After seven years of love, I stood by Dexter Laurence’s side as he clawed his way from debt to the upper crust of high society.

But instead of a proposal, I received his marriage certificate, stamped with the name of his first love, Heidi Ambrose.

While he took and devoured my body, whispering sweet nothings and false promises, he let Heidi humiliate me, even helped her steal my awards, dragging me into a storm of public criticism.

Wounded and stripped of dignity, I turned away.

Goodbye.

I rose like wildfire, becoming the art world’s red-hot sensation.

Now drowning in debt, Dexter lived each day under Heidi’s contempt yet still chased every scrap of news about me.

In his dying breath, he wanted to beg. But I no longer had the patience or the mercy to listen.

1

Completely naked, I was pinned against the window by Dexter, clinging to his waist, biting down on my lip to muffle the sounds spilling from my throat.

His half-pulled slacks were soaked, and he let out a low, sinful chuckle, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “What are you so shy about…”

I kept moaning his name, dizzy with heat, letting his kisses travel down my neck.

His strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me even closer just as I felt myself slipping into unconscious pleasure.

The rhythm shattered. A phone began to ring, sharp and jarring.

I collapsed against his shoulder, limp and breathless, giggling like I was drunk on him.

“This better be important, Jordan!” Dexter’s voice was pure fury like he could rip the caller apart.

“Interrupting something, huh? Dexter, bro, who’re you with? And what’s this wedding invite all about…” Jordan, his childhood friend, kept rambling.

Dexter cut him off in Spanish, sharp and cold.

“Shut up. Blythe’s here.”

Clearly startled to hear I was there, Jordan stammered in Spanish, “Blythe? I…I thought you were with Heidi. What’s this marriage certificate about?”

My smile froze. That name, just hearing it again, made my body tremble uncontrollably.

“Ambrose family is pushing for a marriage alliance. How could someone like her, someone who truly lives for art, be treated like that? I had to step in and save her!”

“So what now? Blythe agreed to be your mistress?” Jordan asked cautiously.

Dexter felt the tremble running through me. He slowly pulled out and gently wrapped me in the blankets. “She doesn’t know yet…”

“She doesn’t know? Then what the hell are you doing? Dexter, we all grew up with Heidi, sure, but where was she when your world was falling apart? She vanished when your family went bankrupt!”

“I haven’t forgiven her. And yet you still took her back? Just like that? And what about Blythe? She stayed by your side through everything. We all saw it. And this is how you repay her?”

Jordan’s tone was thick with disapproval.

Dexter glanced at me, then turned to stare into the night from the 79th floor, exhaling slowly. “I’ll make it up to her. Before registering the marriage, I already transferred part of the company’s shares to her name.”

“She wants to marry you, not your money! If it were about wealth, she wouldn’t have stayed with you through the worst!”

“Don’t tell her. I’ll give her a fake marriage certificate, send her away for a week. While she’s gone, I’ll hold a quiet wedding with Heidi.”

“How are you going to hide that?” Jordan pressed, but Dexter had already grown impatient. His fingers slipped back inside me as he ended the call.

I trembled, my body reacting violently. Dexter didn’t wait. He pushed me down again.

And just then, the phone rang once more.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Annoyed, Dexter reached for the phone to silence it, but the moment he saw the caller ID, he froze and pulled away.

My lips landed on emptiness.

“Blythe, urgent company issue. Go home on your own,” Dexter said, pressing a brief kiss to my cheek before slipping into the guest room to take the call.

I watched his back as he disappeared, and silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

I cried as I quietly gathered the clothes he had carelessly thrown across the floor. Barefoot, heels in hand, I walked out of the 79th floor alone.

I wandered aimlessly into the night wind, my body shivering from the cold.

What Dexter never knew was to help him win more foreign trade deals. I had already taught myself Spanish.

Not just Spanish. German. Italian.

All those skills I once learned for Dexter, tonight, every one of them became a blade, slicing straight through me.

Sharp stones cut into the soles of my feet. I crouched by the roadside, wincing in pain, arms wrapped tightly around myself.

When Dexter’s family plunged into debt, the Ambrose family turned their backs.

Even his girlfriend, Heidi, left behind just two words, “It’s over.” Then vanished without a trace.

But I was the one who gave him seven years.

I stood by him through his collapse and again as he clawed his way back to wealth.

And yet, I was no match for the first love who once walked away.

One flirtatious pout from her was all it took to erase everything.

I scoffed aloud, a bitter laugh slipping through my lips at the absurdity of my one-sided devotion.

After what felt like a lifetime, I pulled out my phone, opened the email, and replied quietly.

[I confirm acceptance of the offer and will complete the follow-up process as required.]

The phone rang almost instantly. A voice burst through in excited.

“Blythe, I just saw your confirmation email and called right away. I was terrified you’d change your mind, that you wouldn’t come! Professor Matilda adores your work!”

Half a month ago, I represented the gallery in a local oil painting competition.

Unexpectedly, I caught the eye of Matilda Lennox. Her assistant, Imogen Caldwell, reached out, asking for samples of my recent work, and just days later, the invitation arrived.

Professor Matilda was preparing to retreat into seclusion to develop a new series. She planned to travel through remote landscapes for inspiration, and she hoped I could be both her student and assistant, fully immersed in the creation process.

For any artist with a heart still burning, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially with the generous salary her studio offered.

But back then, I barely glanced at the email.

I had long since given up on painting, shelving my dreams to help Dexter rise again.

That competition had been nothing but a whim. Every canvas I’d touched in recent years was just a way to fill the silence.

All I had ever cared about was marrying Dexter, never wanting to be apart from him, not even for a second.

“Blythe? Are you listening? The studio already booked your flight. It’s in half a month. Is that okay?” Imogen’s voice chattered on, full of excitement.

“Yes, no problem. I’ll be there on time.”

Dexter didn’t come home that night. I curled up alone on the sofa, my eyes roaming across every corner of this little apartment.

We had bought this place with the earnings from our first big contract. It was Dexter’s idea, our love nest.

We lived here for years. Even after he reclaimed the company, we never moved.

This space held every piece of our past, every trace of affection.

I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he stopped loving me.

Or maybe I was never the one he loved. Maybe I had only ever been a placeholder.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I packed up every single thing that belonged to him.

I had never noticed it before, but as I packed, the truth hit me. Everything in this house had been prepared by me. Every item, every detail.

The things Dexter actually used had long since been moved to the 79th floor.

This so-called home had been nothing more than a cage built solely to trap me inside.

The next morning, I arrived at the gallery, only to find the team busy installing a new exhibit.

I stood in the center of the space, staring at the largest canvas: the tender silhouette of a couple from behind.

The woman’s hand was raised slightly, a wedding ring gleaming on her finger.

The man had only been painted in rough strokes, but the tattoo on his right arm was unmistakable.

Its placement and design were identical to Dexter’s.

“Blythe, you’re here! What is this painting anyway? And they want to hang this garbage right in the center? HQ sends all kinds of trash. Next time, you should just butter up the boss. This? It’s pathetic.”

My coworker Anna Alesna came over to stand beside me, looking at the painting.

The gallery was a subsidiary of the Laurence Group.

Dexter never wanted me to work, but I hated being idle, so I took this position as a formality.

He never once concerned himself with gallery affairs. His empire was far too vast.

This was the first time he had ever given direct instructions for an exhibit.

My gaze fell on the freshly mounted artist bio: Heidi Ambrose.

Of course.

“Blythe, why are you here? The big boss called. He said you’d be taking time off from the gallery!”

Harriet Sutherland, the director, rushed over in a panic, subtly trying to block the artist’s name from my view.

So, that black card Dexter tossed me, telling me to go abroad and shop freely. It was just a distraction. A way to quietly promote Heidi without letting me find out.

I lowered my head, pretending not to notice anything, and walked into the office.

After all her years of study and training, this was what Heidi had produced?

I couldn’t tell if this was the best she could offer or if she simply wanted to make sure I saw it, to let me know they were already married.

I handed off all my tasks to Anna.

It wasn’t even a resignation. Technically, I was never a real employee.

I had thrown away every path that once belonged to my own future, all for him.

For three days straight, Dexter didn’t come home. I didn’t call.

Not once.

Now that I was leaving this city, I had no job to transition to and no friend to say goodbye to.

Seven years ago, my entire world revolved around Dexter.

I bought a new suitcase and replaced every piece of clothing that still carried his scent.

Finally, on the fourth day, a WhatsApp request appeared from an unfamiliar number. [There are still a few matters regarding the competition that need to be confirmed with Miss Griggs.]

I didn’t care about the competition anymore.

I had already signed the contract with Professor Matilda.

But the profile photo was of Dexter.

Even though it only showed half his sleeping face, I recognized it instantly.

That tattoo on his arm was undeniably his.

After accepting the request, I opened the stranger’s Instagram feed.

Pinned at the top was a post from this morning: nine wedding photos by the sea, across sprawling grasslands, and in front of a castle.

The woman’s face was always turned away or captured from behind. But the man’s face? Clear as day, it was Dexter.

I could guess the bride was Heidi.

Dexter clearly didn’t want me to know they were married, but she couldn’t help showing off. So she hid her face on purpose.

That account never messaged me again, and I didn’t bother replying. I walked straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

But halfway through, a pair of large hands reached around from behind, slamming me gently against the bathroom wall.

My bare skin was pressed against his soaked trousers.

Dexter’s mouth found the sensitive spot behind my ear, kissing roughly, his hands roaming, gripping, and teasing my body.

“Not resisting? Aren’t you scared I might be a bad guy?” he teased, turning me around.

Without thinking, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“Miss me? I was pulled into a last-minute business trip for three days. Why didn’t you come looking for me? Are you mad?”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer. His mouth crashed into mine, kissing me until I melted in his arms.

How could his love be this divided?

Three days of wedding photos with another woman, and then he returned to play the lover again as if nothing had changed.

I tried to push him away, but my strength had already dissolved under his touch.

“Let me go, Dexter. You reek of perfume. It’s making me nauseous,” I whispered, leaning weakly against him.

His body went rigid. He released me almost instantly.

By the time I finished drying off and stepped out, he had already changed into a new suit.

“Probably from President Bailey of Constellano Culture. He always bathes in cologne,” he said quickly, lying without even thinking. And it showed.

There was no perfume on him.

Just guilt, thick and clinging, after three days with Heidi.

“Why didn’t you go shopping? I heard you handed over your duties at the gallery. What happened?” Dexter’s eyes were fixed on my face, watching too closely.

He was so flustered that he accidentally brought up my new suitcase

“Why did you pack? Where are you going? Blythe, I…”

He faltered, unsure whether to explain, then suddenly crouched down and yanked open the suitcase.

“Is it because of those paintings? I can explain! I won’t let you leave me, those aren’t—”

“What paintings?” I cut him off, my voice flat.

So it was Heidi’s paintings that made him come running back to coax me.

They were already married. The gallery was hers now.

Why should I matter at all?

“I did go shopping. The saleslady gave me a suitcase to carry everything. I bought so much, I figured I might as well keep it.”

“What, you can disappear for days without a word, but I can’t max out your card? You want me to stay at the gallery and keep earning for you?”

I pouted, putting on my best playful sulk.

I was exhausted. If he wanted to keep pretending, let him. If we were going to part ways, we might as well make it graceful.

Dexter glanced at the pile of clothes, tags still intact, and exhaled in relief.

“You just said the paintings made you want to leave me?”

I stared into his eyes. His gaze flickered, avoiding mine, as he reached for a towel and began drying my hair.

“Just I bought a few paintings. They said I overpaid. I was worried you’d be upset…”

What a clumsy excuse.

The doorbell rang. Dexter immediately pushed me toward the bedroom.

“Go change. I brought in a stylist. I’m taking you to the award ceremony later.”

“What award ceremony?”

“The oil painting competition!”

“There’s no need,” I said calmly. “I only joined for fun.”

After all, I had already accepted the offer. Whatever happened with the competition didn’t matter anymore.

“No way! My wife’s work is going to win first prize. I’m buying it for the gallery!”

Wife.

He had never called me that before.

The word hit me like a stone. My body froze for a second.

The moment the door shut behind me, the tears came. Silent, sudden, unstoppable.

What was this?

A caged canary? A mistress bought off with affection and money?

I picked up my phone, my hands still trembling.

The stranger’s Instagram feed had just been updated again.

The woman still kept her face turned away while Dexter knelt on one knee, slipping a diamond ring onto her finger.

In the photo, I recognized so many familiar faces, Dexter’s childhood friends.

When he brought the Laurence family back into high society, they had smiled at me politely.

But behind closed doors, I was always that poor girl, the dog Dexter keeps.

I pretended not to hear. I forced myself to let it go for his sake.

I always gave his friend a face.

More than once, I had overheard them whisper that Heidi was his true match.

That I wasn’t even fit to carry her shoes.

And now, in that photo, their glowing expressions said it all.

The prince had finally reunited with his princess.

To them, this was the ending the story had always deserved.