Micah shot me a glare and said coldly, “Riley, I didn’t know you were this petty. If you can’t accept Lana, then we’re done!”

I said, “Okay.”

My calm response caught him off guard.

Lana quickly leaned down and nudged the boy toward me. “Go on, sweetheart. Say hi to this lady and tell her not to be upset.”

“No!” the boy shouted. “She’s a bad woman! A homewrecker!”

Then, out of nowhere, he shoved me hard. “You steal my daddy!”

People started staring. Some even looked disgusted. I heard someone mutter, “Wow, side chicks are really bold these days—coming to the courthouse to steal someone’s husband.”

I looked at the boy and said gently, “Don’t worry. Your dad and I broke up. He’s all yours now. I wish your parents a lifetime of happiness.”

Micah nodded in approval. “That’s more like it. Keep being sensible like this.”

Then he walked off with Lana and the boy, like the perfect little family.

As I watched his back, I thought, ‘That wasn’t me being ‘sensible.’ I meant every word.’

I found a nearby café and sat down to wait for Asher.

While I was sipping my coffee, a news alert popped up on my phone.

“Breaking News: Lane Group’s representation walks out mid-signing at international contract ceremony.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Lane Group’s representation? Could it be Asher?

I clicked the link and sure enough—a video popped up.

It showed a tall, handsome man walking away mid-meeting, phone to his ear.

It was indeed Asher.

I could even faintly hear him say, “Whoever bails is a chicken.”

Then came a clip of a reporter interviewing the other party involved in the signing. “Mr. Lane left midway. Do you take that as a sign of disrespect?”

The man being interviewed, an older white gentleman, just shrugged and smiled. “All I can say is—love comes first. I don’t feel disrespected at all. Actually, I admire Mr. Lane’s for it. It aligns perfectly with our values. We’ll wait for him to come back. This won’t affect our partnership in any way.”

I put my phone down, feeling overwhelmed.

Asher Lane had chased me for ten years—always putting me first, always loving me with everything he had.

But I was so caught up in Micah, I never gave him a real chance.

Now that I was done with Micah, I could finally see things clearly.

When I compared the two, it hit me—Asher’s love was real. Micah’s was nothing but empty promises.

I opened my inbox and started reading through Asher’s old emails.

Every message was filled with warmth and sincerity. Back then I thought he was being clingy… now I realized they were love letters.

Letter after letter, full of love I never noticed.

My heart ached a little. How did he manage to keep loving me all those years?

I read them all and before I knew it, the sun was starting to set.

Then suddenly—a bouquet of flowers appeared in front of me.

I looked up and saw Asher, standing there with the biggest grin.

“Sorry I kept you waiting, wifey,” he said.

That word caught me off guard. It felt strange but… not weird.

Asher noticed my silence and looked a little nervous. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

I smiled at him. “Relax. I’m not a chicken.”

We walked back into the courthouse, side by side and got our license.

I knew there were still people waiting for him across the ocean, so I encouraged him to head back soon.

Asher pulled me into a tight hug. “When I get back, we’ll have the wedding. And just so you know—whoever backs out is a chicken.”

I watched him walk away, unable to stop a bitter smile from curling at my lips. This was the great Asher Lane—confident, commanding, practically royalty in the business world. And yet, so insecure when it came to love?

It was already getting dark when I finally made my way home, cradling the bouquet of flowers he gave me.

What I didn’t expect was the scene waiting for me on the other side of the door.

Lana. And her son.

She was lounging on my couch, in my pajamas, casually watching TV. Her son, shoes on and all, was bouncing like a maniac on the designer couch I’d painstakingly chosen—leaving muddy footprints all over the upholstery. That couch cost over ten grand.

I felt rage rising in my chest, boiling over—but before I could say a word, Micah walked out of the kitchen.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why are you back?”

I choked on my anger for a moment before I forced out a cold reply, “Pretty sure this is still my place.”

The boy suddenly chucked his toy at me. “This is my dad’s house. It’s our house. Get out!”

I was stunned. Lana, completely unfazed, just smiled sweetly and said, “Oh Riley, don’t mind him. Kids don’t know any better.”

Then she walked over and, without asking, snatched the flowers from my hands. “Are these for me and Micah? That’s so thoughtful of you. Thanks for the well wishes.”

I tried to take the bouquet back, but her son yanked it away. He threw it to the ground, stomped on it hard and spat, “We don’t want your stupid flowers. Stop trying to suck up to my mom!”

I was so furious my head started to throb. “You better pay for that bouquet!”

Micah snapped, clearly annoyed. “He’s just a kid. Gosh. How can you stoop to his level?”

Then he did the unthinkable—he handed me an apron. “Just go cook dinner. Don’t provoke him.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m sorry, am I your servant, now? How dare you telling me to cook?”

“Could you just stop being difficult?” Micah scowled. “Ever since we left the City Hall, you’ve been nothing but dramatic.”

He kept going, voice sharp. “Everything was fine until you showed up and threw it all into chaos. I’m trying to help you here. Just cook something—as a gesture for Lana and her kid.”

I locked eyes with him. My voice was low and steady. “You really think I’m the one who ruined everything—that I should apologize?”

His gaze wavered.

But then he sighed. “Look, the kid’s innocent. You’re the adult here. Can’t you just take the high road for once? I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Something inside me snapped.

“Why does it always have to be me who suffers?” I asked softly. “Was I not innocent too?”

His gaze wavered.

Before he could respond, the boy came out of nowhere with a dinner fork and jabbed it into my thigh.

“Get out! You don’t belong here!” he screamed.

I shoved him away, hard. “This house is mine. I paid for it. If anyone’s leaving, it’s you.”

He burst into tears and ran straight into Lana’s arms.

I had bought this house to start a life with Micah after we got married. But clearly, he’d forgotten that. Instead, he’d decided it would be just the perfect little love nest for him, another woman and her child.

Lana wiped at her fake tears, looking tragically heartbroken. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have come. We should probably leave now.”

But Micah stepped in immediately, stopping her. He looked genuinely upset.

Then he turned to me, anger flaring in his eyes. “It’s already dark out. Where can she go with a kid at this hour? Can’t you show a little compassion?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But they’re gone by morning—or I’m calling the cops.”

Micah’s jaw clenched. “If you’re really going to throw them out… then I’ll leave too.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Please do.”

I opened the bedroom door, just wanting to crash and forget this nightmare.

But the moment I walked in, I stopped cold.

The bedsheets were crumpled. The blanket had been used. And under my pillow, there it was—women’s underwear. Not mine.

A wave of nausea hit me.

Lana had already slept in my bed?

I grabbed my essentials, didn’t even glance at the people in the living room and stormed out.

I slammed the door behind me. Hard.

I’d stay at a hotel tonight. That place felt dirty now. Tomorrow, I’d bring in a cleaning crew. Maybe even throw out the bed.

The day had drained every ounce of energy out of me. After washing up at the hotel, I collapsed on the bed—only for my phone to buzz.

A friend request.

I accepted without thinking.

Then came the photos.

Every single one showed Micah and Lana, in my house, tangled up in each other on what was supposed to be our marital bed.

The last image came with a message. [Smart women know when to quit.]

I replied: [And some are into leftovers. I’m more than happy to hand him over.]

Then I turned off my phone and went to sleep.

When I woke, the sun was already up. I ate breakfast, then went back to my house to reclaim what was mine. But when I opened the front door, I froze again.

Balloons. Streamers. Posters on the walls.

Micah and Lana’s wedding photos, everywhere.

Strangers—people I didn’t recognize—were lounging on my couch, raiding my fridge, drinking from my mugs.

My bookshelf had been ransacked. Files scattered everywhere. The antique ornaments I’d bought at auctions and the heirloom gifts from my parents—manhandled and some already shattered.

I forced myself to stay calm and turned off their loud music.

They all turned to look at me, annoyed.

“Who are you?” I asked coldly. “What are you doing in my house?”

They exchanged confused glances. “Your house? You mean Lana’s house?”

“We’re here for the wedding. Who the hell are you?” the other added.

I almost choked on my own fury. “Micah and Lana… are holding a wedding here?!”

Then someone pointed at me. “I know her. Guys, she’s that mistress!”

Before I could say anything, someone flung a cup of milk tea in my face.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here. Trying to ruin the wedding, you homewrecker?”

More people joined in—slapping, kicking, screaming at me.

I fought back, but there were too many.

I was shoved to the ground.

They got braver, crueler.

Someone hit me. Someone tried to rip my clothes. Others livestreamed the whole thing, wanting the whole internet to “see what a mistress looks like.”

I covered my face, but they grabbed my hands and yanked them away.

They pinned my limbs down and hung a pair of heels around my neck. Then they spat in my face, mocking me, calling me bitch, slut and other names.

I sobbed, helpless and humiliated, as they used my pain for entertainment.

Until suddenly—someone shouted, “The groom’s here!”

They backed off and rushed to the door.

I scrambled to my feet, barely able to stand.

And there they were—Micah in a sharp suit, Lana in a wedding gown.

Micah saw me, disheveled and broken. He hesitated, then walked over.

Leaning in, he whispered, “I thought you left. This is not a real wedding. We’re just putting on a show… for the kid.”