Before this morning, I thought I was one of the happiest people in the world. 

After graduating from college, I landed a six-figure job as a programmer in Silicon Valley. I had just bought a house—a place I could finally call my own. Growing up, I lived a transient life with my mother, constantly moving from one place to another. I've lost count of how many times we were evicted by landlords because we couldn't afford rent, often ending up on the streets, scavenging for food from garbage bins. 

I hated that life. I hated the anxiety of dreading rent day and fearing what would happen if we couldn't pay. 

That's why I cherish my current life so deeply. 

I'm proud of the progress I've made. I even have a golden retriever named Harry. Every evening after dinner, my wife and I take him out for a walk. 

Oh, I almost forgot to introduce the most important person in my life—my wife, Rosemary. We met at a college party. I spotted her across the room, and from that moment, I knew she was the one. 

Mary is 5'7" with a stunning hourglass figure and an elegance that captivates anyone around her. Her large, enchanting eyes pulled me in from the very first glance. I particularly love watching her eyes during intimate moments, their charm drawing me into a blissful trance while her soft moans make me feel like I'm in heaven. 

Mary's upbringing was nothing like mine. She was raised in a strict, middle-class religious family with devout parents. This gave her a certain reserved demeanor. Even in our most intimate moments, she's conservative. We rarely deviate from the traditional missionary position, and she never lets herself cry out passionately. 

She's a true lady, both graceful and beautiful—so much so that sometimes I can hardly believe she's mine. 

I mean, someone as ordinary as me—how did I get so lucky to marry someone as perfect as Mary? 

I'm 6'1", and people often compliment my looks, but I've never been confident in myself. That lack of confidence occasionally makes me feel unworthy of Mary, which is why I do everything I can to take care of her. At home, I don't let her lift a finger. I treat her like a treasure, believing this happiness would last forever. 

But everything changed this morning when I lazily turned over to hug Mary. 

I woke up groggy with a slight headache—probably from last night. 

Mary had been acting differently last night. For the first time, she initiated intimacy, even using a position she'd never tried before—riding me on top, moving passionately in a way I'd never seen from her. 

In our three years of marriage, I never knew she had this side. 

I was ecstatic. We made love three times last night, and Mary was fully engaged the entire time. 

Afterward, exhausted, I kissed her goodnight and fell into a deep sleep. 

I remember her looking at me strangely, as if there was something she wanted to say. But I was too tired and figured we could talk about it the next day. 

I had no idea that when I opened my eyes again, my entire life would be turned upside down. 

It was an early spring morning, still a bit chilly. I snuggled into the warm bed and turned over to embrace Mary—my favorite moment of the day. 

There's nothing more comforting than waking up and holding the person you love most, feeling their bare skin against yours. 

I reached out and felt her soft, curvy body. My flaccid member rested against her round hips, and I placed my hand on her breast, ready to drift back into a cozy nap. 

But the moment my hand touched her breast, something felt… off. 

Her breast was huge. 

Mary's figure is stunning, especially her round hips, which I adore. But her chest isn't very large—she's a B-cup, though perfectly shaped and just the right size to fit in my hand. 

Yet the breast I was holding now? I couldn't even fit my hand around it. 

Instantly, I was wide awake. 

What I saw next startled me even more—a cascade of fiery red hair. 

But Mary has golden blonde hair. Did she dye it last night? 

I vaguely remembered working late yesterday. By the time I came home, Mary was already in bed. The room was dimly lit, so I hadn't paid much attention to her hair. But wasn't it blonde then? 

I carefully withdrew my hand from her oversized breast. The woman beside me stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur, her full hips pressing against me as if teasing. 

Despite my body reacting immediately, I had no mood for anything intimate. 

"Mary? Wake up," I gently shook her. 

She murmured sleepily, "Baby, let me sleep a little longer." 

That voice—it wasn't Mary's. 

My heart sank. 

I reached over and turned her face toward me. What greeted me was a stunning, unfamiliar face. 

This woman was not Mary. 

Why was she lying in my bed? 

Where was Mary? 

Questions flooded my mind, but my body acted faster. 

I scrambled up in shock, sitting on the bed. "Who are you? Where's Mary?" I shouted. 

As I moved, the blanket slid off, revealing the woman's voluptuous, incredibly seductive body—the kind that stirs a primal desire in men with just one glance. 

Interrupted from her sleep, she opened her eyes, clearly irritated. But instead of panic, she glared at me with bold confidence. 

"Ethan, what's wrong with you? You're asking who I am? I'm your wife, Mary! Have you lost your mind?" 

Her authoritative tone completely threw me off. 

She's Mary? My wife? 

No. 

This woman isn't Mary. My Mary is nothing like her. 

"You're not Mary," I said firmly.