Mrs. Robinson offered me $10 million to leave her son. I had always believed that Dave Robinson and I shared a profound bond, so I thought it would be harmless to mention her offer as a joke.

But everything changed when I accidentally answered a phone call intended for him. A woman's voice chimed in on the other end.

“Dave, do you think gold-plated or solid-colored wedding invitations are better?”

In that instant, it felt as if I had plunged into icy waters. He was getting married. The reality hit me hard—what was I to him?

On the day of his wedding, I packed up all our shared memories and sent them to him before boarding a plane to start a new life in another country.

Two years later, Dave used every possible means to bring me back to America, just to ask me to watch a fireworks display with him.

Standing on the ancient city wall, with cherry blossoms falling like rain, he looked at me with red eyes and asked, "When you were nineteen, you said that people who watched fireworks together would stay together forever. Does that still hold true?"

——

After that intimate moment, Dave went into the bathroom. I lay in bed, speaking through the glass door. “Dave, Mrs. Robinson visited me today.”

His voice, muffled by the sound of running water, replied, “What did you say?”

Suddenly, my phone buzzed non-stop. I turned over, my back aching, and picked it up.

A cheerful female voice asked, “Dave, should we go with gold-stamped or solid-colored wedding invitations?”

It felt like my world was collapsing. So Mrs. Robinson had been right—Dave was getting married.

Then what was I?

When Dave emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, I remained frozen in shock. He approached me and gently massaged my neck, sensing that something was wrong. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

I pushed him away lightly, trying to mask my emotions. “Your fiancée called. She wants to know if you prefer gold-stamped or solid-colored invitations.”

Without a second thought, Dave dropped the towel, quickly dressed in an elegant suit, and hurried out the door. No explanation, no hesitation—just gone.

That night, I cleaned myself up and lay in bed, waiting for his call. Morning came, and still, there was nothing.

Dave and I had been high school classmates. Back then, he was the popular guy everyone adored. Girls would line up for a chance to get his attention, and his desk was constantly overflowing with love letters. In the end, I was just one of many.

I never imagined that someone like him could like me. So when he confessed his feelings on our graduation day, I found it hard to believe.

To prove his sincerity, he joined me in a small county town and ate at a run-down street restaurant. For two whole months, he told me every day that he liked me, as if he feared I’d forget. It wasn’t until just before college started that I finally accepted his confession.

Like countless other couples, we enjoyed four blissful years together in college. After graduation, he took over the family business, while I became a literature teacher at the top private high school in Los Angeles. Coincidentally, the school’s investor was a close friend of Dave's.

I was stunned to realize how closely tied my life had been to his over the years. But now, with just one phone call, he rushed to her side, terrified of hurting her feelings if he was even a second late. I didn’t even know he had a fiancée.

For years, I had been deceived, believing in a love that, for him, was never meant to last.

When we met again, he picked me up from work like nothing had changed.

“Kimberly, I’ll come over to your place tonight,” he said, his voice casual, as if we hadn’t just been torn apart by his hidden life.

Slap! My hand struck his face, the sound ringing sharply in the air.

He stepped closer, forcing me back against the car, his gaze locked on my collarbone. With a smirk, he taunted, "You took your clothes off yourself."

I shoved him away and raised my hand to strike again, but he caught it mid-air.

"Kimberly Cox, have you caused enough trouble?"

How could he ask me that? The man who once treated me like a treasure now dared to question my actions after abandoning me for another woman?

How had our eight-year relationship devolved into nothing more than a one-sided fantasy? In his eyes, I was just a secret lover, hidden away and never meant to be seen by the world.

My anger boiled over, and I bit my lip before spitting at him. "Dave, you're disgusting."

His grip tightened, but his voice softened, an unsettling mix of concern and arrogance. "I don’t want to hurt you. If you're willing, we can go back to the way things were."

Back to being his hidden lover? The one he kept in the shadows? Never again.

He continued, attempting to reason with me. "Kimberly, you have to understand. Someone from my family is expected to marry someone of equal status and background."

"The Warren family and my family have been close for years, and Mary Warren now runs one of their subsidiaries. Marrying her is the best arrangement for me."

I glared at him, my heart racing. "And what about me? What am I to you?"

He chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Kimberly, I’ve made myself clear. As a Literature teacher, is this really beyond your level of understanding?"

"Forget your family background. Let’s talk about you. You’re just a small-time teacher who doesn’t grasp the rules of the business world. How could you ever stand by my side?"

His absurd words ignited a fresh wave of anger, and I slapped him again. Caught off guard, he shoved me against the car.

"Are you crazy?"

I seized his wrist and bit down hard, the taste of blood flooding my mouth as I refused to let go. He didn’t stop me. Finally, I released him, breathing heavily.

"Dave, you’re cruel. You were the one who said you loved my simplicity and innocence. Now you’re claiming my mind isn’t deep enough for us to walk together. You just say whatever suits you, don’t you?"

He fell silent, sliding back into the driver’s seat. I was too drained to argue further, so I allowed him to drive.

Half an hour later, the car came to a stop outside my apartment. Before I could open the door, Dave handed me two invitations.

"Which do you think looks better—hot-stamped or solid color?"

His words felt like daggers, slicing through my heart repeatedly until I could barely breathe. I snatched the invitations from his hand and hurled them in his face. The hard cardboard grazed his cheek, leaving a faint red mark.

A heavy pressure settled in my chest, like a weight crushing me, forcing the blood in my heart to pulse painfully through my body. Without a word, I turned and walked upstairs, not looking back. Dave always knew how to hurt me. I never imagined that the person who loved me the most would be the one to wound me the deepest.

The next day, Mary appeared at school, radiant and captivating, just as I had imagined from her enchanting voice.

“Leave here. Leave Dave,” she declared, her intentions unmistakable from the very first word.

“Do you love him?” I challenged.

Mary sneered, “This is just a business marriage. It’s not about love. As long as it benefits the family, it could be any Robinson. It doesn’t matter.”

Her gaze hardened. “In fact, I’ve always known about your existence, but what does it matter? Dave will only marry me. All I want is to become the lady of the Robinson family.”

A smug smile spread across her face. “I’ve been the center of attention since I was a child. If he wants to marry me, he has to cut ties with anyone questionable. So, you must go.”

I couldn’t help but laugh—a bitter, incredulous laugh that echoed in the tense air. I was laughing at my own foolishness, at the realization of how naive I had been, and at Dave, who had brought all of this upon himself.

"Miss Warren, I’m not leaving, but I won’t have anything to do with Dave anymore. I know what it means to have integrity."

"I won’t be the other woman, knowingly or otherwise."

"You..." Mary glared, realizing I was calling her out. Her hand shot up as if to slap me, but she stopped, letting it drop, seething with anger.

Damn Dave, I cursed silently.

Mary didn’t get the reaction she wanted, so she switched tactics to force me out.

If I had known how dirty her methods would be, I would’ve left without hesitation.

Soon after, the headline "A Small Time Teacher from Los Angeles No. 17 Middle School Seduces Wealthy Businessman" spread like wildfire.

A photo of Dave and me on the sofa, at an intimate moment, was posted online. Dave’s face was carefully hidden, but mine was fully exposed for the world to see.

Kyle Alexander, the principal, called me into his office. His expression was serious.

"I know that person is Dave," he said, "but the scandal has caused too much damage. The school has decided to dismiss you."

Just like that, I was blamed for something that wasn’t even true. I became the subject of gossip, disliked by my own students, and criticized by their parents. The rumors followed me everywhere, and in the end, I lost my job.

When I got home, I noticed splatters of chicken blood on the door. My heart sank as I inserted my key, pushing the door open to find my mother perched on the sofa, waiting for my return.

Before I could take a step, she hurled a cup at me. It grazed my forehead and shattered on the floor, shards scattering like my already fragile spirit. It was the very cup Dave had given me last year during our trip to Shopify.

“You still have the nerve to come back! Why don’t you just die out there?” she screamed, fury radiating from her.

“You’ve ruined my reputation! Do you have any idea what your aunts are saying about me? They’re all criticizing me for not having children while raising you. Your father was seduced by a mistress, and you know how much I despise them. But look at you now—you’ve become someone else’s mistress!”

“You want to talk about love, but you do it in secret. Is being sneaky more fun? You’re just as cheap as your father!” Her words cut deep, each accusation a knife twisting in my heart.

Tears streamed down my face as I pleaded, “Mom, I didn’t do anything! I’m not like that; he wronged me!”

With a sharp slap, she struck my face, sending a jolt through my body. “You think that man framed you? Look in the mirror and see what you really are! How could he possibly frame you?”

She suddenly pulled out a fruit knife, pressing it to her neck. “Record a video right now and post it in the family group, saying you are no longer my daughter. I don’t have a daughter like you. If you don’t, I’ll die right here in front of you.”

Panic surged through me as desperation clawed at my throat. I reluctantly recorded the video and posted it in the family group, knowing she would get exactly what she wanted. Moments later, she added a message: “From today on, Kimberly is no longer my daughter. Whatever she’s done has nothing to do with me. If you want to criticize her, blame her scumbag father instead.”

Her glare burned into me, fierce and unforgiving. “Even though our relationship is severed, you still owe me alimony. For the sake of the 27 years we spent as mother and daughter, you need to pay me a lump sum.”

With trembling hands, I handed over all my savings. As I turned to leave, she spotted a childhood photo of us on the table and smashed it into pieces.

“I feel sick just thinking about being in the same picture with you,” she spat. “Even the thought of carrying a worthless girl like you in my womb makes me want to vomit.”

Once she stormed out, this twisted farce finally came to an end. I slid down against the wall, feeling as if the weight of the world pressed down on me. I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in a haze of despair. When I finally managed to stand, my legs felt numb, as if they could no longer support the burden of what had just transpired.

My phone rang repeatedly. I answered it out of irritation, and Dave’s voice came through.

"Are you okay? Don't be so dramatic. Everyone will forget this in a few days."

His fiancée had maliciously slandered me, yet he thought I was the one being hypocritical.

I cursed under my breath, "Go to hell, you bastard," and hung up decisively.

After putting my phone away, I took screenshots of our chat records, group photos, and all the gifts he had given me over the years, then posted them on Facebook.

"I am the heroine of this mistress scandal, but I am not the mistress. I wonder who really is? I think Mr. Robinson and Ms. Warren know the answer."

"I collapsed the moment I learned about the wedding between the Robinson and Warren families. I suddenly realized that my eight-year love was just a fling in Mr. Robinson's eyes. I was merely his long-term companion. He could have ended things with me before proposing to Ms. Warren, but he chose not to."

"He wants a well-behaved, docile lover and a wife who can keep up with him in the business world. How can anyone expect to have the best of both worlds?"

"I had stopped bothering them, but they fabricated a lie about my infidelity to force me out. This was the first time I realized just how generous Mr. Robinson was, willing to label himself as just a guest in our relationship."

As soon as the blog post went live, it gained a lot of attention. Even though the Robinson and Warren families tried their best to bury the trending topic, they faced many rivals in the business world. Their efforts were futile.