My Fiancée is A Mistress

My Fiancée Is Other Man's Mistress

Been hitched to my first love for three years, yet there she goes claiming on Facebook she's the mistress.

She broke down when I called her out, insisting it was just a prank.

I was clueless at the time.

Barely a fortnight later, she'd lace my coffee with a dangerous dose of poison.

The next thing I knew, it was the day I popped the question.

There she was, blushing, eagerly waiting for me to slip the ring on.

Under a clear sky, I knelt before Sarah McWilliams.

Today was my big proposal day.

I spent the entire night laying out white roses, and half a year's savings on that ring.

Sarah stood there, cheeks pink, her hand over her mouth, tearyeyed.

"Go on, say yes!"

"You gotta say yes!"

Friends around us were all in on the excitement.

It was all set to be a blissful, pictureperfect moment.

But in a heartbeat, I was on my feet.

I fished out the ring I had gotten for Sarah from the box.

The diamond caught the sunlight, dazzling onlookers.

In full view, I chucked it right into the nearby sewer.

The crowd gasped, Sarah too stunned to react at first.

"Playing games with me?" Her tone turned icy fast.

I leaned in, whispering with a smirk, "You think you're worth it?"

Flashback to a bit earlier, I was in a hospital bed, fighting for life.

The doctor's relentless words echoed in my ears.

"The strychnine you swallowed... too much, too late for a pump or transfusion. We missed the golden hour to save you."

So this is it—I'm dying?

Strychnine, what the hell is that?

As I faced death, Sarah's face invaded my thoughts.

She's been my wife for three years.

She was into herbal remedies back in college.

Recently, she'd been brewing my daily coffee.

I recalled those odd buttonlike herbs in my cup—Sarah claimed they were just special herbs for me.

But they were strychnine...

After just four days, I ended up like this.

I felt my body cool down, and my eyelids grew heavy.

It felt like my consciousness was floating away, my body light as a feather, my soul nearly escaping.

"What are you doing? Sarah's almost here!"

Someone shook me hard, snapping me back to reality.

My eyes fluttered open on a park bench, clutching white roses and a small box.

The ring for the proposal, which I picked out myself three years ago.

I frowned at the ring.

It was tiny, just one carat.

Sarah had cried with joy then, and I vowed to hustle harder to upgrade her diamond by next year.

Over those three years, I not only upgraded the diamond but also bought gold bars, all handed to her.

Except for that house she wanted—I hadn't managed the down payment yet. Whatever she wished for, I delivered.

Yet now...

"What's got you spaced out? Rough morning?"

Paul, my lifelong pal, was waving his hand in my face, trying to snap me out of it.

"I don't wanna propose anymore."

I eyed Paul, suited up just for my big moment.

"What? Cut the crap, she's right here." He didn't take me seriously.

Paul wasn't just any friend; he was slated to be my boss.

I trusted him as much as I trusted myself.

Sarah approached, flanked by her bridesmaids.

As Paul pushed me forward, the crowd started cheering.

I locked my eyes on this woman I'd loved for ages.

I knew every detail of her face, every little mark, like the mole at her waist.

Instinctively, I began to kneel, but as my knee touched the ground, the doctor's words flashed back.

"Too much strychnine in your system."

Proposing? Not a chance.

No way I was tying the knot with someone who had tried to kill me.

I left the ring behind and walked out, leaving behind the scene where I felt like a total fool.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing, each time I silenced another call.

No need to check—I was sure Sarah and her squad were trashing me, calling me the scum of the earth.

But I didn't give a damn.

Being a scumbag beats being a corpse any day.

I hit the gas, zooming down the coastal highway.

The chill ocean breeze was a slap of relief for my fried brain.

I parked myself on the guardrail, lighting up a cigarette.

Sarah's attempt on my life was a hard pill to swallow.

Yet, why would she even want me dead?

Wasn't I good enough to her?

I watched a couple of seagulls playing tag by the waves, my cig burning down to the nub.

"Shit—"

The sting from the cigarette sparked a flashback to a night, about two weeks before I died in my last life.

That evening, I spotted Sarah's comment under a post blasting mistresses.

"Yep, I'm the mistress, LOL."

I woke her up, phone in hand, demanding an explanation.

Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, she kneeled on the bed, her face ghostly pale, tears quickly spilling over.

"Honey, I was just kidding."

I said nothing, just gave her the cold shoulder, waiting for her next move.

She edged closer, lifting her eyes to mine, all doeeyed.

"Babe, you know you'd never let me be the other woman."

"Excuse me?" My laugh was bitter.

I couldn't believe how slick her excuses were.

"Babe~" She tried to sweettalk her way out again.

I shoved her back, asking sharply, "Sarah, you think this is something to joke about?"

"No, absolutely not." She shook her head, swearing with three fingers raised that she'd never slip up like that again.

I let it slide.

Back then, I figured everyone slips up now and then.

But now, sitting on that guardrail, that night didn't sit right with me.

Her reaction was too intense for a simple slipup.

First tears, then coyness.

Sarah knew how to play me; she knew just what to do to soften me up.

Her comment wasn't a slip—it was the truth.

She really was having an affair!

After chilling in the breeze for hours, watching those seagulls disappear, I finally grabbed my phone from the car.

What struck me was that all afternoon, only two calls were from Sarah.

The remaining 45 missed calls were from Paul.

I hit him back, and he picked up instantly.

"Where are you hiding? You drunk or what?"

He sounded furious.

"Cut to the chase, or I'm done here." I wasn't in the mood for niceties.

We weren't boss and employee right now—just old friends.

"Are you out of your mind? Sarah's been sobbing all day, and you vanish?"

My response was frosty.

"Her tears aren't my problem."

Classic jerk response.

"You're a real piece of work!"

And with that, he hung up.

I settled back into the car seat, buckling up when a thought stopped me cold.

In my past life, at this time, Sarah and Paul were hardly more than acquaintances.

It was through me that Paul even knew Sarah.

So why was he defending her so aggressively?

A sickening possibility crossed my mind.

Was Paul the man Sarah was cheating with?

No, that can't be right.

Paul was the kid next door, we grew up together, practically brothers.

We were tight as thieves.

If not for a chance meeting with a CEO's daughter a year later, and his good looks and determination to marry up, he wouldn't have become the big boss at Stronghold Group.

Since then, he's been my boss.

But he's always treated me well, never pulled rank, and we still hit up dive bars for beers.

There were several times when I was too plastered to function, and it was Paul who'd call Sarah to pick me up.

But what happened after those nights?

Strangely, every time I drank with Paul, I ended up blacked out, remembering nothing.

"Damn it!"

I punched the steering wheel, seething with anger.

If they had been planning this behind my back, they could have been sneaking around for who knows how long.

Just the thought of waking up with a hangover, Sarah cheerfully serving me breakfast, acting all sweet and devoted...

Back then, I thought she was a keeper.

They must have hooked up way back.

If she truly cared, even if she didn't get mad when I came home wasted, she would've had words with me later. How could she always be so damn sweet?

Thinking about it, I couldn't help but chuckle bitterly.

Just like Lady Macbeth serving drinks with a smile.

I was such a fool, a complete idiot!

But accepting Paul's betrayal? That was harder to stomach.

Even though the proof was right in front of me.

After a moment's thought, I decided to confront Paul.

I needed to get to the bottom of this.

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 brighteyed 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.