Ten Years of Love, He Cheated On Me For An Intern Model

I spent ten years helping my boyfriend, Ryan Wilson, climb the ladder to become a world-renowned fashion designer. But while I was building his career, he was busy complicating mine. He started slipping into a secret, all-too-ambiguous relationship with the company’s new intern model, Stacey Graham.

It all came to a head at the fashion show.

Stacey made a mistake, stepping on my skirt as I walked the runway, and I ended up tripping. The audience gasped, and at that moment, everything went sideways.

Ryan, who should've been supporting me, turned to me with fiery anger. "How can you be so useless? You've been walking the runway for years and still managed to fall?"

He didn't stop there. "If you can't handle it, then quit!"

I was stunned.

Before I could say anything, he turned around and carefully helped Stacey, who had also stumbled. Just watching him hover over her, looking like she was the one who needed comforting, made my stomach churn.

The second her brow furrowed, his eyes turned red with rage.

When reporters swarmed us afterward, Ryan didn't even hesitate.

He pointed right at me. "Laura made a mistake. She pushed Stacey."

He had clearly seen Stacey step on my skirt. It felt like my entire world came crashing down.

Right then and there, I knew his heart had hardened—and it wasn’t mine to claim anymore.

...

I left the runway as fast as possible, calling Jeremy, my brother, who was overseas.

"Book me a plane ticket. I'm coming to you," I said, my voice shaky.

"Have you finally decided?" he asked, almost expecting me to backtrack.

I hummed in response, bracing myself for his usual teasing. But he surprised me. "The ticket's booked. You've got a week to wrap things up there."

I nodded, "Thanks, Bro."

As I was about to hang up, my arm bumped hard from behind. My phone slipped out of my hand and hit the ground with a thud.

"Ow! That hurt!" I winced, reaching for my phone.

It was Ryan. And, of course, he was holding Stacey—again.

With that look on his face, he immediately started asking her, "Where does it hurt?"

When he saw a red mark on her shoulder, he turned to me, anger practically boiling over.

"Laura, is this some kind of sick joke to you? Isn't it embarrassing enough that you made Stacey fall on the runway? Now you're still trying to make her look bad offstage?"

Stacey—oh, of course—tried to smooth things over. "Ryan, please don't be angry. Laura's just upset. Don't blame her..."

Her "understanding" tone didn't calm Ryan down. If anything, it made him even more furious.

"Laura, I really misjudged you," he snapped. "You wanted this to happen. You purposely stood in our way, hoping to cause trouble, right?"

I couldn't help it. "It's you who bumped into me!" I shot back, trying to defend myself.

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so now you're blaming me?" His gaze dropped to the phone lying on the ground, and he sneered. "I heard you talking about booking a plane ticket. Where exactly are you planning to go?"

I didn't even have the chance to answer before Stacey cut in. "I'm sorry, Laura. This is all my fault. Please, don't make things harder for Ryan."

She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held her tighter.

"Your ankle's hurt. Don't worry about her. Let's go to the hospital."

Ryan moved past me, and whether it was on purpose or not, he stepped on my phone, crushing it under his foot. As they passed by, Stacey lifted her foot just enough to flaunt her stunning high heels in my face.

It was like a punch in the gut.

'Those shoes... I'd seen them before in Ryan's design sketches.'

They were the only pair he'd ever designed. And he'd said they were supposed to be our wedding shoes.

So what did this make everything now?

...

When Ryan finally left with Stacey, my assistant Diana noticed my swollen ankle. "Oh my God, Laura, how did your ankle get this bad?"

It had been since Stacey stepped on my skirt during the show, and I twisted my ankle, trying to stay upright. Now, it was throbbing with a dull ache.

"It's fine," I muttered. "Just take me home. I need to grab my dog and get out of this city."

But Diana wasn't having it. "No way. You're not going home yet. We're going to the hospital."

I sighed, knowing she wasn't going to back down.

She was right, though. I would need to keep moving later, and limping around wouldn't be easy. So, I reluctantly agreed.

I didn't expect that as soon as we arrived at the hospital, we'd run into Ryan's Bentley parked in front.

There was only one parking spot left. Diana had arrived first, but Ryan had deliberately parked his car on the way, blocking her.

The Bentley stopped abruptly, and when I tried to get out, my bad ankle slammed into the front seat. A sharp gasp escaped me.

Ryan got out of the car and knocked on our window. "There's an injured person in my car. Can you move and let me have the spot?"

The nerve of him.