The Night That Changed My Life Forever!

It was 2:24 PM in the sweltering heat of mid-July when Lana stirred awake in the lavish embrace of her husband's opulent villa. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden reflections against the marble floors.

She stretched languidly, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. "Good afternoon, darling. Did you enjoy last night's variety of positions? An unforgettable night, wasn't it?" she purred, her voice dripping with mischief.

Jeff, lying beside her, barely spared her a glance. Instead, he frowned, rubbing his temples as if nursing an invisible wound. "It wasn't bad," he muttered. "But I've had better."

The words sliced through the air like a jagged blade, but Lana said nothing. Instead, she slipped out of bed, her expression unreadable, and made her way to her dressing room. She chose a tailored Percy jacket—a gift from Jeff's colleague on their anniversary—and carefully applied her makeup, each stroke of her brush an unspoken declaration of control.

Then came Jeff's voice, sharp and impatient from the first floor. "Hurry up! We're running late. We have to meet Camila after lunch."

Lana glanced at her reflection, adjusting the collar of her jacket. She had no intention of rushing. She knew Jeff well enough to recognize when his impatience wasn't just about punctuality—but rather, an attempt to conceal something.

When she finally made her way to the garage, she found him on a call, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. The moment he noticed her presence, he ended it abruptly.

Suspicion flared in her chest. Who could he possibly be talking to at this hour?

Sliding into the car beside him, she feigned excitement. "Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to tell you something," she said, watching his face carefully.

Jeff let out a tired sigh. "What now? Don't tell me you're pregnant… or that your family needs money again."

Lana's lips curled into a knowing smile, but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she changed the subject.

They arrived at Golden Gallery—a restaurant steeped in memories. It was here that Lana had first confessed her love for him. As they approached their reserved table, she noticed something odd. An extra chair.

"Who's joining us?" she asked lightly. "Is it Steve? Or Mark?"

Jeff's expression brightened. "No, Camila said she's never been here before and wanted to come along."

Lana's grip on her purse tightened. "Didn't you say you had a meeting with her after lunch? Why is she joining us now?" Her voice carried a slight tremor, a note of something between unease and quiet fury.

Camila. The woman Jeff never stopped mentioning. The woman he had been with before Lana, though their relationship had been nothing more than a string of passionate encounters. Time and time again, Jeff had spoken of her body—her delicate frame, her allure. Lana had never met her in person. Until now.

Lunch was a slow, torturous affair. Camila ordered Wagyu steak with Turkish oysters, barely acknowledging Lana's presence. Jeff, on the other hand, seemed all too comfortable in her company.

By the end of the meal, Jeff arranged for a car to take Lana home while he and Camila headed to the office together.

Something was wrong.

Back at the villa, Lana's pulse pounded as she retrieved Jeff's old phone from his drawer. He had changed the passcode. Her heart clenched—he never changed his codes. But he did have one particular habit: using the same numbers for everything. 0121.

With a deep breath, she entered the digits.

Access granted.

Her fingers trembled as she navigated to the security cameras linked to his company's office. The screen flickered to life.

Empty.

The entire building was deserted.

Her stomach churned. Where were they?

She called Jeff, forcing her voice into a honeyed calm. "Sweetheart, are you done with work? Should I prepare dinner for you and Camila?"

A pause. Then, his voice—rushed, anxious. "No, no… we're still at the office. Work is taking longer than expected."

Lana's blood ran cold. He was lying.

She called her best friend, Sarah. "Sarah, I think that bastard is cheating again!" she snapped, her voice shaking with fury.

Sarah didn't hesitate. "Then leave him. How many times have I told you?"

Lana inhaled sharply, the weight of her next words pressing against her ribs. "Sarah… I think I'm pregnant."

Silence. Then, Sarah's voice, sharp as a blade. "Then get rid of it. That man will never be a good father. Listen to me."

Tears blurred Lana's vision.

Then— ding dong.

The doorbell.

She wiped her tears, steadied her breathing, and descended the stairs. Jeff had returned, but his demeanor was distant. Without a word, he strode past her.

"Elizabeth, bring me a fresh pair of boxers. Wash these for me," he ordered.

Lana's heart stuttered. Boxers? But hadn't he been wearing a pair already?

A suffocating realization settled over her.

That night, Jeff fell into an unusually deep sleep. He didn't ask her to touch him. He didn't demand anything. But Lana was too exhausted to question it.

Then—at precisely 3:00 AM—something woke her.

A sound.

She sat up, groggy, listening intently.

"YES, YES, YES—pour it on my breasts, harder, I want another one, OH, AHH—Harder!"

A voice.

A familiar voice.

A sickening chill coiled around Lana's spine as she slowly rose from bed. With hesitant steps, she approached the dressing room.

Then—she saw them.

Jeff. Camila.

Her husband, entangled with the woman he had once claimed was nothing more than a past indulgence.

Lana's breath hitched. "What the hell are you doing? Jeff! Camila!" Her voice cracked, raw with rage.

Jeff scrambled to cover himself, his face a portrait of guilt. "I can explain! It's not what you think—"

Lana let out a hollow laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Not what I think? Jeff, I loved you! I gave you everything!"

Camila sat there, smug and unbothered, as if she had won some twisted prize.

Lana couldn't bear it.

She turned and bolted down the stairs, grabbing the keys to the 918 Porsche—the one she had bought for his birthday.

Tires screeched as she tore through the empty streets, her speedometer climbing past 243.

Her vision blurred.

Her heart ached.

Her phone rang over and over—Jeff's name flashing on the screen.

She rolled down the window.

And with a final, resolute motion, she hurled the device into the dark sea.

The last thing she remembered was the blinding headlights.

Then—darkness.

When her eyes fluttered open, she was staring at a sterile white ceiling.

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the distance.

She was alive.

But the woman she had been last night—the woman who had loved Jeff with every fiber of her soul—was gone.