He Married His First Love, Then Made Me His Mistress

Dexter ran after me, and to my surprise, Heidi followed close behind.

“Miss Griggs, leaving the venue like that. Does this mean you’re admitting to plagiarizing Miss Ambrose?”

“Miss Griggs, we’ve confirmed your boyfriend and Miss Ambrose were childhood sweethearts. Was his response tonight a sign that your relationship is over?”

“Miss Ambrose’s here as well! Miss Ambrose, how do you respond to claims that your work falls far below Miss Griggs’s in skill and originality?”

“Miss Ambrose, do you have anything to say about the rumors accusing you of coming between Miss Griggs and President Laurence?”

Flashbulbs burst across the night like a storm of lightning.

Microphones pushed toward me from every direction.

For a split second, instinct told me to seek shelter, to hide in Dexter’s arms.

But he had already moved, shielding Heidi, standing firmly in front of her.

He didn’t even glance at me.

“Which outlet are you with? Who said you could take pictures?” he barked.

I stood alone in the wind, its chill cutting through me.

Maybe this was how it had to end. He didn’t need me beside him anymore.

From this moment forward, I’d protect myself.

“President Laurence, so you’re confirming the breakup with Miss Griggs?” the reporters pressed, voices rising over one another.

Heidi suddenly began to tremble, her voice soft and shaking. “Brother Dexter… I’m scared…”

The reporters surged forward, thrilled by the drama, thrusting their microphones into Heidi’s tear-streaked face.

Dexter’s frown deepened. Without hesitation, he swept Heidi into his arms and rushed toward his car.

Some reporters followed them in a frenzy, while others turned their cameras back on me.

In the chaos, someone stumbled. A camera slipped from their grip and crashed into my arm.

“Ah! My hand!” I cried out, staggering from the blow. The heavy lens had slammed hard into my wrist.

Dexter paused for a brief second.

But Heidi clung tighter to his neck, sobbing, “I’m so scared…”

He never looked back. He gently helped her into the passenger seat, then drove away.

Everything had been caught on camera.

And just like that, fearing backlash, the reporters scattered.

In the end, it was a lone security guard, unable to stomach what he saw, who stepped forward to help and called an ambulance.

Thankfully, the bone wasn’t broken, just a mild sprain.

With time and rest, it would heal.

I went through the check-up alone. Picked up my medication alone. And returned home alone.

Dexter still didn’t come back.

Worried the plagiarism scandal might jeopardize my job offer, I quickly called Imogen.

“Hey, Blythe! We didn’t just look at one painting. We reviewed dozens of your works. Of course we know your style!”

“Don’t worry. The teacher’s already used her connections to circulate your other pieces. They speak for themselves. Honestly? This is the best kind of rebuttal!”

A stranger I had never even met was willing to step up and clear my name.

But Dexter? He let me get dragged through the mud without a word.

I thought I’d feel heartbroken. But all I felt was disappointment. Disappointment in my pathetic taste in men.

That night, the pain in my wrist got worse. I had to take painkillers just to sleep.

While digging through the medicine box, I found the old ointment Dexter once bought for me. A wave of bitter nostalgia hit me hard.

Back then, when he was drowning in debt, I stayed beside him, accompanying him to dinners, helping him craft proposals, and securing bids.

Every night before bed, he would take out that ointment and gently massage my hand, whispering with a smile, “Our Blythe’s hand is worth more than Van Gogh’s. When I bounce back, you’ll paint as much as you want.”

Those blush-worthy words still echoed in my ears.

But now, he couldn’t even be bothered to ask if I was okay.

I pulled out my phone.

Heidi’s alternate account had just posted a new photo: dozens of gold jewelry pieces, gleaming with age and heavy opulence.

The caption read, [Hubby says the best way to ward off shock is gold! Tacky or not, it’s all heavy with love!]

She really went out of her way to flaunt it just for me to see.

How exhausting that must be.

But I never fought over men.

If he wasn’t mine, I wouldn’t take him, even if he was handed to me.

I glanced down at my injured right hand.

I had tried so hard to protect his pride.

Since he didn’t want me to know the truth, I pretended I didn’t.

But now? I regretted it.

I just wanted to rip the mask off. End it. Clean, cold, merciless.

After taking the painkillers, I slipped into a dazed, drugged sleep.

I didn’t know how long I was out before the phone rang, jolting me awake.

“Blythe, the driver’s downstairs. Come to Brother Jordan’s club now. I’m waiting.”

Still half-dazed, I stumbled toward the window.

Sure enough, the driver stood beside the car, scanning the building for me.

So, after calming Heidi, he came to pacify me next?

He really didn’t get tired of this game.

I wanted to make it clear and end it once and for all.

But as I stood to leave, a wave of dizziness swept over me.