After My Return, the CEO Fell in Love with the Stand - in

The civil registry's embossed stamp still gleamed wet on their marriage certificate when I stood before the bridal boutique mirror, five months pregnant, enjoying one of the sweetest moments we'd created.

My fiancé's first love was diagnosed with a terminal illness and there was little time left for her. She said she wanted her last wedding. So, thanks to my dear future husband, this time, the woman who would walk on the carpet wasn't me.

Every call to his family hit the same wall of static hesitation, the telltale pauses spelling out their collective betrayal.

Oh, everyone knew, except me.

All these years, and I'd become the punch line of some cosmic joke.

Later, he called me, sobbing, begging me to come back to him.

"As a married man, you shouldn't harass me, or I'd have my boyfriend come and deal with you." I warned him.

1

When I discovered my fiancé' Tim White and his first love Sara Nelson's marriage certificate, I called him and asked, "Where are you now?"

He answered naturally, "I am still working at the office. Working is so exhausting, and the client has been a real headache lately."

The citrus scent hit me as I pushed open the ward's door.

There they were-his phone wedged between ear and shoulder, fingers feeding citrus segments to the gaunt woman in the bed. A tableau of domestic tenderness that stopped my breath.

The absurdity almost made me laugh. Almost.

Tim turned and saw me, and both of them were stunned by my presence.

Sara, diminished by illness yet glowing with some inner light, was looked heartbreakingly fragile, her arms tethered to IVs, her pallor accentuated by the blue chemotherapy cap.

My petite frame, normally something Tim teased me about, suddenly seemed to intimidate him, making him physically recoil.

"Anna, I am responsible for this. We can talk later." he added, "Right now, just don't disturb her, alright?"

Sara coughed weakly, pushing his arm away, "Sorry, it's all my fault. Don't be mad at Tim, Anna. It's all my fault..."

The narrative was clear. I, healthy one, the pregnant one, , was cast as the villain, the cruel outsider who broke apart these star-crossed lovers.

What was there to say? I simply bought milk at the hospital shop, placed it silently by her bedside, and walked away.

Tim clung to my arm, eyes red, saying, "Anna, I know this hurts, but Sara...she's dying. You will understand, right?"

I ignored him.

"May you have a lifetime of happiness," I said, the recently received wedding blessing tasting like ash in my mouth.

He stood frozen, his eyes bulging comically wide before whispering, "After everything we've been through, you'd weaponize that phrase against me?"

2

Everything we'd shared, or so I'd thought, just vanished.

Eight years together, years I'd measured in shared meals and inside jokes, now reduced to a legal technicality.

Like water, it was necessary, life-sustaining, but utterly unremarkable.

In private, Tim would tell his buddies that I would definitely be a good wife who brought luck to him.

The truth, the complicated, messy truth, was somewhat different.

I was not as virtuous as the rumors said.

Privately, I smoked and drank, frequently showing up in nightclubs.

I deliberately presented myself that way in front of Tim.

"Undress for his innocence, cook for his experience." a cynical roadmap said so about male psychology.

Tim was wealthy. After Sara initially rejected him, he was heartbroken. He became the perfect target for my "ideal wife" act. Seemingly, he turned loyal to me.

Since then, his career flourished.

Observing his professional success, our friends declared me a "woman of miracles," who "brought Tim luck."

My performance had been motivated by genuine love. I really loved Tim.

But Tim seemed that he'd never loved me.

3

When I went to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy, the headlines caught my attention.

The title read "Shocking! Arrogant mistress challenges the cancer-stricken wife, flaunting her pregnancy!"

The accompanying photo was of me visiting Tim and Sara at the hospital.

Argue wouldn't work. I wouldn't further humiliate myself by pointing out the timeline.

They had registered their marriage. In publicity, they were legally wed. What was I? What about my child?

Just a mistress and an illegitimate child.

I was not cruel, not fundamentally at least.

If my child were born only to be condemned by the world, carrying the stigma of being illegitimate, then I chose not to bring him into this world.

Underneath that trending topic, there were eighty thousand comments insulting me.

Perhaps because cyberbullying didn't require accountability, the netizens spewed vile words, even dragging my friends into it.

My mood was affected, and during the procedure, I hemorrhaged.

Unfortunately, my blood type was rare.

The delay in finding donors, with those precious minutes passing by, nearly cost me my life.

In that liminal space between life and death, while I was drugged and terrified, I almost called him. But then I remembered that I had no right.

What was I to him now? Just a former lover?

Or a cautionary tale?

4

Upon discharge, the entrance was crowded with women who despised mistresses were there, cursing.

A tomato suddenly arced through the chaos, splattering against my forehead with wet violence.

The pulp dripped down my temple, its garish hue mimicking fresh blood.

The nurse pushed them away, defending me. "She just had an abortion and in poor condition. Your violence may endanger her life."

Hearing this, the women stopped their action but turned into verbal abuse. Dirty words erupted, their mouths like a noisy, foul-smelling sewages, disgusting.

So I retreated back into the hospital.

Those who spread gossip, hearing rumors, spread them like wildfire, saying I had my uterus removed and would never have children again.

Online, people cheered, saying mistresses should be sterilized.

"That's the fate of a mistress. She deserves it!" They said.

.....

After eight years of love, it turned out that I became a shameful mistress.

What a sick joke.

5

Since their wedding was approaching, Tim and Sara were both busy, overwhelmed by the countless details.

He finally called me, saying Sara only had three months left, and it was pitiful to just stand by. He wanted to accompany her through this final journey.

He comforted me, saying after this journey, he'd marry me, give me a grand wedding in the best church. He would hire the best priest, buy the most exquisite wedding dress, and create the most ceremonial atmosphere, with a flying veil and all.

He promised that he'd compensate me after that.

I said okay.

On the other end, Tim's voice choked, "Anna, thank you. You've always been so understanding."

I licked my lips and said, "let's break up."

After saying it, I felt childish.

Actually, when he and Sara registered their marriage, we were already done.

Tim laughed, "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"I can't be a mistress, can I?" I pointed out.

Tim's voice froze again, filled with deep concern, "You will never be a mistress. There's still a baby in your belly, remember? Wait for me."

Oh.

So he only cared about the baby.

It made him believe that he could manipulate me.

Want me to really be a good wife?

Dream on!

6

Undoubtedly, I loved Tim.

But that didn't mean he could play with my feelings.

I actually loved him from a very young age.

Back then, he was the young heir of a construction group, and my dad worked under his dad.

My dad was a laborer.

He accidentally fell from a scaffold and broke his leg.

The project manager didn't want to compensate.

My mom was chronically ill, and our family was dirt poor. I had no choice but to kneel at the construction site entrance.

Tim was in a car driven by his chauffeur, wearing sunglasses. He saw me kneeling, almost fainting from the heat.

He got out and gave me a bottle of water.

I was so dizzy from the heat. In a daze, I saw him as if he was surrounded by a halo, like a guardian angel.

He spoke gently, asking what was wrong, what grievances I had suffered.

I burst into tears, and told him everything.

He frowned, turned to his driver, said a few words, and told me to go home. He promised he would take care of it.

He even gave me a ice cream from the car fridge.

That was my first time tasting Häagen-Dazs, and I'd always remembered that taste.

I muddled back home, and the next day, my dad's compensation for the work injury came through, several thousand dollars, enough to sustain us for almost three years.

To him, it was nothing. But to us, it was our family's lifeline.

I was truly grateful.

Truly.

That was when I had a thought-I wanted to be someone like him.

Someone who could help others, bring light and warmth to others.

So I'd been striving.

Studying, attending prestigious schools, starting a business.

Maybe I was lucky, and I rode the wave of success, caught the internet boom, and was taking advantage of the trend. So I managed to earn some money and was known as "young talent."

Fate had been kind to me.

Unfortunately, everything began to turn upside down.