On Halloween night, I went to pick up my husband after he had been drinking.

As I reached the door, I heard someone inside asking about the wildest thing anyone had ever done.

In his drunken haze, my husband muttered, “I’ve been living a second life behind my wife’s back. After Halloween, I’ll end things with the other woman, go back home for good, and try to make it up to her.”

My heart sank, though I felt a small sense of relief that he was getting back on the right track.

He continued, “After all, our two kids are just three years old. This is when they need their dad the most.”

Everyone in the private room praised him for being responsible, saying that nothing was more precious than a reformed man.

I stood frozen in place, because we had agreed not to have children when we got married.

I was the “other woman”.

I could not bear to listen anymore. Having lost the courage to confront him, I turned and fled the club.

The cold wind struck my face, but it was nothing compared to the shock of realizing I was the mistress, and it was a blow as devastating as witnessing Tristan Clarke’s betrayal.

Raised in an orphanage and deprived of love, I had always longed for a home of my own. Yet, I came to realize that the small family I wanted had been built on the ruins of someone else’s home.

I went home in a daze and entered the bedroom. The guilt made me desperate to escape the very home I had once longed for.

As I hastily packed my things, I found a thick photo album that did not belong to me. My hands trembled as I opened it to the first page.

A family portrait stared back at me.

Tristan was holding a little boy, smiling tenderly and contentedly. Beside him stood a gentle-looking woman cradling a little girl, and her face flushed with happiness.

The lower right corner of the photograph showed a date from five years ago.

Only then did I understand. When I thought we were newly married and deeply in love, he already had a family with children.

I flipped through the pages one by one; each photo cut into my heart like a blade.

The family of four went to the beach, to amusement parks, and celebrated birthdays together…

All the times I had pleaded for, the moments he brushed off with excuses about work, he had given to another family.

I suddenly remembered something.

Every Halloween, he would stay out socializing until late and come home drunk. It must have been because he had to spend time with his wife and children first.

In the end, I was nothing more than the hidden, embarrassing secret he had to entertain.

Tears spilled down my face, falling onto the photo album and blooming into damp stains.

I slammed it shut, rushed into the walk-in closet, and stuffed my clothes into a suitcase in a frenzy.

Everything in this place made me sick to my stomach.

Just as I was dragging my suitcase toward the door, Tristan stumbled in, reeking of alcohol.

He dropped onto the sofa and rubbed his temples.

“Babe, come massage my head. It hurts so much,” he said, his voice hoarse from drinking, still clinging to his usual dependence on me.

I remained motionless where I stood.

He seemed mildly irritated and muttered, “Oh, right. Bring me those two boxes of Halloween sweets. I’m heading out later.”

My heart seized painfully.

It was two custom boxes of rich custard-filled Halloween sweets. For five years, it had always been the same.

Whenever I asked, he would dismiss it lightly, holding me close and saying they were for networking and important clients.

They had to be for his two children, one box each. How thoughtful a father he was.

I turned to face the man on the sofa. When I spoke, my voice trembled despite my efforts to steady it. “Tristan, is there something you’ve been keeping from me?”

He opened his eyes in confusion. They were still hazy with drunkenness.

Noticing my cold expression, he pushed himself upright and opened his arms toward me. “What’s wrong? Are you having another little tantrum?”

He reached out to pull me into his arms. His tone was affectionate but perfunctory.

“Alright, don’t be like that, babe. Hasn’t it always been the same every year? I promise I’ll come back early tonight to be with you, okay?”

Yes, it had been the same every year. He had been lying to me for five years. To him, it was as effortless as breathing.

I shoved his hand off my waist, grabbed the photo album on the coffee table, and hurled it at his feet.

“Cut the act, Tristan Clarke. You disgust me!”

The photo album hit the floor, splaying open to a page that held a photo of the four of them.

All the color drained from Tristan’s face. Panic flickered in his eyes, then vanished as he composed himself.

He stooped to pick up the album, closed it, and set it aside as if nothing had happened.

“Bianca, let me explain. This isn’t what you think it is.”

“Not what, exactly?”

I trembled with anger as I pointed at the woman and children in the photo, my voice sharp.

“Who is she? And who are those two kids? Tristan, you’ve made a fool of me for five years. Do you still think you can deceive me?”

After a long silence, Tristan sighed and moved closer, reaching for my hand.

“Bianca, ours was a business arrangement with no feelings involved. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

I jerked my hand away and stepped back, sick with disgust.

“No feelings were involved, but you somehow ended up with two three-year-olds?”

“I admit I was in the wrong,” he said, finally dropping the act when he realized I was not falling for it anymore. “But I’ll divorce her soon. Just give me a little more time. Once I’ve settled things over there, we can–”

“We can do what, exactly?” I cut him off with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Be together openly? Tristan, do you honestly believe I’m so desperate for you that I’d accept everything you do without any bottom line?”

A wave of sorrow washed over me. I did not even have the right to divorce him, not when there had never been a legal marriage between us.

Five years ago, I had eagerly dragged him to the City Hall to register our marriage after our wedding. Just then, he received a call and claimed there was an urgent matter at work, so he had to fly overseas right away.

“Be patient, and wait for me. The first thing we’ll do when I return is collect our marriage certificate, alright?” He held me close and kissed my forehead lovingly.

From then on, every time I mentioned registering our marriage, he always had an excuse.

Time and time again, I let myself be swayed by his sweet nothings, foolishly believing that love could conquer all.

Looking back, I realized just how naive I truly was.

It was not that he did not want to make it official; he simply could not, since he was already legally married to someone else.

My heart throbbed with bitterness and pain, as if it had been plunged into freezing saltwater.

Tristan’s expression darkened, and it was clear his patience had worn thin.

“Stop being unreasonable, Bianca Guthrie,” he said as he stepped closer; his presence became heavy and oppressive.

“I admit I’ve lied to you, but think about it. Haven’t I treated you well these past five years? Look at the house you live in, the car you drive, and the clothes and accessories you wear. Aren’t they all things I’ve given you? Without me, do you think an orphan like you could live the life you have now?”

I stared at him blankly as my heart sank like a stone.

“So what’s your point?” I kept my gaze fixed on him as I asked, each word slow and heavy, “Should I be endlessly grateful and willingly settle for being your secret lover?”

Tristan ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I just want you to calm down, Bianca. I don’t want to lose you. I may not be able to make you my wife, but I’ve given you all my love these past five years. All you have to do is listen and stay with me–”

“Enough!” I screamed, cutting him off. “You’ve lied to me all these years, and you still have the gall to say that? It’s revolting!”

Having no desire to waste another word on him, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave.

But then his hand shot out, gripping my arm so tightly it felt like my bones might snap.

“Bianca, if you walk out of that door, you’ll regret it.”

His voice was cold and dripping with a clear threat.

I turned and met his angry, bloodshot eyes. In that instant, the last shred of affection I felt for him disappeared.

“Tristan, it is you who should be regretting this.”

With that, I walked away, not once looking back.

As I dragged my suitcase through the quiet, late-night streets, I called my best friend, Cindy Lennox.

The moment she picked up, I broke down in tears.

“Cindy, I… I think I’ve been a mistress for the past five years.”

I sobbed uncontrollably as I recounted everything to her, not leaving out a single detail.

Cindy was silent on the other end for a long time before her rage finally boiled over.

“Unbelievable! Tristan is a total piece of work. Don’t be afraid, Bianca. Where are you? I’ll come get you right now.”

At Cindy’s apartment, I drank the warm milk she gave me, and slowly, my emotions began to settle.

Cindy, a top lawyer, listened carefully to my account. Her legal expertise kicked in, helping her regain her calm almost instantly.

“Don’t panic, Bianca. We can’t let this slide. He’s deceived you for five years. That’s emotional fraud. Leave it to me. I’ll make sure he’s completely ruined and left with nothing.”

Seeing Cindy so enraged on my behalf, I felt a comforting warmth within me.

Yet, I had underestimated the depth of Tristan’s shamelessness and cruelty.

Early the next morning, I woke up to Cindy’s piercing scream.

“Bianca, you need to see this! Tristan is unbelievable!”

I moved closer and saw a flood of news articles covering Cindy’s tablet screen.

The headline was jarring. [Renowned Entrepreneur Tristan Clarke Falls Victim to Honey Trap, Mistress’s Intimate Photos Leaked, Demands Exorbitant Divorce Payout.]

Below the article were several blurred images, but they were still easily identifiable as my private photos.

The comments section was full of harsh insults.

[She looks so innocent, but turns out she’s just a gold-digger.]

[Women will do anything for money these days. She deserves to be exposed.]

[Home-wrecking mistresses like her deserve to be put through the worst!]

My blood seemed to freeze in my veins, and my limbs went numb.

Never had I imagined that the man who once showered me with sweet words and tender care could suddenly turn on me with such malice.

Just then, the doorbell rang with an urgent, frantic tone.

Cindy and I locked eyes. We both recognized the wariness in each other’s gaze.

“Who is it?” Cindy peered through the peephole, and her face instantly turned a deep shade of anger.

She threw the door open and barked, “Tristan, how dare you show up here? Get lost!”

Tristan acted as if he had not heard a word. He lightly pushed past Cindy, who was standing in the doorway, and walked straight in. His eyes immediately fixed on mine.

He glanced at the tablet I was holding, and a sinister grin spread across his face.

“I see you’ve received my gift. Do you like it?”

“You despicable man!” I trembled with fury as I hurled the tablet to the floor.

“Don’t get worked up.” He took slow, deliberate steps toward me, his gaze radiating arrogant confidence. “I’ve warned you. Defy me, and you’ll regret it.”

Cindy rushed forward and stood in front of me. “Tristan, this is slander and an invasion of privacy. We can sue you for this!”

“Sue me?” Tristan snickered, as though he had heard the most ridiculous thing ever. He shot Cindy a contemptuous glance.

“What are you going to sue me for, Miss Lennox? What evidence do you have? Do you think a judge will believe the sob story of a mistress?”

He stepped around Cindy and leaned in close to me.

“Now, the whole world knows you’re nothing but a shameless gold-digger. And if I choose to, the next batch of photos won’t be blurred.”

I snapped my head up and met his cold, emotionless stare.

Tristan reached out, trying to caress my face, but I recoiled in disgust. His hand froze mid-motion, and his eyes darkened with malice.

“If you return to me quietly and stop trying to plot against me, I’ll let this go. Otherwise…”

He withdrew his hand and straightened up. The fake smile reappeared on his face.

“Bianca, I can elevate you to greatness, or bury you in the dirt, where you’ll never rise again.”

He was trying to strip me of my dignity and turn me into a puppet at his mercy.

I would never let that happen.