For five years of our marriage, Matthew Spark was my entire world. I abandoned my career, severed ties with my family, and molded myself into the perfect wife for him.

I believed our love was unshakable, and that our marriage certificate was the ultimate proof of it.

Until the day I saw him with my own eyes—holding another woman in his arms as he stepped into our home.

“Ava, let me introduce you,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“This is Sophie Spears, and her daughter, Ella. They’ll be living here from now on.”

I froze.

I had seen her face before—tucked in the drawer of his desk, in his wallet, even as the wallpaper on his phone. And in that instant, I realized the cruel truth: I was the unnecessary outsider. The interloper.

The greater insult came when I confronted him.

He calmly produced a marriage certificate—his and Sophie’s marriage was three months before ours.

That was the moment I learned my marriage had been nothing but a farce. That I wasn’t even significant enough to be a mistress.

And in that moment, I laughed.

Oh, Matthew. Did you forget who the largest investor in Spark Enterprise was?

I only realized my five-year marriage was a farce on the day my husband, Matthew Spark, nearly killed me.

“As the head of the household, I order you to eat it!”

Matthew seized my wrist and shoved the slice of chocolate cake into my mouth.

He knew. He had to know I was severely allergic to cocoa.

“Please, Matthew! I’ll go into shock!”

I struggled with all my strength, trying to push his hand away.

“Oh, give me a break!” he sneered, his other hand gripping my chin and forcing my mouth open.

Sophie Spears stood to the side, her eyes slightly red.

“Forget it, Matthew. If Ava doesn’t like it, that’s fine… It’s just not good enough for her.”

“No, darling, this isn’t your fault,” Matthew said as he released me and turned to comfort her.

“It’s Ava who doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

The taste of chocolate flooded my mouth.

My throat began to swell, and every breath grew more labored.

I collapsed onto the floor, my fingernails scraping grooves into the hardwood.

“Get… meds in… my bag…” I pointed desperately toward my handbag on the kitchen counter.

Matthew didn’t even glance at it.

“Still pretending, are we? Get up. Stop making a scene.”

My vision blurred, as my ragged breaths roared in my ears.

I was going into anaphylactic shock.

In my fading consciousness, I heard Sophie say from far away, “I’m feeling a little tired. Shall we go upstairs?”

Then came the endless dark.

…

When I woke, my throat felt as though it had been scorched by fire. The harsh white of the emergency room ceiling burned my eyes.

“Thank heaven you’re awake!” A nurse exclaimed as she rushed over to check my vitals.

“When you arrived, you were already in severe shock. Five minutes later, and there would have been nothing we could do.”

“Who… brought me here?” I asked groggily.

“Your neighbor, Miss Cynthia Rhode. She said she saw you collapse on your porch.”

The nurse gestured toward the woman beside me.

“I got to you first,” Cynthia said as she stepped closer to my bed.

“Your husband came later. He was standing outside the ER, his hands shaking. I heard him muttering to himself.”

The nurse frowned. “Honestly, knowing you have a severe allergy and still exposing you to it—that’s attempted murder.”

Attempted murder.

I let out a bitter laugh. Yes, he’d nearly killed me—but he simply didn’t care.

“I need to make a call,” I said as I struggled upright.

The nurse handed me my phone. I scrolled to my gallery and stared for a long time at a photo taken three days ago.

It was at the City Hall archives.

The clerk, pointing at the computer screen, had looked utterly stunned.

“Mrs. Spark, our system shows… You were never registered as married. Mr. Matthew Spark’s legal wife is Sophie Spears.”

Five years. The marriage I thought I had, the man I thought I loved—it had all been a lie from the very beginning.

That grand wedding, that marriage certificate… all of it was not real. And I, like a fool, had believed it.

Just then, the hospital room door swung open, and Matthew walked in.

When he saw I was awake, he strode quickly to my bedside.

“You’re finally awake! The doctor said you almost…”

His face looked pale, and his eyes bloodshot.

“Matthew…” My voice was hoarse.

“What am I to you?”

“What?” He frowned.

“You’re my wife. That’s a ridiculous question.”

“Your wife… in the legal sense?”

His expression changed instantly.

I showed him the photo.

“When I applied for a new passport, they asked for proof of marriage. That’s when I discovered I’d been deceived for five years.

“Sophie is your wife. And I… am nothing.”

“Ava, listen to me, I can explain—” he began.

“Explain what?” I cut him off, each word slicing like a blade.

“Explain why you staged a wedding to trick me? Explain why Sophie moved into our home? Or explain why I saw her coming out of our bedroom last night?”

He fell silent.

Just then, the door opened again and Sophie walked in with a cup of coffee.

“You’re awake. You scared me half to death!”

She was wearing my cashmere coat, the one I’d bought yesterday for three thousand dollars.

“Congratulations, Sophie,” I said bitterly.

“Congratulations for what?” She blinked her wide, innocent eyes.

“Congratulations on being the real Mrs. Spark. While I was nothing but a mistress kept in the dark.”

A smug look crossed her face before she masked it with feigned surprise. “Oh, Ava, what are you talking about? You’re the one Matthew loves.”

“Is that so?” I asked as I turned to Matthew.

“Then tell her, Matthew—who is your legal wife?”

His face turned ashen, and he said nothing.

Sophie’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

“Oh, forget it, Matthew… I know I shouldn’t have come back. I’ll leave,” she sobbed dramatically.

“Don’t go!”

Matthew grabbed her. “It’s my house. I decide who stays.”

He turned to me, his gaze cold.

“Stop this nonsense. I’ll handle the paperwork, but Sophie is Ella’s mother. She needs a place to live.”

“Ella’s mother?” I felt a sharp stab in my heart.

“So you admit that Ella is your daughter?”

He turned his head away.

“That was before you married me.”

Before I married him?

Then the memory hit me.

Five years ago, on April 14th, we had our wedding.

Ella’s birthday was April 15th.

The day after our wedding, he had vanished—because he was at the hospital with another woman, watching her give birth.

And I, the fool, had been waiting in our new home for him to return.

I pulled the IV from my hand and forced myself out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Matthew frowned.

I didn’t answer.

My legs trembled, but I still walked toward the door, one step at a time.

“Let her go, Matthew. She needs to calm down,” Sophie said quietly.

As the elevator doors closed, I caught a final glimpse of Matthew gently tucking a strand of Sophie’s hair behind her ear—exactly as he had done for me many years ago.

Leaning against the elevator wall, I took out my phone and dialed a number I had long buried in my memory.

“Hello?” David Smith’s voice came through.

“It’s me, Ava.”

There was a brief silence. “You finally remembered me?”

“David,” I closed my eyes. “You once said our engagement would always stand. Does that still count?”

“It counts. It will always count,” He replied immediately.

“Three days from now. 9 am. City Hall.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up and opened my eyes.

Three days. That was all I needed to bury this ridiculous past with my own hands.

On my phone, I still had a countdown app I’d downloaded five years ago to mark my so-called wedding anniversary.

I reset it to seventy-two hours.

That was my deadline. In seventy-two hours, I would say goodbye to this false life—forever.

By the time I stumbled back to the house, it was already midnight.

This was the home I had designed with my own hands, every corner built with my sweat and devotion.

Yet now, it felt like a lavish tomb, burying five years of my youth.

The master bedroom glowed with a warm golden light.

Matthew wasn’t there, but his phone sat charging on the nightstand.

The screen suddenly lit up with a WhatsApp message.

Out of habit, I opened it.

Matthew had never set a password—he used to say there should be no secrets between husband and wife.

Looking back, the irony was almost laughable.

The message was from Sophie: [Miss me, baby?]

Attached was a steamy bathroom selfie, blurred by mist.

She was completely naked.

My stomach lurched.

“What are you looking at?”

I looked up.

Sophie leaned casually against the doorframe, wrapped in my bath towel.

She strolled in and sat on the edge of the bed—on my side.

“You know,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “this bed… we were on it last night…”

She let the words hang, her eyes taunting me.

I ignored her and scrolled through Matthew’s phone.

There was an encrypted album labeled Ella.

I tried her birthday—0415—and it opened.

Every photo was of Ella, from her first moments to now, each one captured with care.

The earliest was time-stamped April 15th, five years ago, in the early morning.

In it, Matthew held a newborn in his arms, his face glowing with pride and tenderness.

April 15th—the day after our wedding.

That morning, I had woken up alone.

He’d told me there was an urgent matter at work.

I had believed him, so much so that I made breakfast and waited for him to return.

In truth, he’d been in a delivery room with another woman.

I kept scrolling until I found a video.

Matthew held Ella, his voice melting with affection.

“You’re Daddy’s little princess… Daddy will always love you.”

Sophie’s weak voice came from behind the camera, “Thank you for being here, Matthew.”

“Of course,” he had said as he kissed the baby’s forehead.

“You gave me a daughter. I’ll always be here for you. Thank you, Sophie.”

My hands trembled.

“See?” Sophie leaned in, her chin resting on my shoulder, her breath brushing my ear.

“Ella looks just like Matthew—especially those eyes. It’s like they were carved from the same mold.”

She pulled out her phone.

“Since you’ve already seen that, why not see these too?”

She opened a video.

The camera shook, but the scene was unmistakable—two bodies tangled together. Matthew pressed over Sophie, his movements fierce, her moans sharp and grating.

“This was the night before last,” she said, licking her lips.

“While you were in the hospital, Matthew told me he missed me.”

She swiped to a photo.

Matthew, shirtless on a hotel bed, Sophie draped across his chest. Both of them looked utterly satisfied.

“This was this afternoon,” she continued.

“He told you he had a meeting. He came to me.” She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.

“He said you were boring. Like a dead fish.”

One picture after another. One video after another.

Five years—and they’d never stopped. And I, fool that I was, had only just learned the truth.

“Well?” Sophie tilted her head as she savored my expression.

“You were just a stand-in. Matthew needed the perfect wife for appearances. But I am his true love.”

I set Matthew’s phone down and pulled out my own.

I dialed the number I had already called once in the elevator, but I needed to hear it again.

“Changed your mind?” David asked. He sounded slightly tense.

“No.” My eyes stayed locked on Sophie.

“I just wanted to confirm—three days from now, you’ll be waiting for me at City Hall, right?”

“Ava,” his tone sharpened into certainty, “I’ve waited five years for you. I meant every word. I swear it.”

I ended the call and stood up.

Sophie blinked, caught off guard.

“Who were you speaking to? David? The Wall Street prince?”

“That’s none of your concern.”