The Day My Husband's Mistress Became His Wife

Everyone in Paris knew.

Everett Myers was completely devoted to Maggie Crawford, the young woman he had mentored over the years. As for me, his lawfully wedded wife, I was merely a cover.

At what should have been the ninth anniversary celebration of our marriage, the screen intended to show our wedding photos instead displayed moments of Everett's joyful times with Maggie over the years—their first time holding hands, their first kiss...

In the final sequence, Maggie appeared, scantily dressed, her eyes glistening with tears, like a fragile lily swaying in the breeze.

"Uncle, I'm sorry. I can't forget you, and I can't watch you marry someone you don't love."

"I've taken something to, you know, make myself want you... If you're not here by midnight..."

The video hadn’t finished playing when Everett, usually so composed, raced out of the venue like he had lost his mind, just as he had done on the previous occasions, leaving me alone in the grand reception hall.

Everyone was betting on when our tenth ceremony would be. Only I knew there would be no next time.

After seeing off all the guests, I dialed the number.

"Is your offer still valid?"

Receiving an affirmative response, I replied, "In three days."

After hanging up, Maggie's Twitter post popped up on my phone.

"The stars I've wished for over ten years are finally mine."

The photo showed a floor scattered with condoms and shredded clothing, along with a vague glimpse of Everett's sleeping profile.

The comment section was already flooded with 99 responses. Paris’s social circle was small; everyone knew what had happened, yet no one mentioned me.

I chuckled and liked the post, casually adding my own '99.'

A moment later, Maggie video-called me. She wore a large white shirt—the one I had specifically chosen for Everett that morning. It hung loosely, with only one button fastened, her skin marked with passion.

She beamed at me.

"Auntie, don't be upset. I just love Uncle too much; I can't help it."

Everett’s voice chimed in, scolding yet indulgent, "Don’t be silly, Maggie, and stop bothering Ophelia."

Maggie, feigning innocence, replied, "Uncle, I’m afraid Auntie might be angry. She just commented '99' on my Twitter."

Everett frowned, taking the phone. "Maggie is young and doesn’t know any better. Why are you engaging in this nonsense with her?"

Then, turning to Maggie, he added, "Just this once, it won't happen again."

Maggie responded by sticking her tongue out.

I had seen this scene many times, from our first wedding until now. Every time Maggie would stir up trouble, and Everett always took her side, leaving with the promise of "just this once."

Yet, each time, he would make exceptions for her.

I calmly ended the call.

The hotel manager approached, asking, "Ms. Lawrence, would you like to continue postponing the wedding banquet?"

I glanced around at the meticulously arranged wedding venue. After ten years, I knew every detail by heart. My heart ached for a moment, then I smiled and shook my head, "No need."

Maggie had reached for her stars.

I should find my own stars, too.