My Husband Wanted Me To Cheat And I Went To The Don. Chapter 06
At the time, the family was teetering on the edge of a broken capital chain—they’d even mortgaged the estate to pay debts.
He’d poured every available dollar into rebuilding the business. They were so close to recovery. Then the next morning, eight million vanished from the company account. Finance traced it back to Silvia.
He’d been furious. He stormed home and confronted her: “Silvia, what the hell did you do with the company’s money?”
She didn’t explain. She just said, eyes rimmed red: “I’ll pay it back.”
It wasn’t about the money. What enraged him was that her father had been kidnapped and she hadn’t come to him first.
Instead she’d drained a crucial investment fund. What infuriated him was that he’d treated her as his own—and she’d treated him like an ATM.
From that point on, the crack between them appeared. Later, the company recovered and the eight-million shortfall was filled.
But some things can’t be patched—his trust in her.
He felt his pure devotion had been betrayed. He’d loved her so deeply, knelt in the rain for her, made her the most important person in his life.
And when he was at his most fragile, his most desperate, she’d stolen from him.
He began to think his mother had been right—Silvia wasn’t worthy of his sincere heart.
After that, he changed. She said nothing.
The less she said, the more convinced he became that she endured it all for the money.
What woman could watch her husband parade mistresses around and still calmly iron his shirts and brew his hangover soup?
Unless she didn’t care.
Unless what she wanted was the money.
Once that thought took hold, he actually felt relieved.
It wasn’t his fault. She’d had impure motives from the start.
All his guilt had been wasted on her. When she stole that money, she should’ve seen this coming.
He went on finding different women with a clear conscience, sometimes deliberately being intimate with them right in front of her.
And she was always the same—tolerant, composed.
It made him furious. A person with no emotions at all—that wasn’t generosity. That was someone who had never loved.
“So, the father she spent the company’s lifeline to ransom—he died three years ago?”
He laughed bitterly. “How considerate of her. Didn’t breathe a word.”
But Charles took no pleasure in that consideration. The death certificate crumpled in his clenched fist.
Three years ago today—what had he been doing?
That day, aside from transferring two hundred thousand to buy a handbag for a woman he’d known less than three days…
He’d also received three calls from his wife. He’d declined every one.
He didn’t dare picture it. That day, she’d handled her father’s funeral alone.
And he, her husband, was only learning now—three years later—that his father-in-law was dead.
So that’s what it was. Every year when she insisted on going home for a few days—it was her father’s death anniversary.
She’d gone to the cemetery alone.
And he—knowing full well that her father had been injured saving his own—had never once asked: “How’s your father-in-law doing?”
Charles composed himself, slipping back into that look of not caring about anything.
“You called me back for something this trivial?”
“She didn’t tell me herself. You can’t blame me for not noticing.”
His father stared at him without a word.
Charles shifted under that gaze, reaching for the cigarettes in his pocket.
“Fine. I know what you’re trying to say.”
He walked to the window, his back to the old man, voice muffled.
“I know I’ve neglected her. I know I’ve wronged her all these years. You don’t have to say it. I know.”
He paused, as if waiting for his father to scold him the way he always did.
Instead, his father said: “The person who was kidnapped that year—it was me.”