Goodbye, My Dearest Enemy

Carolyn accidentally liked an article criticizing her husband's mistress’s poor acting.

The very next day, photos from her youth flooded the internet—images of her dressed provocatively, fawning over wealthy bosses while serving drinks.

When the news reached her, Carolyn’s mind exploded with a deafening roar. An instant, bone-deep chill swept through her body.

Fingers trembling, she called Carl, desperate to ask what on earth was going on. He answered only to say hurriedly, “I’m busy,” and hung up.

Every message she sent him afterwards vanished without a trace.

Carolyn refused to give up. On her fifty-fifth attempt, Carl finally picked up.

His breathing on the other end was heavy, muffled, feverish.

“Can’t you bother my assistant with your problems? Must I clean up your messes every single time?”

Carolyn was taken aback. She drew a sharp breath, hesitated, then finally asked, “Did you post those photos online?”

Carl scoffed. Through the receiver came the rhythmic, unmistakable creak of a bedframe.

He hadn’t stopped—if anything, his movements grew more forceful, drawing a soft gasp from the person beneath him.

“Carl… is that your wife? Does she hate me? Why did she sic those trolls on me?” The voice was fragmented, nearly lost to ragged breathing.

“What if I did post them?” Carl’s tone turned icy. “Carolyn, if you don’t want your mother on her deathbed to see those photos, you’d better behave.”

The sounds from the call continued, but they weren’t for Carolyn anymore.

“You only need me to like you. I’ve already punished Carolyn for you, little darling. Don’t be angry, okay?”

Their heavy, intertwined breathing and stifled moans pierced her like a dagger, brutally twisting in her heart.

“Good girl, relax. Let me…”

Then, all sound cut off, plunging into silence. The monotonous dial tone severed every torturous image in her mind.

Carolyn’s heart sank. Her face turned ashen; her spirit plummeted.

A flood of buried memories washed over her.

Seven years ago, she had paved Carl’s way, glass after glass of alcohol. She had prostrated herself at men’s feet to fund his education, to scrape together his startup capital.

When he proposed, Carl told her, “I’ll become successful—famous. I’ll make everyone envy you. I’ll love you for a lifetime.”

Back then, her heart brimmed with devotion. She never imagined that sincerity would prove so fleeting, crumbling less than a month into their marriage.

Every promise now lay like shattered glass, reflecting her own foolish image back at her.

They had moved from a five-hundred-dollar basement to the elite Hillside Villa. Everyone said she’d hit the jackpot. Only she knew the hardship behind it all.

She’d stayed up with him until dawn. During the toughest times, trapped between her mother’s exorbitant ICU bills and Carl’s tuition, she’d shed her dignity—enduring the oily, repulsive hands of men roaming her back and waist.

The bitter days were finally over. But her husband had changed.

Suddenly, the sharp screech of tires braking pierced the air outside.

The next second, the door flew