My Fiancée is A Mistress

Paul hit this city solo, hustling from the ground up, and it was me who hooked him up with his pad.

Back in high school, he bombed SATs and settled for a local college, while I made it to a prestigious university in the capital.

That's where I met Sarah, a bright-eyed freshman and my first real crush.

I drove straight to Paul's place.

At his door, only his shoes were there—a pair of old leather boots.

"Paul, it's me, open up."

I pounded on the door for a solid five minutes. A neighbor even poked her head out, shushing me, but still no sign of Paul.

Was he out?

Just as I pulled out my phone to call him, the door swung open.

There was Paul, sweating bullets in his pajamas, looking flushed.

He seemed taken aback to see me.

"What brings you here?"

"And why shouldn't I be?"

I barged in and flopped onto his couch.

A subtle scent lingered in the air—something familiar that instantly told me it was the smell of romance.

"Really, man? I bomb my proposal and you're here playing Casanova?"

It was a joke, but anger was simmering beneath the surface.

God, I hope it's not what I think.

Paul chuckled nervously and shut the door, sitting across from me.

"Seriously though, what's up with you today?" He fidgeted, clearly uneasy.

I fished out some smokes, offering him one.

"Guess I'm just not feeling the whole marriage vibe anymore, you know?"

I tossed it out casually, but my eyes were locked on his every move.

"Dude, weren't you all set for this?"

His surprise showed but without the anger from our phone call.

Now I was stumped—was Paul really the guy Sarah was seeing behind my back?

"Enough about me. What's up with you and this mystery girl you've never mentioned?"

He scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, uh, met her online. Things just... happened."

"Nice, man. Bring her around sometime, let the crew check her out?"

I peered through the smoke at Paul's face.

He had a brief pause before smiling nervously again.

"It's nothing serious, just hanging out."

"Oh, stepping up your game, huh?"

I kept the banter light, but my gaze was scanning the room.

Everything was closed up tight, yet something didn't add up.

"Since when did you turn into Mr. Clean?"

I pointed at the pristine ashtray.

"Guess I'm picking up some good habits."

I smirked inwardly. Picking up good habits?

Knowing him for over two decades, Paul was never the tidy type.

It was Sarah who couldn't stand a speck of dust, forcing me to smoke outside.

"I didn't really come for anything major, just wanted to see how you're doing. I'm heading out."

I got up, straightened my suit, and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

He didn't hold me back, just watched as I headed to the elevator.

Once in my car, I didn't drive off. Instead, I parked in a shadowy corner and lit up a cigarette.

Sure enough, not 20 minutes later, the door to the building opened and a woman stepped out, graceful as ever.

My heart pounded fiercely, adrenaline kicking in.

I didn't even notice the cigarette burning my fingers.

Because that woman was none other than Sarah, my first love, and supposedly my future wife.

My fiancée, the other woman.