Left at the Altar, Stolen by the Enemy - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Henry's words instantly melted away the dark cloud hanging over me. True, he'd seemed a little distant last night, but now he was back to his usual self—sweet, affectionate, and disarmingly tender.
"Honey, tonight I want to hold you again, fall asleep breathing in your scent..."
Who would've thought? The same Henry who commanded boardrooms with icy precision turned into a complete softie behind closed doors.
Ethan, on the other hand, looked like he'd been sucker-punched. He swayed on his feet, clutching his head like he might collapse any second.
"Wendy... my head..."
Stress headaches were his weakness, and I'd once learned acupressure just to ease his pain. This didn't seem like an act—if he passed out right outside my door, it'd be a terrible way to start the night.
I hesitated, about to turn back, when suddenly Henry slumped against me dramatically.
"Wendy, I had too much to drink at Mom's... I think I'm gonna faint..."
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain. Yogurt. He'd been drinking yogurt at his mom's place.
Still, I hauled him inside, unimpressed.
"Cut the act. You're terrible at this."
The second the door closed, Henry sprang back to life, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
"You're right, my brilliant wife. Nothing gets past you!" He grinned, shameless. "But can you blame me? Grown men faking fainting spells—how pathetic is that?"
I shot him a dry look. "Says the man who just did the same thing."
"Ah, but I have an advantage." He nuzzled my neck like an overgrown golden retriever. "I have a wife to catch me."
And just like that, the night dissolved into another absurd mess.
Newly "manly" men were exhausting.
By the time I remembered Ethan was still outside, he'd already vanished.
Then my best friend's voice message blasted through:
"Wendy, what did you do to Cynthia? She's losing it online!"
I pulled up the livestream just in time to see Cynthia screeching like a banshee.
"Wendy, you gold-digging homewrecker! You've already landed a rich sugar daddy—why are you still eyeing other women's husbands?!"
The internet, ever thirsty for drama, exploded. Thousands flooded the chat, hurling insults like confetti.
"Wendy? The psycho who ruined that couple?"
"Wow, playing two rich guys at once? She must be really good in bed."
"Disgusting. Women like her give the rest of us a bad name."
Henry's fury was instantaneous. He was already vowing to destroy Ethan.
But I couldn't hide behind him forever. It was time to clean up my own mess.
I posted receipts—eight years of relationship photos, property records, everything.
"Who's the real third wheel here? Let the world decide."
The internet did what it does best: it dug deeper.
Turns out, Cynthia had been playing Ethan for years while juggling other men on the side.
"First love? More like two trashy cheaters made for each other."
"Ethan was engaged to Wendy before he ran off with Cynthia. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"
"Why is she crying victim? Planning to steal another fiancé, Cynthia?"
Netizens—brutal, efficient, and hilarious.
The next day, Cynthia cornered me, desperation in her eyes.
"Wendy, please. Give Henry back to me. He was supposed to be mine. The Smith family's wife should be me. I'll return Ethan to you—let's just reset everything, okay?"
As if life were that simple.
As if love were a game of musical chairs.