He Married His First Love, Then Made Me His Mistress

The phone rang almost instantly. A voice burst through in excited.

“Blythe, I just saw your confirmation email and called right away. I was terrified you’d change your mind, that you wouldn’t come! Professor Matilda adores your work!”

Half a month ago, I represented the gallery in a local oil painting competition.

Unexpectedly, I caught the eye of Matilda Lennox. Her assistant, Imogen Caldwell, reached out, asking for samples of my recent work, and just days later, the invitation arrived.

Professor Matilda was preparing to retreat into seclusion to develop a new series. She planned to travel through remote landscapes for inspiration, and she hoped I could be both her student and assistant, fully immersed in the creation process.

For any artist with a heart still burning, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially with the generous salary her studio offered.

But back then, I barely glanced at the email.

I had long since given up on painting, shelving my dreams to help Dexter rise again.

That competition had been nothing but a whim. Every canvas I’d touched in recent years was just a way to fill the silence.

All I had ever cared about was marrying Dexter, never wanting to be apart from him, not even for a second.

“Blythe? Are you listening? The studio already booked your flight. It’s in half a month. Is that okay?” Imogen’s voice chattered on, full of excitement.

“Yes, no problem. I’ll be there on time.”

Dexter didn’t come home that night. I curled up alone on the sofa, my eyes roaming across every corner of this little apartment.

We had bought this place with the earnings from our first big contract. It was Dexter’s idea, our love nest.

We lived here for years. Even after he reclaimed the company, we never moved.

This space held every piece of our past, every trace of affection.

I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he stopped loving me.

Or maybe I was never the one he loved. Maybe I had only ever been a placeholder.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I packed up every single thing that belonged to him.

I had never noticed it before, but as I packed, the truth hit me. Everything in this house had been prepared by me. Every item, every detail.

The things Dexter actually used had long since been moved to the 79th floor.

This so-called home had been nothing more than a cage built solely to trap me inside.

The next morning, I arrived at the gallery, only to find the team busy installing a new exhibit.

I stood in the center of the space, staring at the largest canvas: the tender silhouette of a couple from behind.

The woman’s hand was raised slightly, a wedding ring gleaming on her finger.

The man had only been painted in rough strokes, but the tattoo on his right arm was unmistakable.

Its placement and design were identical to Dexter’s.

“Blythe, you’re here! What is this painting anyway? And they want to hang this garbage right in the center? HQ sends all kinds of trash. Next time, you should just butter up the boss. This? It’s pathetic.”

My coworker Anna Alesna came over to stand beside me, looking at the painting.

The gallery was a subsidiary of the Laurence Group.

Dexter never wanted me to work, but I hated being idle, so I took this position as a formality.

He never once concerned himself with gallery affairs. His empire was far too vast.

This was the first time he had ever given direct instructions for an exhibit.

My gaze fell on the freshly mounted artist bio: Heidi Ambrose.

Of course.

“Blythe, why are you here? The big boss called. He said you’d be taking time off from the gallery!”

Harriet Sutherland, the director, rushed over in a panic, subtly trying to block the artist’s name from my view.

So, that black card Dexter tossed me, telling me to go abroad and shop freely. It was just a distraction. A way to quietly promote Heidi without letting me find out.

I lowered my head, pretending not to notice anything, and walked into the office.

After all her years of study and training, this was what Heidi had produced?

I couldn’t tell if this was the best she could offer or if she simply wanted to make sure I saw it, to let me know they were already married.

I handed off all my tasks to Anna.

It wasn’t even a resignation. Technically, I was never a real employee.

I had thrown away every path that once belonged to my own future, all for him.

For three days straight, Dexter didn’t come home. I didn’t call.

Not once.

Now that I was leaving this city, I had no job to transition to and no friend to say goodbye to.

Seven years ago, my entire world revolved around Dexter.

I bought a new suitcase and replaced every piece of clothing that still carried his scent.

Finally, on the fourth day, a WhatsApp request appeared from an unfamiliar number. [There are still a few matters regarding the competition that need to be confirmed with Miss Griggs.]

I didn’t care about the competition anymore.

I had already signed the contract with Professor Matilda.

But the profile photo was of Dexter.

Even though it only showed half his sleeping face, I recognized it instantly.

That tattoo on his arm was undeniably his.