Three Years of Marriage: My Divorce Plan Drove My Husband Crazy

Adrian hasn't touched me in the three years we've been married.

I put on a lace nightgown, faked some kiss marks, and sent him a sleeping selfie from his perspective.

"Dude, she smells amazing. Why don't you divorce her and let me have her?"

I guessed Adrian would be disgusted and angry when he received this anonymous message, and would throw me away like trash, the sister who was just a replacement.

I thought that this time, I'd finally be able to divorce him.

1

Natalie was on vacation in Europe, celebrating her third wedding anniversary.

She asked me what gift I wanted, and I asked for an anonymous international phone card.

Holding the phone card, standing in the empty hotel room, I let out a tired sigh.

Then I put on the sheer lace nightgown I had bought specifically for this plan.

In front of the mirror, I created fake kiss marks on my collarbone and neck.

The marks were scattered, as if left by a man consumed by desire, forceful and domineering.

One strap of the nightgown was "torn" by the "man".

Finally, I carefully smudged my lipstick in front of the mirror.

Then I sat on the bed, making the other side look as if someone had slept there.

I closed my eyes.

The camera was set on a timer from his perspective.

Three, two, one.

In the photo, the woman seemed to have just fallen asleep after an intimate moment, completely defenseless.

I stared at it for a long time.

I couldn't help but think of Adrian's notorious reputation in the business world.

The smiling tiger.

The capitalist who devours without spitting out bones.

But what I was most familiar with was his perpetually cold and emotionless face.

Although handsome, all his affection was only for my sister.

I prepared for the worst.

Even if Adrian had no feelings for me, a man should find it hard to tolerate a woman's betrayal.

He might seek revenge.

But in the end, he would disgustedly and angrily abandon me and divorce me.

As long as I could get a divorce, that's all I wanted.

I closed my eyes and pressed send.

On the phone screen, that casually worded text message—

"Dude, she smells amazing. Why don't you divorce her and let me have her?"

Along with that photo.

Sent successfully.

2

In less than two seconds.

I received a reply.

Adrian: "Who are you?"

I changed clothes slowly.

Almost mischievously prolonging the response time.

Was he about to explode with anger, desperately wanting to tear the anonymous sender apart?

He, who had always been heaven's favorite, perfect from childhood to adulthood, was now having his emotions controlled by someone else, and by someone like me who he had always held in the palm of his hand.

Three years of depression and pain, finally getting a moment of satisfaction today.

I changed into my regular clothes, and during this interval, Adrian sent two more messages.

"Don't use such poor AI face-swapping. Tell me your purpose."

"I advise you to come clean yourself, and I might leave you in one piece."

I chuckled.

"Mr. Sh...