How Do Best Liars Deceive Their Husbands Effectively?

He chose his mistress on our anniversary. He didn't know I was already planning my funeral. For three years, I was the perfect wife. I swallowed the insults from his family. I bore the guilt of our daughter’s death. Everyone blamed me. Yet, I loved Mateo Santiago with everything I had. Until the day I found out the truth. On the same day I discovered I was pregnant again, I learned my husband was expecting a child with another woman: my own step-aunt, Valentina. And worse? I finally discovered that he was the one responsible for our first daughter's death, not me. I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I simply texted him: "Your birthday is in a month. I’ll prepare a gift you’ll never forget." Thirty days later, Mateo Santiago watched my car burn at the bottom of a cliff. He buried an empty casket and cried for a wife he thought he loved. But Isabella Romano didn't die that day. She just disappeared. I was not alone anymore. I had another life growing inside me but then I stumbled upon a stranger. A stranger shadows feared. Dante Galante.

Maria is trapped in a loveless marriage with Damian Lee, a powerful conglomerate heir rumored to never stay loyal to one woman. But instead of fearing betrayal, she is trying to make it happen because if Damian cheats, she gains control of his company shares. To trigger it, she recruits Hannah Barker, a broke but sincere girl who accidentally gets pulled into a world of luxury, lies, and power games. As Hannah tries to survive her new job, she becomes unknowingly entangled in Maria’s scheme. Meanwhile, Damian remains an enigmatic figure at the center of everything: desired, misunderstood, and far more complex than either woman believes.

During the Thanksgiving holiday, my mother-in-law Mary came to visit us from Ohio. I took her to my husband Liam's new spa in Manhattan, Apropos. We enjoyed a basic facial treatment together, which I had purchased for $9.90 on an e-commerce platform. Right after the treatment, the beautician slapped a high-priced package down in front of us. She glanced at us contemptuously and said: "Do you really think you can enjoy our premium services with a $9.90 coupon?Stop kidding. You two look like you’re here to freeload. A single facial here costs thousands of dollars. This isn’t some free trial for cheapskates like you." I suppressed my anger and said coldly: “We have already paid for the basic treatment. How can you call this taking advantage for free?. Go get your manager.” A flashy woman walked over. Her arms were crossed. She looked down her nose at us. “I’m the Boss lady of this place.You and this old hag are just trying to get something for free, aren’t you? Let me be clear. You're buying this five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment today. Or you're not walking out that door.” A five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment? So this was it. This was why Liam suddenly got into the beauty industry. He didn't open a spa. He opened a scam shop to bankroll his mistress. I was about to call Liam, but she beat me to it, dialing a number. “Darling, you need to get down to the spa, right now. I've got a couple of hicks from the sticks making a scene, trying to get free services!”

On the very day I sold my company shares to raise money for my wife’s medical treatment, my phone flashed with a notification about a trending post. "My husband or my lover, which should I choose?" An anonymous reply shot to the top of the comments. "Why choose? I want both." What followed was a casual, shameless confession. A staged car accident right after the wedding, a fake overseas treatment plan, parents who helped maintain the lie, and millions siphoned off under the excuse of life-saving medical fees. The money was never for treatment. It funded luxury vacations, hotel suites, and a long-term affair. Someone asked if she was afraid her husband would find out. Her answer was chilling. "Why would I be afraid? He thinks he took my first time and swore to take responsibility for me forever. He doesn’t know it was just a repair surgery I did for his sake." The post ended with a vacation photo. A woman in a bikini, smiling under the sun. And on her waist, a tattoo with the letters 'NG.' The same tattoo worn by my wife.

To help my husband, Henry Carter, pay off a million-dollar debt, I clean windows and scrub toilets in an office building on Valentine's Day just for the triple pay. After I'm done with the windows, I am about to transfer the last 50 thousand dollars of the debt when a post suddenly pops up on my phone. The title of the post is, "What is something you see in real life that makes you feel sorry for someone, even if they are your enemy?" One of the top comments says, "The person I hate the most is my boyfriend's wife. My boyfriend pretends to be poor to spend money on me and cheats his wife out of over a million. That woman works day and night at a cleaning company just to make money for me! "This has gone on for eight years. That woman has been scrubbing toilets for eight years! Even if she is my enemy, I feel sorry for her." I freeze, and my fingers tremble uncontrollably. No way. It has to be a coincidence. I stare at those words, stunned and unable to recover from the shock. Then, a new comment appears, "Now, my boyfriend plans to fake an illness by telling his wife that he has cancer. He's going to trick her into giving him money to buy me a car." At that exact moment, Henry sends me a message. The instant I open it, I feel my heart skip a beat. It reads, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sick—I have cancer. The doctor says we need to prepare 80 thousand dollars for treatment. I hate myself for this. Why am I even alive? I'm just dragging you down with me." The words "late-stage liver cancer" in the attached diagnosis report are painful to look at. I think in dismay, "Henry, you do not need to pretend to be sick. You are indeed in the late stage of cancer."

I was in love. He was handsome and seductive. However, what was supposed to be love became a marriage contract. When my family lost everything, including dignity, I was forced to marry, not out of love, but out of interest. My husband never knew the real reason I accepted his proposal, and I pray he never finds out.