My Husband’s Affair with My Worst Enemy

“Okay, honey.” I forced a smile and opened the door. There he was—Rex, standing casually in front of me, looking polished as ever in his sharp grey suit.

His light grey eyes matched the silver of his ear piercings, and not a single hair seemed out of place. Nobody would ever guess what he had been doing just minutes ago.

I pushed the thought aside. I had to survive tonight first.

“Everyone is looking for you. What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice soft, sweet even, as if he cared. “Remember, you’re the star tonight.”

He reached for my hand, but I stepped back instinctively. That used to win me over every time, but now it just made my skin crawl.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head, his expression the perfect mask of concern. His tone was so convincing it almost hurt. If I hadn’t learned the truth, I might’ve believed him.

“No, I’m just feeling a little dizzy,” I said, brushing off his question. I needed to get away from him, away from this conversation.

But Rex being Rex, he wasn’t letting me off that easily.

He leaned closer, placing his hand lightly on my forehead. “You sure? Did you take any meds yet? I can delay the event, push it back half an hour if you need. Nobody’s going to mind.”

“No,” I said firmly, brushing past him. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Alright,” he replied with a smile so earnest it almost made me laugh. How could I have ever believed it was real? “Just tell me if you’re not feeling well again. Your health comes first.”

I nodded, biting back the surge of emotions rising in my chest.

I couldn’t help but think back to the night we first met. It was pouring rain in the city, and I was at my lowest point.

It was a rainy night in the city, the kind of downpour that soaks through even the best umbrellas.

I didn’t have one of those though, just a battered, broken one I had found in the back of a closet. I was standing outside a pawnshop, staring at my late mother’s engagement ring in my palm.

I didn’t want to sell it. But I didn’t have much of a choice. My grandma was sick, the bills were piling up, and even with my degree, I couldn’t land a decent job.

When I finally stepped inside, the shopkeeper’s offer was so insulting I almost cried right there. I stormed out instead, slamming into Rex on the sidewalk.

He recognized me from college—he majored in management and often hung around Sara, the untouchable queen of our world back then.

“Are you alright?” he asked, catching my arm to steady me.

I flushed with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Instead of brushing me off, he asked me to go with him to a nearby café. And for some reason, I let him. I didn’t tell him what was going on, he didn’t need to know.

“If you ever need help,” he had said as we sat there, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

Back then, I thought he meant it. Now, I realized how wrong I had been.

From then on, we started talking more. Little by little, I reluctantly opened up—about my parents’ mysterious disappearance, my struggle to make ends meet, and my stalled art career.

Rex listened, really listened, offering encouragement in a way that made me feel seen for the first time in forever.

He believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. With his help as my manager, I started to rebuild my confidence. He loaned me just enough money to scrape by, and I finally got back to painting.

Thanks to Rex’s connections, word about my work spread fast. Suddenly, people were talking about me, and before long, some of the city’s most influential names were buying my art.

After a few years of working together, our professional relationship turned personal. Three years later, we got married.

To think that the man I trusted with everything wasn’t who he pretended to be… It was like the floor had been ripped out from under me.

“Honey, this is Mr. Bart Dubois, the owner of this gallery,” Rex’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I turned to see a tall, older man with silver-streaked dark hair that looked like it had been styled strand by strand. His sharp, angular features were a perfect match for his expensive, tailored tuxedo.

“Ms. Willow Sterling,” he said, his tone smooth and measured. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

There was an easy elegance to the way he carried himself, but beneath it, I could sense a hint of arrogance—the kind that came with old money and absolute confidence.

“And this is my wife, Delphine,” Bart added, gesturing to the woman beside him.

Delphine was impossible to miss. Her towering blonde hair was a feat of engineering, defying gravity with every curl and wave, and her bright pink silk ensemble was anything but subtle.

The oversized gemstones dripping from her neck caught the light with every movement, dazzling and excessive all at once.

“The pleasure is mine,” she said with a tight, almost practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Where Bart had charm, Delphine radiated something colder, harder to place.

“I’m truly honored to have my exhibition in your gallery, Mr. and Mrs. Dubois,” I said with a polite nod.

Anyone in this city knew the Dubois family. They were the top of the social ladder, practically royalty among the elite. And unfortunately for me, they were also Sara’s parents.

I fought the urge to grind my teeth as I spotted her approaching, her usual dazzling smile in place. Of course, the devil herself wouldn’t miss this moment.