My Parking Spot, His Secret Lover's Alibi

When I reach the underground parking lot, I find out that my husband, Victor Blake, has parked his car in a slanted manner.

Great, his car has taken over my parking slot again.

I call him and tell him to get his ass downstairs so that he can move the car out of my parking slot. While waiting for him, I come across a post on the Internet.

"I'm screwing the brains out of my mistress right now. What should I do to avoid getting discovered by my wife, who might be home anytime soon?"

The comment section goes nuts. Apparently, the original poster has left a like on one of the comments.

"Park your car in a way that it eats into your wife's parking slot. That way, she'll have to call you every time she gets home. Not only do you have time to clean up the scene and protect your mistress, but you also get to tell your wife in a righteous manner that you're reserving a parking slot for her."

I frown immediately. As soon as I tap on the WhatsApp chat, I hear someone knocking on my window.

Victor can be seen jiggling his car keys outside the car.

"What's with the rush? I did this just so I can reserve a parking slot for you, you know."

I froze when I heard what my husband said. The top comment I'd just read flashed through my mind, sending a sudden chill down my spine.

My husband, Victor Blake, got into the car. With practiced ease, he spun the wheel, backed up, and straightened it out.

Then, he parked my car just as effortlessly.

I stood to the side and watched him closely.

He looked completely relaxed, his expression open and calm. There wasn't a single thing out of the ordinary.

We had dated for four years and been married for four. He had always been wonderful to me—so wonderful I couldn't find a single flaw.

My mom died early, my dad remarried, and my stepmother saw me as a thorn in her side.

I had to scrape together my college tuition by working odd jobs.

Victor was my upperclassman in college. When he found out about my family, he spoiled me rotten.

After graduation, he worked himself to the bone to make money. He clawed his way up the corporate ladder, going from a low-level employee to running his own company.

The day he handed me the deed to our house, he held me tight and said, "Jane, you've suffered enough. From now on, you have me, and you have a home."

Could a man like that really be unfaithful?

"What are you thinking about? Let's go."

Victor locked the car and naturally threw an arm over my shoulder, guiding me toward the elevator.

I looked up at him and tested the waters. "Why do you always park crooked anyway? Is it really just to save a spot for me?"

"Of course." He nodded without