He Left Me for a Richer Bride

My boyfriend suddenly announced online that he was getting married in two months.

Everyone congratulated me on the culmination of our seven-year relationship, and I was so stunned I started preparing for a wedding I hadn’t expected to plan.

Then, at the door to the private room, I overheard him talking with his best friend.

“Adrian, your elimination system is insane. Picking one wife from nineteen lovers—only the best makes the cut.”

“Adrian won’t eliminate anyone else. Right now Serena is going up against the mistress she slept with most.”

“If you don’t marry your mistress in two months, aren’t you afraid Serena will be upset?” his friend asked.

He answered casually, “I’ll marry whoever performs best. That’s fair. It all depends on whether Serena can perform.”

Laughter filled the room. “Adrian, you’re so biased—you gave your mistress such a high score. Serena will definitely lose! It’s like trial by fire”

Adrian flashed a playful smile. “When two paths meet, the brave prevail. I gave her the chance — if she doesn’t win me, that’s on her.”

My body froze. My heart hammered so hard I could barely breathe. After a long, cold deliberation, I sent the man who had waited for me eight years a single message:

“No need to wait for a ten-year agreement. I don’t want him anymore.”

——

I still didn’t know who Adrian had cheated with. It felt absurd. Three months later, when the girl showed up on purpose, everything clicked into place.

“My name is Miranda Voss,” she announced, producing an elegant box. “I’m bringing Mr. Blackwell some health underwear.” She pulled the men’s underwear from its packaging with a defiant, knowing smile. “Mr. Blackwell ordered this yesterday but didn’t pick it up, so I brought it over. He likes wearing this.” She gave me a look that made the idea obscene. “Especially after sex — it’s good for your health.”

“He’s so addicted he has sex at least fifteen times a month. He needs to take care of himself.”

Fifteen times a month? Was she bragging about their frequency? My head spun, but I kept my face calm and looked straight at the childish girl in front of me. She looked barely grown—maybe eighteen or nineteen—cheap lipstick and rushed makeup failing to hide her youth.

“All right. Thank you. I’ll give it to him when he gets back.” I fished out a five-dollar note and held it out. “You must have traveled far. This is for your expenses.”

I’d already lost my place in that final round. I had imagined ripping her face off, shaving her head in fury. But when I saw Miranda’s juvenile expression and the way she clutched the money, my anger oddly cooled. There are plenty of men in the world. Let her have this unfaithful one.

She blinked, stunned that I didn’t explode. Then, venomous, she snatched the five dollars and slammed it back at me. “What do you mean, humiliating me with five dollars? Calling me a whore?!”

Rage flared and I slapped her. “Don’t insult whores. They only care about money — not people. You’re different.”

She clutched her face, furious and hurt. “Just wait,” she hissed.

She followed through on that threat. When Adrian stormed in, I was already packing my suitcase.

“Serena, why did you hit her? If you’ve got the guts, hit me instead. Why bully the weak?” he demanded.

I paused, clothes in my hands, fury rising like a tide.