Cheating wife's Despair

The opulent office at the top floor of Abigail's company tower was a reflection of her power and influence. The large glass windows overlooked the city, but Abigail's focus was on her assistant, who stood nervously in front of her desk.

Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the polished wood as she leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes locked on the assistant.

"What do you mean you can't figure out his purpose?" she demanded, her voice cold and cutting.

The assistant swallowed hard, holding a tablet in trembling hands. "Madam, we've been monitoring his movements since you asked, but it's difficult to get close. He's been moving through the old district, going into illegal establishments—gambling dens, smuggling operations, and gang hideouts."

"And?" Abigail's tone grew sharper.

The assistant hesitated, glancing down at the tablet.

"He's... been taking them down. Mercilessly. Every encounter leaves the gangsters either incapacitated or fleeing in fear. He doesn't stay long in one place, and he's left no trace beyond the chaos."

Abigail's eyes narrowed as she leaned forward.

"So, you're telling me he's running through the city like some vigilante?"

"We're not sure, Madam," the assistant stammered. "But whatever he's doing, he's not acting randomly. It seems... purposeful."

Abigail's nails dug into the armrest of her chair. She stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Her reflection glared back at her, frustration twisting her features. "Purposeful, huh?" she muttered.

The assistant nodded cautiously.

"Yes, Madam. But we haven't been able to uncover what exactly he's after. It's like he's hunting for something—or someone."

Abigail's mind raced. Samuel—or Red, as he now called himself—was no longer the broken man she once toyed with. His demeanor, his coldness, and his utter disregard for her had unnerved her more than she cared to admit. He had risen above her torment, and now he was an enigma she couldn't control.

"Keep digging," Abigail ordered, turning back to face her assistant. "I want every detail—who he's meeting, where he's going, and why."

"Yes, Madam." The assistant bowed slightly and hurried out of the office.

Left alone, Abigail sank back into her chair, her thoughts racing. Samuel's transformation into Red was something she hadn't anticipated. He was no longer the man she had broken, and that infuriated her.

"He thinks he's untouchable now," she muttered, a dark glint in her eyes. "We'll see about that."

Later that evening, Abigail's assistant returned to her office, looking more nervous than before.

Abigail sat behind her massive oak desk, sipping a glass of wine as she reviewed company reports. The assistant cleared his throat, capturing her attention.

"What now?" she asked, setting the glass down and fixing him with a cold stare.

The assistant hesitated, then handed her a folder. "Madam, we've uncovered something... unexpected about Samuel—uh, Red."

Abigail arched an eyebrow, intrigued yet wary. "Go on."

The assistant shifted uneasily.

"It appears he's been frequenting certain establishments and... hiring prostitutes."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Abigail's expression remained unreadable. Then her wine glass shattered in her grip, crimson liquid staining her fingers and desk.

"*What did you just say?*" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

The assistant took a cautious step back, stammering,

"W-we have confirmed reports that he's been meeting with women at various locations. But it's unclear if he's doing this for personal reasons or as part of his... investigation."

Abigail stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Her chest tightened, a feeling she couldn't quite place burning within her. Jealousy.

"Why?" she hissed, pacing the room. "Why would he—" She cut herself off, unwilling to complete the thought.

She had no claim on Samuel anymore—if she ever truly did. But the idea of him with someone else, sharing a closeness he once desperately sought from her, gnawed at her insides. It wasn't love, she told herself. It was the loss of control, the realization that Samuel was no longer under her thumb.

Her pacing grew faster as her assistant stood awkwardly by. Finally, she stopped and turned to him, her eyes blazing.

"Find out why he's doing this. Is it personal? Professional? I want every detail."

The assistant nodded quickly, relieved to leave. "Yes, Madam. Right away."

As he left, Abigail stood alone in her office, her fists clenched. She told herself it was anger—that she hated Samuel for slipping out of her grasp, for becoming someone she couldn't control. But deep down, the jealousy simmered, undeniable and infuriating.

"Hiring prostitutes, huh?" she muttered bitterly. "We'll see how long that lasts, Red. You can't run from your past forever."

Yet, even as she said it, she couldn't ignore the nagging thought that perhaps it wasn't his past Samuel was running from. Perhaps, he was simply running from her—and winning.