The Husband Who Was The Mistress

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The air in the suite was still heavy with the scent of expensive lilies and the lingering hum of the reception downstairs. It was my wedding nightthe beginning of everything I had spent years dreaming of. But when I reached for my wife, she pulled away with a coldness that made my skin crawl.

I thought she was just exhausted. The wedding had been a marathon of high-society expectations and forced smiles. I reached out again, trying to pull her into my arms, ready to make a joke to break the tension.

Its actually pretty boring being with you, she said. Her voice was flat, as if she were discussing the weather.

She gestured toward the nightstand, where a box of condoms sat. My best friend, Dexter, had handed them to me earlier that day with a wink.

Before the ceremony, he and I were together all night, Monica said, her tone light, almost conversational. That box? Its empty. We used them all.

The room seemed to tilt. I felt the blood drain from my face, but she wasnt finished.

When I was late to the toasts? It wasnt because I felt faint. We were in the dressing room for another round. Thats why my legs were shaking when I finally came out.

A small, reminiscent smile played on her lips. To be honest, being with him is the only thing that makes me feel alive. He knows exactly how to handle a woman. He gave me a pleasure I didn't know existed.

She looked at me then, her eyes sharp as glass. Something you could never do.

Her words were like serrated blades carving through my chest. I stood there, frozen, my mouth opening and closing as my throat tightened, sealing off any sound.

Monica sighed, a soft sound that held a hint of apology but far more relief.

Logan, Ive said what I needed to say. Whether we keep this farce going or not... thats up to you.

I stared at her, listening to the casual cruelty of her voice. I forced every ounce of my remaining strength into three raspy words.

Why? Just... why?

Monica paused, her gaze drifting back to me with utter indifference.

Why what? Why did I sleep with him? Or why am I telling you now?

The silence that followed was suffocating. She let out a short, mocking scoff.

Logan, every time we tried, you always had an excuse. Not in the mood, Not feeling right. If youre broken, is it really my fault for looking elsewhere? I wasn't going to tell youDexter was worried about losing his 'brother'but three years is a long time to play pretend. Hiding every time we wanted to touch each other was getting exhausting.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Three years?

Monica nodded, her expression thoughtful. Then, she let out a genuine laugh.

Yeah. Three years ago, at your parents funeral. After you passed out from crying so hard, we went into the room next door. It was the first time. We were so reckless I ruined my dress. You thought it was my period, remember? You spent the whole day taking care of me. You even hand-washed the silk, thinking you were being so sweet, not realizing you were scrubbing his fluids out of my skirt.

Seeing that malicious glint in her eyes, I reached my breaking point. I didn't think; I just reacted. My hand swung out, and the crack of the slap echoed through the room.

Have you no shame, Monica? Have you no soul?

The despair felt like a black hole opening up inside me. It dragged me back to when I was eighteen. My fathers business had collapsed into a heap of debt and scandals. I watched him walk off the edge of a rooftop. I came home to find my mother being tormented by creditorsmen who stripped her of her dignity until she, too, followed him into the abyss, dying right in front of me.

I lost everything in a single night. The depression that followed wasn't just sadness; it was a physical weight that crushed the life out of me.

During those dark years, Monica and Dexter were my anchors. They were the ones who stayed. I worked three jobs, destroying my health to pay off the debts my father left behind. Every time I felt like I was slipping into the dark, Monica would hold me, whispering into my ear, Dont be afraid, Logan. You have me. Im never leaving.

Even last night, she had called me, her voice trembling with what I thought was joy, calling me "husband" over and over.

Remembering how raspy her voice had sounded on that call, the realization hit me like a physical blow. She wasn't crying because she was happy to marry me. I was just the audience for their twisted foreplay.

My stomach churned. I lurched off the bed, stumbling toward the bathroom, and began to retch violently. My strength evaporated.

A shadow fell over me. Monica stood in the doorway, looking down at my trembling body. For the first time in years, she didn't reach down to hold me. She just watched me, her face a mask of boredom.

Finally, she pulled a tissue from the box and dropped it near my hand, like she was feeding a stray dog.

Clean yourself up. A grown man acting like this... its pathetic.

The disdain in her voice acted like a trigger. I shoved the tissue away, my voice cracking.

Dont touch me. Were done, Monica. I want a divorce.

My vision swam with black spots. I scrambled toward the nightstand to find my medication, but my hands were shaking so violently that the bottle shattered against the floor, spilling pills everywhere.

Monica chuckled, picking up a single pill and rolling it between her fingers.

Divorce? she asked, her voice mocking. Logan, look at yourself. Youre a wreck. Without me, without my familys influence, you wouldn't last a week in this city. Youd be back in the gutter where I found you.

Her eyes began to blur as my consciousness flickered. As I slipped into the dark, memories flashed like a frantic montage.

The years of heavy medication just to keep my heart beating. The relatives who vanished the moment the money did. The funeral where no one showed up except for them.

Monica, the spoiled rich girl who didn't know how to boil water, had spent months learning to cook just to make sure I ate. When the medication made my hair fall out in clumps, she didn't hesitateshe cut her own long, beautiful hair off to match me.

And the last time I tried to end it all... when I stood on that window ledge... she had climbed out right next to me.

If you jump, Logan, Im right behind you. I don't want a world without you.

The sweetness of the past felt like poison in my veins. The image shifteddistorted. I saw them together, laughing at me.

I bolted upright in a hospital bed, gasping for air.

A muffled, rhythmic sound came from behind the thin curtain of the room's partition. Groans. Whispers.

I froze. I wasn't dreaming.

I forced myself out of bed, my legs like lead. I stood outside the heavy door of the private suite's sitting area. The sounds from inside made the bile rise in my throat again.

I pushed the door open and vomited right there on the polished floor.

The room went silent. Dexter, fully dressed but with his shirt tucked in haphazardly, rushed over to help me.

I looked up at him, my eyes bloodshot and stinging. I saw the marks on his neck, then looked past him at Monica, who was adjusting her skirt with a look of pure guilt.

I swung. My fist connected with Dexter's jaw, fueled by years of misplaced gratitude.

How could you? I screamed. Youre supposed to be my brother!

Before I could land another blow, I was shoved hard. I hit the floor, the world spinning.

Monica was standing over Dexter, shielding him, her face contorted with rage. What is wrong with you, Logan? Are you insane?

She frantically checked Dexter's face for bruises. Dexter looked at me, then at her, his expression shifting to one of feigned regret.

Mo... you told him? I told you not to tell him. He turned to me, his voice smooth and manipulative. Logan, look, it was an accident. Just let me explain.

An accident?

I stared into Dexters eyes, searching for a shred of the friend I thought I knew.

Fucking my girlfriend at my parents funeral was an accident? Sleeping with my wife for three years was an accident? Monica said you were together all nightshe was still on top of you while she was supposed to be changing for our wedding toast! Are you two really that desperate? That pathetic?

My words stung. Dexters face darkened.

Logan, weve been friends since we were kids. Don't make this uglier than it has to be.

Monica let out a sharp, cold laugh. Logan, watch your mouth. Don't talk about 'affairs.' To be honest

Monica, dont, Dexter snapped, cutting her off.

I looked at her, at the way she looked at him, and I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up. Did I say something wrong? You two are the ones doing the dirty work, yet you want to keep your hands clean? I didn't realize how truly disgusting you both were.

Monica snapped. She screamed at the top of her lungs, Disgusting? You want to talk about disgusting? Dexter and I might be a lot of things, but we aren't so pathetic that we watched our own mother get ruined until she jumped off a building. You want to talk about dirty? Look in a mirror, Logan!

The world stopped. Dexters face went pale. He immediately grabbed her, covering her mouth.

Monica, shut up!

She realized what shed said. She looked at me, at the way the light had completely vanished from my eyes, and a flicker of remorse crossed her face. She opened her mouth to apologize, but I didn't give her the chance.

I grabbed a heavy gift basket from the tablesomething Dexter had broughtand hurled it at them with every bit of strength I had.

GET OUT!

Monica, watch out! Dexter lunged in front of her. The wicker and glass shattered against him, slicing into his arms.

Dexter! Monica screamed. Seeing the blood blooming through his shirt, her guilt vanished, replaced by a white-hot fury. She marched over and slapped me, hard.

You're out of your mind! You know Dexter has a coagulation disorder! Are you trying to kill him?

Dexter held her back, playing the martyr. Mo, its fine. I deserve it. Hes sick, don't let him get to you.

His "noble" act made me look like the villain. It worked. Monicas rage doubled.

Sick? Hes plenty strong when hes attacking people! Why is it that everyone else gets better, but you just stay 'sick'? Youre faking it, Logan. You just love the attention!

I stood there, paralyzed. Ever since I proposed to Monica, I thought I was cured. I thought I had finally found the light. I didn't realize that to her, my survival was just a long, boring performance.

Ms. Thorne, Mr. Brooks is losing too much blood. He needs an immediate transfusion, a doctor said, rushing in after hearing the commotion. But hes O-negative, and the hospital bank is low.

Monica didn't hesitate. She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door.

Hes the same blood type. Take it from him.

I tried to fight, but the Thorne family bodyguards were already there. They pinned me down and dragged me into a procedure room.

A sedative hit my veins. My resistance died.

Monica forgot one thing. Dexter had a clotting issue, yes. But after years of illness and malnutrition, I was severely anemic.

By the time they were done, I was hovering on the edge of a blackout, unable to even lift my head. Monica never came back to my room.

Instead, Dexter sent a flurry of "apology" texts in the middle of the night. I didn't read them. I blocked his number.

At dawn, I checked myself out. I limped to the city hall, the marriage certificate clutched in my hand. I couldn't bear to be tied to her for another second.

But when I handed the papers to the clerk, she looked at them, then at me, with a strange, pitying expression.

Im sorry, Mr. Hunter. This certificate is a forgery.

I stared at her. Thats impossible. We signed it three months ago. Monica Thorne. Look again.

The clerk sighed and pulled up the records on her screen. Ms. Thorne is indeed married, sir. But her husbands name isn't Logan Hunter. Its Dexter Brooks.

I walked out of the government building, the useless piece of paper fluttering in my hand. I started to laugh, and the laughter turned into ragged, choking sobs.

So thats what she was going to say in the hospital.

It wasn't an affair. I wasn't the husband being cheated on. I was the mistress. I was the side-show. I was the third wheel in my own life.

I was wandering aimlessly when a black SUV screeched to a halt beside me. Two men jumped out and threw me into the back seat. Monica was there, her eyes red and swollen.

Logan! I told you to stay away from Dexter! Are you trying to destroy him?

She shoved her phone into my face.

SCANDAL: Brooks Heir Caught in BDSM Affair at Funeral; Brooks Group Stock Plunges.

The video on the screen was a grainy, hidden-camera shot. The background was unmistakable: it was the funeral home where my parents had been laid to rest three years ago.

Do you have any idea what youve done? Dexters father had a heart attack. The family had him whippedhes in the ICU right now! He worked for years to become the heir, and you ruined it in a second!

I stared at her, bewildered. I was so sick back then; I barely remembered the funeral. How could I have filmed anything?

You think I did this?

Monicas fury spiked. Who else would want to hurt him like this? Youve pushed me too far, Logan.

She tapped her phone and sent a file. Then, she ordered the driver to the city center.

Dexter and I got married a year ago, she said, her voice trembling with a cruel sort of triumph. Hes my legal husband. Out of pity for you, he let you have the wedding. He was willing to be the invisible man just so you wouldn't break. And this is how you repay him?

You like posting videos? she hissed. Fine. Let's see how you like this one.

We pulled up to the tallest skyscraper in the city, the one with the massive LED screens. My heart stopped.

On the giant screens, visible to thousands of commuters, a video began to play.

It was my mother. The night of the bankruptcy. The men who had broken into our house were humiliating her, laughing as she begged for mercy. It was the deepest, most private trauma of my life.

Stop it, I whispered. Monica, stop it!

But she wasn't done. The car sped toward the outskirts, toward the abandoned apartment building where my parents had jumped.

Monicas smile was demonic. Since you love funerals so much, why don't we visit them one last time?

Several of her family's men were already on the roof. They were holding two ceramic urns.

My parents ashes.

No! Stop! Please!

I tried to lunged out of the car, but the guards pinned me to the pavement. I watched, screaming, as they tilted the urns. A gray cloud of ash spilled into the wind, scattering over the trash and the dirty concrete of the alleyway.

Drag him up there, Monica commanded. Lock him in that building until Dexter wakes up. Let him think about what hes done.

By the time they dragged me to the roof, the urns were empty. I fell to my knees, clawing at the dust and gravel, trying to find any trace of them, let alone a goodbye. I let out a sound that wasn't humana raw, broken howl of agony.

In the car below, Monicas assistant winced. Maam... is this too much? Hes unstable. If he has an episode...

Monica scoffed, her eyes cold as she watched the building. There are no episodes. Its just fake ashI had the urns swapped. Its a lesson. He needs to learn that for every action, theres a consequence. Dexter is the victim here.

Her phone rang. It was the hospital. Dexter was awake.

Without another look at the building, she ordered the driver to go. She spent the night by Dexters side, managing the PR crisis and ensuring the scandal was buried. Only when his vitals were stable did she finally relax.

The heat is off Dexter, she told her assistant. Call the guys at the apartment. Tell them to bring Logan here. Hes going to apologize to Dexter on his knees.

Just as the assistant reached for his phone, the hospitals waiting room TV flashed an emergency bulletin.

Breaking News: A man has just jumped from the roof of the Willow Street Apartments. Witnesses say he was clutching two empty urns. The victim was pronounced dead at the scene. Viewer discretion is advised...