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.

I sat in silence as the stylist fussed over me for two hours. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I could barely recognize the woman looking back.

Once, I was just an ordinary girl chasing her dreams through art.

Everything changed the moment I met Dexter.

Now, with the illusion finally unraveling, I told myself, let this be the last celebration.

As we stepped out of the car, a sharp gust of wind swept by. Dexter, ever so considerate, slipped off his jacket and moved to drape it over my shoulders, but then came a sweet voice. “Brother Dexter!”

His hand froze. The coat nearly slipped from his grasp.

We turned toward the sound. That profile was undeniable. The same angle as the photos. It was Heidi.

Dexter’s expression darkened instantly. “Why are you here?”

“I’m also in the competition…” Heidi stammered, biting her lip just before the tears began to fall.

With acting like that, she didn’t need a canvas. She needed a red carpet. The Oscars owed her a trophy.

Dexter was caught off guard and reached out awkwardly to wipe her tears, but I grabbed his hand and walked straight into the venue. “It’s starting.”

I didn’t believe it was a coincidence. After all her provocations, it was clear. She wanted to see me crack in front of Dexter.

She wanted a scene. A confrontation. She wanted everything laid bare.

But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Throughout the award ceremony, Heidi kept casting glances in Dexter’s direction.

He leaned over, his voice low, saying they hadn’t seen each other in years, that he didn’t even know she was back in the country.

I said nothing.

Then came the announcement of the first prize. The host’s voice shifted, taking on a serious tone.

“There’s been some controversy regarding the first prize. We received a late submission that appears nearly identical to the judges’ original selection. Due to plagiarism concerns…”

“The committee has chosen to withhold the award. Both pieces will be exhibited, and the artists are asked to clarify the situation.”

There it was, my painting.

And next to it, a piece disturbingly similar.

“I heard some big name’s searching for a protégé! Stakes are high this year!”

“High stakes or not, plagiarism? That’s crossing the line. Just look, the one on the right clearly copied the left!”

“Not so sure. Maybe the left one’s just less refined, and the right borrowed the idea?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever’s at fault is finished. In the art world, one scandal like this and you’re done.”

The chatter swelled louder and louder, voices buzzing with tension.

Then the host revealed the name of the artist who had copied my work, Heidi.

She froze, her face flushing a deep, furious red.

That painting had been finished long ago. It had hung in the master bedroom on the 79th floor.

When I entered the competition on a whim, I had casually selected that piece.

She must have seen it in Dexter’s room.

Copied it on purpose. To provoke me.

To prove she had even shared his bed.

She never expected I’d use that exact painting for the competition.

“I completed this piece a long time ago. It’s been hanging in my boyfriend’s bedroom ever since. It was inspired by a trip we took together. His family photos can verify it, and he personally watched me paint it.”

Then I turned and handed the microphone to Dexter.

“Boyfriend’s word doesn’t count as proof!” someone from the crowd called out.

But another voice cut in.

“Her boyfriend’s the president of the Laurence Group! She’s not some amateur. She didn’t plagiarize. She probably joined just for fun!”

“No way she copied anything. I know her. Dexter’s bought out her entire gallery more than once, just to spoil her. She’s not here to compete. She’s just playing.”

People were quick to side with the powerful. They didn’t even stop to think.

But Dexter said nothing.

Heidi stood there, lip trembling, eyes glassy, wearing that same pitiful expression she always did.

After a long silence, Dexter leaned in and whispered into my ear, saying, “Heidi’s an artist. She can’t have this kind of stain on her record. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding…”

I stared at him, stunned, as he stepped forward and took the microphone.

“My girlfriend’s just been spoiled by me. The Laurence Group is prepared to donate ten million to charity and purchase both paintings.”

“What do you mean, Dexter?! You saw me paint it with your own eyes! So your first love gets protected, but I get accused of plagiarism?!” I blurted out, unable to hold back.

Dexter wrapped his arm around me, speaking softly like he was soothing a child.

“I won’t let the media touch it, don’t worry. Heidi isn’t like you, art is her everything. But you? You don’t even have to paint if you don’t want to. I can take care of you. If you get bored, I’ll buy you two more galleries, okay?”

The host, hearing the words “ten million donation,” jumped in quickly to smooth things over:

“It’s completely normal for two artists to be inspired by the same landscape and express similar emotions!”

I glanced at Dexter and let out a quiet scoff.

Of course. I should’ve known.

He would twist black into white without blinking, just to shield Heidi.

He wouldn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus. Why else would he marry her behind my back?

Letting me stand accused of plagiarism meant nothing to him.

I was just a decoration, his hidden canary in a gilded cage.

But Heidi? She was the delicate flower he had to protect. The real artist. The one whose career had to remain spotless.

Who could I blame?

It was me who gave up my dreams for him. I agreed to play the role of his shadow.

I deserved it.

Amid the whispers and cruel murmurs growing louder around us, I tore my hand from Dexter’s grip and stormed out.

Dexter ran after me, and to my surprise, Heidi followed close behind.

“Miss Griggs, leaving the venue like that. Does this mean you’re admitting to plagiarizing Miss Ambrose?”

“Miss Griggs, we’ve confirmed your boyfriend and Miss Ambrose were childhood sweethearts. Was his response tonight a sign that your relationship is over?”

“Miss Ambrose’s here as well! Miss Ambrose, how do you respond to claims that your work falls far below Miss Griggs’s in skill and originality?”

“Miss Ambrose, do you have anything to say about the rumors accusing you of coming between Miss Griggs and President Laurence?”

Flashbulbs burst across the night like a storm of lightning.

Microphones pushed toward me from every direction.

For a split second, instinct told me to seek shelter, to hide in Dexter’s arms.

But he had already moved, shielding Heidi, standing firmly in front of her.

He didn’t even glance at me.

“Which outlet are you with? Who said you could take pictures?” he barked.

I stood alone in the wind, its chill cutting through me.

Maybe this was how it had to end. He didn’t need me beside him anymore.

From this moment forward, I’d protect myself.

“President Laurence, so you’re confirming the breakup with Miss Griggs?” the reporters pressed, voices rising over one another.

Heidi suddenly began to tremble, her voice soft and shaking. “Brother Dexter… I’m scared…”

The reporters surged forward, thrilled by the drama, thrusting their microphones into Heidi’s tear-streaked face.

Dexter’s frown deepened. Without hesitation, he swept Heidi into his arms and rushed toward his car.

Some reporters followed them in a frenzy, while others turned their cameras back on me.

In the chaos, someone stumbled. A camera slipped from their grip and crashed into my arm.

“Ah! My hand!” I cried out, staggering from the blow. The heavy lens had slammed hard into my wrist.

Dexter paused for a brief second.

But Heidi clung tighter to his neck, sobbing, “I’m so scared…”

He never looked back. He gently helped her into the passenger seat, then drove away.

Everything had been caught on camera.

And just like that, fearing backlash, the reporters scattered.

In the end, it was a lone security guard, unable to stomach what he saw, who stepped forward to help and called an ambulance.

Thankfully, the bone wasn’t broken, just a mild sprain.

With time and rest, it would heal.

I went through the check-up alone. Picked up my medication alone. And returned home alone.

Dexter still didn’t come back.

Worried the plagiarism scandal might jeopardize my job offer, I quickly called Imogen.

“Hey, Blythe! We didn’t just look at one painting. We reviewed dozens of your works. Of course we know your style!”

“Don’t worry. The teacher’s already used her connections to circulate your other pieces. They speak for themselves. Honestly? This is the best kind of rebuttal!”

A stranger I had never even met was willing to step up and clear my name.

But Dexter? He let me get dragged through the mud without a word.

I thought I’d feel heartbroken. But all I felt was disappointment. Disappointment in my pathetic taste in men.

That night, the pain in my wrist got worse. I had to take painkillers just to sleep.

While digging through the medicine box, I found the old ointment Dexter once bought for me. A wave of bitter nostalgia hit me hard.

Back then, when he was drowning in debt, I stayed beside him, accompanying him to dinners, helping him craft proposals, and securing bids.

Every night before bed, he would take out that ointment and gently massage my hand, whispering with a smile, “Our Blythe’s hand is worth more than Van Gogh’s. When I bounce back, you’ll paint as much as you want.”

Those blush-worthy words still echoed in my ears.

But now, he couldn’t even be bothered to ask if I was okay.

I pulled out my phone.

Heidi’s alternate account had just posted a new photo: dozens of gold jewelry pieces, gleaming with age and heavy opulence.

The caption read, [Hubby says the best way to ward off shock is gold! Tacky or not, it’s all heavy with love!]

She really went out of her way to flaunt it just for me to see.

How exhausting that must be.

But I never fought over men.

If he wasn’t mine, I wouldn’t take him, even if he was handed to me.

I glanced down at my injured right hand.

I had tried so hard to protect his pride.

Since he didn’t want me to know the truth, I pretended I didn’t.

But now? I regretted it.

I just wanted to rip the mask off. End it. Clean, cold, merciless.

After taking the painkillers, I slipped into a dazed, drugged sleep.

I didn’t know how long I was out before the phone rang, jolting me awake.

“Blythe, the driver’s downstairs. Come to Brother Jordan’s club now. I’m waiting.”

Still half-dazed, I stumbled toward the window.

Sure enough, the driver stood beside the car, scanning the building for me.

So, after calming Heidi, he came to pacify me next?

He really didn’t get tired of this game.

I wanted to make it clear and end it once and for all.

But as I stood to leave, a wave of dizziness swept over me.