blissful faces bathed in base amorous wine.
All her sacrifices, submissive sweats, and sweet promises over the past ten years instantly turned into a pathetic, filthiest joke on earth. This cruel and shameless betrayal stripped away her entire ability to produce sound. She stepped back, her whole body trembling violently, bitter tears bursting out to drench her cheeks.
She opened her mouth, intending to let out a resentful scream, intending to rush in and rip away that deceitful mask from the vile wretch’s face.
Yet before she could do so, a far more terrifying, grotesque script unfolded right before her eyes, turning her wedding anniversary night into a true nightmare straight from hell.
CHAPTER IV: THE CRY FOR HELP AND THE DEMONIC SMILE
Amidst extreme shock, her elbow accidentally struck hard against a porcelain vase placed on a decorative wooden table right beside the office door.
Crash!
The sound rang out sharply within the quiet space of the corridor.
Inside the office, the sudden noise instantly severed the liaison. The husband and secretary snapped apart in surprise. Through the crack, she saw her husband whip his head around, his eyes piercing straight toward the doorway with a cold, murderous glint.
Yet the strangest thing, the detail that froze her in place, wasn’t the panic of someone caught red-handed, but the reaction of the secretary.
The young secretary, who mere seconds ago was entwined in her husband’s arms with an infatuated gaze, underwent a dizzying shift in attitude. On her face, there wasn’t a trace of fear or embarrassment typical of someone destroying another’s family. Instead, her eyes flashed with a sharp, cunning, and bone-chillingly vicious gleam.
Before the husband could process the situation, the secretary widened her eyes, threw back her head, and let out a loud, blood-curdling scream that tore through the quiet night of the skyscraper:
“Help me! The boss… the boss is forcing me! He’s assaulting me! Someone help me!”
As she screamed, she clawed at her own clothes until they were tattered, tousled her hair, and lunged straight toward the door where she stood, feigning the look of someone having just escaped a bloodthirsty beast attempting to crush her.
She froze, entirely paralyzed by the grotesque role-reversal unfolding before her eyes. Her brain completely stalled, incapable of making sense of what on earth was transpiring between these two people.
And then, the ultimate shock struck.
The husband stood petrified near the sofa for a brief heartbeat. Yet on his face, there was absolutely no trace of panic, fear, or confusion of someone framed or wronged. On the contrary, the corners of his lips slowly curved upward.
He turned around, facing straight toward the doorway where his stunned, tattered wife stood paralyzed. And on his lips at that moment was an ice-cold, deeply pathological, scheming, and utterly vicious smile—the smile of a demon officially shedding its mask.
He slowly walked over to the desk, where a small stainless steel fruit-paring knife lay neglected under the light. He picked it up, the gleaming steel reflecting the chilling fluorescent light.
“You’re really unlucky, my dear wife,” – her husband’s deep, bone-chilling voice rang out, soft as the whisper of the grim reaper amidst a winter night.
CHAPTER V: THE PERFECT TRAP AND THE CONFESSION AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ABYSS
Everything only then began to click together in her mind like a ghostly picture painted with absolute cruelty.
This wasn’t an accidental affair caught in the act. This was a trap. A meticulously designed, detail-oriented conspiracy between the ambitious husband and the scheming secretary.
He wanted to seize all the assets and shares registered under her name inherited from her maternal family, while marrying the daughter of another major corporate conglomerate to climb higher rungs of fame. Yet laws and courts wouldn’t easily divide assets or allow him to cast aside his loyal wife without a substantial reason.
And the most flawless reason would be: Turning the wife into a blindly jealous maniac who broke into the office, attacked an employee with a weapon, and threatened her husband’s life in the dead of night! Or even worse, a tragic murder case right inside the office where the wife murdered her love rival and committed suicide in despair!
She stepped backward, her legs growing limp, no longer obeying her brain’s commands. The lunchbox in her hand slipped heavily to the floor, pork ribs and white rice scattering and mixing into the dark red carpet.
“You… you people… you want to kill me…” – she trembled out broken words, her throat choked with fear, injury, and ultimate despair.
The secretary had by now pressed tightly into the corner of the room, a triumphant, bone-chillingly cold smile resting on her lips. She spoke in a sweet yet venomous voice:
“You’re truly slow-witted. Did you think a mediocrity like himself could climb to this commercial director position on his own without backing from my family? You’re just a burdensome thorn that needs pulling out. Tonight’s anniversary will be your first death anniversary, at the hands of the very husband you deeply loved and praised.”
The husband advanced step by slow step toward her, the sharp blade in his hand reflecting cold, dazzling light. In his eyes, not a shred of marital affection remained; there was only supreme ambition, the chilling coldness of someone ready to trample even the flesh of the one he shared a pillow with in exchange for wealth and glory.
“Blame yourself for trusting too easily, and always insisting on bringing food at the wrong times,” – he whispered, raising the knife high in his hand. – “Don’t worry, the police will find your body along with a suicide note written in a fit of jealous frenzy. Everything has been pre-arranged flawlessly.”
CHAPTER VI: THE CHASE IN THE DARKNESS
The proximity of death awakened the strongest survival instinct buried deep within the body of a woman long accustomed to forbearance and sacrifice. She understood that if she stood here waiting for mercy or leniency, she would fall beneath the assassin’s blade without ever reclaiming justice for her life, never exposing the vile faces of these two monsters.
When the distance between her and her husband shrank to less than two paces, instead of retreating into the wall, she abruptly dropped low, mustering all her remaining strength to hurl the hot porcelain teapot on the coffee table directly at his face.
Clang!
Hot tea and shattered porcelain splattered everywhere. The sudden attack scalded the husband, causing him to stagger for a beat, cry out in pain, and retreat backward as he tripped over glass shards on the floor.
Without hesitating another second, she turned around and ran for her life toward the elevator doors.
“Stop! You bitch, stop right there!” – her husband roared frantically from behind, heavy, pounding footsteps chasing closely on her heels, mingling with vicious curses.
She rushed into the corridor. The elevator buttons were pitch black because the nighttime energy-saving system had automatically cut power on upper floors. There was no time to wait for the elevator; she headed straight for the emergency stairwell door at the end of the corridor.
Creak…
She shoved open the fire door, plunging headfirst down the steep concrete steps into the thick darkness. The echoing footfalls of her chasing husband reverberated inside the empty stairwell, sounding like the death knell urging her on from right behind.
“You can’t escape! Today you die in this building!” – his voice roared from upstairs, accompanied by the sound of the blade scraping against the lime wall, hair-raising to hear.
She ran breathlessly, sweat soaking through the back of her shirt. High heels encumbered her, causing her to almost collapse several times on the dark steps. Amidst extreme panic, she decided to kick off her high heels, running barefoot across the cold cement floor of the stairwell.
Blood oozed from scratches on her feet, mingling with dirt, but she no longer felt physical pain. In her head remained only a single thought: Must live! Must live to expose the truly vile nature and disgusting crimes of those two scumbags to the light of justice!
CHAPTER VII: DAWN OVER THE ASHES
Sprinting desperately down five stories in an exhausted state, she finally burst open the ground-floor emergency exit. The dim yellow light of the building’s main lobby materialized before her eyes.
She bolted into the grand lobby where the elderly security guard was drowsily nodding off at his desk.
“Help… 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, panicked as he looked at the disheveled woman with tattered clothes, dirt-smeared skin, and bleeding feet clutching his legs. Before he could ask what happened, from the stairwell doors, her husband lunged out with a bloody dagger in hand, his face warped with murderous intent.
“You bitch, don’t you dare run!” – he yelled, charging straight toward her.
The security guard realized the danger in shock, grabbing his patrol iron rod by reflex and shouting loudly: “Robbery! Murder! Call the police now!”
Yet the husband was blinded by cruelty and hatred. He swung his knife toward the elderly security guard. Amidst the struggle, though elderly, the guard—aided by several night-shift staff who heard the noise and rushed out from the technical room—managed to tackle him to the floor.
The dagger flew away. The husband struggled frantically like a cornered beast, his mouth still wailing meaningless threats.
Not long after, the wailing sirens of police cars pierced the quiet night sky of that poor city. Flashing red and blue lights illuminated through the lobby glass walls.
Police arrived promptly at the scene. The fifth-floor office was unlocked and thoroughly searched. Inside, besides the spilled tears and mashed lunchbox of the wife, investigators recovered security camera footage from a blind-spot angle automatically recorded by the system, displaying the entire fabricated framing play by the secretary alongside the cold-blooded murderous attitude of the husband.
The true faces of the ambitious couple were officially stripped bare before the law. There was no assault; it was entirely a conscience-less conspiracy designed to cast the loyal wife out onto the street empty-handed after squeezing her dry of strength.
As the first rays of morning sunlight began to shine down upon that poor street corner, chasing away the thick 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 long time to heal.
She looked up at the clearing blue sky gradually unfolding after the storm. The wedding anniversary lunchbox had been permanently buried beneath the rubble of betrayal, but she knew that from this moment onward, she had truly resurrected from the ashes of weakness to stride proudly forward on the road ahead.
