My Billionaire Boyfriend Let His Mistress Scatter My Parents' Ashes

I saw it first on Instagram—a wedding announcement with my name on it. My heart stopped, then raced as I stared at the screen of my phone. The post was beautiful: a photograph of the penthouse terrace overlooking Manhattan, fairy lights strung like stars above white chairs, and in elegant script, the words 'Lukas Cunningham and Raya Boyd, September 15th.' My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the comments. His socialite friends were already congratulating him, asking for details about the venue, the dress, the honeymoon. I hadn't been invited to my own wedding. I had been informed of it, like everyone else.

Nine years. Nine years of being his contract girlfriend, of existing in the shadow of his life. Nine years of watching him light up when Nadia Perkins entered a room. And now this—a wedding announcement posted without a word to me. I should have felt rage. Instead, I felt something far more dangerous: hope.

In the back of my closet hung a garment bag I'd kept hidden for years. Inside was a wedding gown—not a rental, not a sample, but a couture creation I'd designed myself and paid for with every spare dollar I'd earned from freelance graphic design work in the pre-dawn hours. I'd never told anyone about it. Not even Lukas. It was my secret, foolish heart—the physical manifestation of a hope I'd never dared voice.

I slipped into the guest bathroom, away from the staff who would have questions, and unzipped the bag. The gown emerged like a dream: ivory silk that caught the light, hand-stitched pearls along the bodice, a train that would trail behind me like whispered promises. I'd saved for it for three years. Three years of morning coffee skipped, of lunches eaten at my desk, of every extra dollar hidden away in an account Lukas knew nothing about.

As I fastened the last pearl button, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked... bridal. Beautiful, even. My hands smoothed the silk over my hips, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe. Maybe this was real. Maybe, after nine years, Lukas had finally seen what was right in front of him. Maybe the contract was ending because he wanted something real.

The penthouse was eerily quiet as I descended the staircase. My bare feet made no sound on the marble steps. The living room had been transformed—champagne flutes glittered on silver trays, white roses adorned every surface, and at least thirty of Lukas's closest friends stood in a loose semicircle, their faces turned expectantly toward the terrace doors.

And there was Lukas, standing tall and devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo, his dark hair perfectly styled, his eyes scanning the crowd with that familiar look of controlled impatience. But it was the woman beside him that made my blood freeze. Nadia Perkins, her golden hair cascading over bare shoulders, holding a champagne flute with manicured fingers, her red lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

I began walking toward them, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might shatter my ribs. The crowd parted, whispers following in my wake. I could feel their stares—some curious, some pitying, some amused. I kept my eyes fixed on Lukas, waiting for him to see me, to react, to explain.

He turned as I approached, and for one breathless moment, his expression softened. Then the officiant—a theatrical-looking man with a booming voice—began to speak. Words about love and commitment floated around me like distant music. Lukas took my hands in his, and I nearly collapsed from the contact. His hands were warm. Real. This was happening.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' the officiant announced, 'if anyone can show just cause why this couple should not be lawfully joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.'

The room was silent. I held my breath.

Lukas cleared his throat, and my heart soared. Was he going to declare his love? Was this the moment everything changed?

'I'd like to thank everyone for coming,' he said, his voice carrying across the terrace. 'But I think we've proven our point.'

I blinked, uncomprehending.

'Nadia and I made a bet,' he continued, turning to face the crowd with a smile. 'We wondered if I could make anyone believe anything. And here we are—a fake wedding, a willing participant, and a room full of witnesses.'

Laughter erupted around me. Champagne glasses clinked. Someone whistled.

'Congratulations, darling,' Nadia's voice cut through the noise as she stepped forward, her smile sharp as a blade. 'You've won your bet.'

I stood there, frozen, as the truth crashed over me like a wave of ice water. The gown I'd saved nine years for suddenly felt like a costume, like a joke. My phone chose that moment to ring, the sound shrill and insistent in the laughing crowd. I fumbled for it, desperate for any escape, any distraction.

'Hospital,' a voice said when I answered. 'I'm calling about Eleanor Boyd. I'm very sorry, but she passed away twenty minutes ago.'

The world tilted beneath my feet. My grandmother—the only person who had ever loved me unconditionally, the reason I'd signed that contract nine years ago—was gone. And I was standing in a wedding gown, at a fake wedding, being laughed at by people who would never know my name tomorrow.

I looked up at Lukas, still smiling, still basking in his victory, and felt something inside me shatter into pieces so small they could never be put back together.