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.”

My voice was cold. “Oh, I see. So the bruises on my face and the shattered antiques—those are all just props for your little show?”

Micah frowned, clearly not happy with my reaction.

Before he could say anything, their friends swarmed around us.

“Micah, this mistress has some nerve showing up here like this,” one of them sneered. “You should slap her—make it up to Lana.”

Micah didn’t move.

But Lana was staring at him expectantly.

Micah turned to me instead. “Just leave, okay?”

“Why should I?” I asked coldly. “And mistress? Tell me, Micah—am I a mistress?”

Someone nearby scoffed and spat at the ground near my feet. “Micah has a wife and kid. What else would that make you?”

I stared at Micah with fire in my eyes. “Well?”

Micah’s voice was low. “No.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Chaos erupted as everyone started shouting in Lana’s defense.

Micah tried to calm them down. “No, it’s not what you think, guys. She and I… we’re just friends. She’s not a mistress. We barely even know each other.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Not even friends? Really, Micah? Then tell me—why are you holding your wedding in my house?”

Someone near me kicked my leg. “Your house? This is Micah and Lana’s home, you delusional gold digger.”

“Typical homewrecker.”

“People like her should be paraded through the streets.”

They hurled insults like it was a sport.

I pulled out my phone and started dialing the police.

But Micah lunged forward, yanked it from my hand and hung up.

“Riley,” he said in a low voice. “Just… let today happen, okay? After this, you can do whatever the hell you want”

I opened my mouth to argue—but then a voice I recognized cut in.

“Just listen, Riley. Don’t make a scene. It won’t help you.”

I turned around and froze.

It was Micah’s mother.

She used to treat me like her own daughter—always warm, always kind. She once told Micah that if he ever dared mistreat me, she’d be the first to object.

Yet here she was, attending his wedding… to another woman.

She dragged me into the bathroom, locked the door and said, “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll make sure you’re treated fairly. Micah didn’t even know you when Lana got pregnant. Technically, it’s not cheating. Let them get married. Then they can get divorced. Better to be with a divorced dad than a man with an illegitimate child, right?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think I still want to be with Micah? Mrs. Langston, he’s free to marry whoever he wants—I couldn’t care less. But this is my house. I’m only asking him to leave. And of course, he’ll be paying for all the damage done here today.”

Micah’s mom froze.

She stared at me like she didn’t recognize me anymore. “But… don’t you love Micah?” she asked, still in disbelief. “You were willing to do anything for him. I remember you standing outside my door for three hours after he broke up with you.”