After my husband married his mistress

I struggled to my feet, brushing the dust from my pajamas as the fire cast a warm glow on my face. I watched in silence as fifteen years of memories turned to ash. Every picture we’d taken, every note he’d written for every occasion, every celebration, burning.

Tears of pain and fury streamed down my face. Not just because I was watching the pictures burn, but because each one reminded me of a lie. Every smile, every happy moment captured in those photos, was a well-crafted illusion. Every note he’d written, every sweet word, lies. He’d told me all those things, but behind every smile, hug, and kiss, he had another family. And the most painful part? It wasn’t just any woman, but the one who had stolen my chance at motherhood.

But I wouldn’t let it go. Roman and Evelyn would pay. Domenico was right. I couldn’t let them get away with this, scot-free. They needed to pay, and only then could I move on with my life.

Domenico Bellini. The name rang in my ears as I recalled our earlier conversation. He wasn’t just the CEO of Bellini Enterprises, a powerful conglomerate with ties to both legitimate business and the underworld. He was a man who understood betrayal, loss, and the hunger for revenge. His words still echoed in my mind, sharp and calculating: “If you want to reclaim what they took, you need to fight fire with fire.”

So, he proposed that I marry him. And together, we’d bring Roman and Evelyn down.

I didn’t understand why he was helping me. All I knew was that he had his own agenda, something to do with the CEO of the company Roman worked for. But if I married him, he was willing to help. I didn’t trust him, but after spending fifteen years with a man who’d deceived me, then discarded me with nothing but a measly sum as compensation, I was willing to do anything for revenge.

So, I dialed Domenico’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

“Have you had a change of heart, mia piccola furia?” he asked, his voice rich and teasing.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, Domenico. I’ll be your wife, as long as we make them pay.”

His deep chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. “Right choice, my little one. We’ll have so much fun bringing them down.”

After a brief discussion about the wedding details, I hung up the phone and let it fall to my side. I stared at the roaring fire. The same fire of vengeance burned deep inside me, scorching everything in its path.

“I will make you regret this, Roman,” I muttered with a bitter smile, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

Revenge is best served cold.

****

Two days had passed since my hasty court wedding to Domenico. Just the two of us, his sisters, Linda and his men. His sisters had welcomed me warmly, showing no concern that their brother had married someone he hardly knew. The day after the wedding, I began moving my things into his house.

The following day, over lunch, Domenico surprised me by asking about my parents. I hadn’t expected him to care. This wasn’t a real marriage, after all. But I told him everything, and to my shock, he promised to help me find them. The next day, he delivered, he found my family. And now, here I was, standing outside my parents house, Domenico had located in England.

“I’ll wait here for you, Mrs. Bellini,” the driver said, pulling me from my thoughts. I nodded, still adjusting to my new surname.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the house. My heart pounded in my chest, my palms sweaty. What would they think of me? Would they hate me? Of course, they would, but I just wanted closure, needed to settle things with them. How would my mother look? My father? My siblings?

The door creaked open, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw a young boy. At first, I thought it was my youngest brother, Michael, but then I realized, he couldn’t still be that young. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.

“Grandma, there’s a strange lady here crying,” the boy said, his voice full of confusion.

I touched my face and realized I was crying. I hadn’t even known.

An elderly voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

And then she appeared, my mother.

At the sight of her, I lost control. I rushed forward, my tears spilling freely. But before I could reach her, my mother fainted.

“Mom!” I shouted, panic rising in my chest as I ran to her side.

****

“I forgive you, Amanda. You were just a teenager who didn’t know any better,” my mother said, her voice quivering with age and emotion. She wasn’t the only one crying. My entire family, even my nieces and nephews who didn’t even know me, were in tears.

I wept for my father, the man I would never see again. The cancer that had ravaged his body had left him blind in his final years. Even then, he had asked for me, his voice full of love. I clutched his picture frame tightly to my chest, listening to the voice note he’d left for me the day he passed. I cried harder than I had in years, the loss overwhelming me. My siblings tried to comfort me, but the pain was too much.

Roman had done this. And while he was out there, living his life, I was left in the ruins of my own. My hatred for him only grew.

An hour later, my mother asked, “What about Roman, your husband?”

I smiled bitterly and explained everything to my family.

“That bastard,” my sister said, tears streaming down her face.

But I assured them that it was fine, that I had moved on. It wasn’t true, of course. I hadn’t moved on. Roman would pay. But I told them I was seeing someone else, someone I loved. I didn’t mention who he was or how we were already married. That part would come later.

“Visit us regularly, okay, Amanda?” my mom said, pulling me into one last hug.

I nodded, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. As I walked back to my car, I felt a strange sense of relief, yet still a burning desire for vengeance.

Back at my hotel, I opened the door and froze. Domenico was sitting on the couch, waiting for me. What was he doing here?

“Come here, Amanda,” he said, his tone soft, surprisingly not the usual teasing.

When I walked toward him, he pulled me onto his lap and rested my head on his shoulder. “Today wasn’t easy for you, my little firefly,” he murmured, his hand gently patting my head.

I nodded against his chest, still feeling the sting of everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, surprising me as he wiped my tears with his rough hand. I let out a quiet sob, pressing into his chest as he held me tightly.

“Tomorrow, we begin,” he said, his voice firm.