He Married His First Love, Then Made Me His Mistress

After accepting the request, I opened the stranger’s Instagram feed.

Pinned at the top was a post from this morning: nine wedding photos by the sea, across sprawling grasslands, and in front of a castle.

The woman’s face was always turned away or captured from behind. But the man’s face? Clear as day, it was Dexter.

I could guess the bride was Heidi.

Dexter clearly didn’t want me to know they were married, but she couldn’t help showing off. So she hid her face on purpose.

That account never messaged me again, and I didn’t bother replying. I walked straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

But halfway through, a pair of large hands reached around from behind, slamming me gently against the bathroom wall.

My bare skin was pressed against his soaked trousers.

Dexter’s mouth found the sensitive spot behind my ear, kissing roughly, his hands roaming, gripping, and teasing my body.

“Not resisting? Aren’t you scared I might be a bad guy?” he teased, turning me around.

Without thinking, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“Miss me? I was pulled into a last-minute business trip for three days. Why didn’t you come looking for me? Are you mad?”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer. His mouth crashed into mine, kissing me until I melted in his arms.

How could his love be this divided?

Three days of wedding photos with another woman, and then he returned to play the lover again as if nothing had changed.

I tried to push him away, but my strength had already dissolved under his touch.

“Let me go, Dexter. You reek of perfume. It’s making me nauseous,” I whispered, leaning weakly against him.

His body went rigid. He released me almost instantly.

By the time I finished drying off and stepped out, he had already changed into a new suit.

“Probably from President Bailey of Constellano Culture. He always bathes in cologne,” he said quickly, lying without even thinking. And it showed.

There was no perfume on him.

Just guilt, thick and clinging, after three days with Heidi.

“Why didn’t you go shopping? I heard you handed over your duties at the gallery. What happened?” Dexter’s eyes were fixed on my face, watching too closely.

He was so flustered that he accidentally brought up my new suitcase

“Why did you pack? Where are you going? Blythe, I…”

He faltered, unsure whether to explain, then suddenly crouched down and yanked open the suitcase.

“Is it because of those paintings? I can explain! I won’t let you leave me, those aren’t—”

“What paintings?” I cut him off, my voice flat.

So it was Heidi’s paintings that made him come running back to coax me.

They were already married. The gallery was hers now.

Why should I matter at all?

“I did go shopping. The saleslady gave me a suitcase to carry everything. I bought so much, I figured I might as well keep it.”

“What, you can disappear for days without a word, but I can’t max out your card? You want me to stay at the gallery and keep earning for you?”

I pouted, putting on my best playful sulk.

I was exhausted. If he wanted to keep pretending, let him. If we were going to part ways, we might as well make it graceful.

Dexter glanced at the pile of clothes, tags still intact, and exhaled in relief.

“You just said the paintings made you want to leave me?”

I stared into his eyes. His gaze flickered, avoiding mine, as he reached for a towel and began drying my hair.

“Just I bought a few paintings. They said I overpaid. I was worried you’d be upset…”

What a clumsy excuse.

The doorbell rang. Dexter immediately pushed me toward the bedroom.

“Go change. I brought in a stylist. I’m taking you to the award ceremony later.”

“What award ceremony?”

“The oil painting competition!”

“There’s no need,” I said calmly. “I only joined for fun.”

After all, I had already accepted the offer. Whatever happened with the competition didn’t matter anymore.

“No way! My wife’s work is going to win first prize. I’m buying it for the gallery!”

Wife.

He had never called me that before.

The word hit me like a stone. My body froze for a second.

The moment the door shut behind me, the tears came. Silent, sudden, unstoppable.

What was this?

A caged canary? A mistress bought off with affection and money?

I picked up my phone, my hands still trembling.

The stranger’s Instagram feed had just been updated again.

The woman still kept her face turned away while Dexter knelt on one knee, slipping a diamond ring onto her finger.

In the photo, I recognized so many familiar faces, Dexter’s childhood friends.

When he brought the Laurence family back into high society, they had smiled at me politely.

But behind closed doors, I was always that poor girl, the dog Dexter keeps.

I pretended not to hear. I forced myself to let it go for his sake.

I always gave his friend a face.

More than once, I had overheard them whisper that Heidi was his true match.

That I wasn’t even fit to carry her shoes.

And now, in that photo, their glowing expressions said it all.

The prince had finally reunited with his princess.

To them, this was the ending the story had always deserved.