My Latin Dancer Wife - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Lola Evans laid it all out for me—photos, chat logs, everything. My wife, Bianca Valentine, had been living a double life.
Outdoor flings, dressing room trysts, backseat romps...
The truth hit me like a truck.
Bianca had played me perfectly. I'd been walking around with blinders on, wearing the cuckold's crown without even knowing it.
But the more I saw, the less I felt rage.
A woman like her wasn't worth a single tear.
Still, I'd been screwed—kicked to the curb with nothing, while the house and car I'd busted my ass for went straight to Kyle Roscente and that backstabbing witch, Bianca.
No. Hell no.
They weren't getting away with this.
First, I needed Lola on my side. I spent the next few nights at her place, playing my cards right.
She was easy—just a little attention and she melted.
Before long, she was wrapped around my finger.
"Darling, I'm obsessed with you! I swear, I'll never even glance at another man. I'm yours, only yours!"
Pathetic. But useful.
Through her, I dug up dirt on the Performing Arts Troupe's higher-ups—bribes, embezzlement, pressuring female performers into "entertaining" clients.
I packaged the evidence and leaked it online. The scandal blew up overnight.
Kyle's brother-in-law, the troupe director, got hauled in for questioning.
With his protector gone, Kyle wasn't so bold anymore.
By month's end, he and Bianca planned a quiet wedding.
Like I'd let that slide.
I paid off the emcee. Right at the ceremony's peak, the screens lit up with videos, photos, and chats—Bianca with the director, Bianca with multiple men, Bianca doing things that would make a sailor blush.
The crowd lost it. The footage went viral in minutes.
Bianca stood there in her wedding dress, shell-shocked, before crumbling into sobs.
Her parents turned ghost-white. Their precious daughter's filth was on display for the whole family to see. Humiliated, they bolted before the vows even finished.
Halfway through, Kyle snapped. He killed the feed and roared, "Who the hell did this?! Kevin Roland, you bastard, I know it's you! Show your face!"
But I didn't. I watched from the balcony, sipping champagne, savoring the chaos.
Then I texted him: "Yeah, it was me. What're you gonna do? How's my slt treating you?"*
"Kevin, you piece of shit! Get out here!"
Kyle lost it, tearing through the venue like a madman.
But I was already gone.
The wedding was toast.
Kyle might not have cared about Bianca's past, but his parents did. Government officials lived and died by reputation. Today's disaster played out in front of their colleagues—their superiors.
"Kyle, we'll tolerate anything—but that woman will never step foot in our home!"
"Have you lost your mind? Marrying a whore like her? How many more horns do you want to wear? This family will never have peace!"
With the wedding in ruins and his parents dead-set against it, Kyle had no choice. He took back the bride price, dumped Bianca, and let his parents set him up with a new girl.
At first, he resisted—until he saw how stunning his new match was.
Fiona Lowell.
Bianca was history.
Kyle married Fiona within months.
Bianca's scheming had backfired. Her reputation was wrecked. Every performance, someone recognized her.
Then came the projectiles—rotten eggs, spoiled veggies, and shoes. So many shoes.
The backlash got so bad, she got fired. Kyle got the boot too.
But I wasn't done.
Kyle destroyed my family. He wasn't walking away unscathed.
Jobless, he opened a barbecue stall in the old district. Business wasn't bad, but he worked till dawn, drinking with his loser buddies most nights.
His new wife, Fiona, sold gold jewelry at the mall.
She wasn't the loyal type.
When my company ran a client appreciation event—gold gifts included—I made sure to visit her store.
Fiona smelled a big sale. She clung to me, pitching recommendations, adding me on socials, texting nonstop.
One day, she even dolled up and asked me to dinner.
Game on.