He Is Not My Knight in Shining Armor, Just a Deceitful Opportunist

On our anniversary, Lenard Donovan tricked me into bringing my self-designed wedding dress, claiming it was for a commemorative photoshoot.

However, when we arrived at the destination, I realized it was a wedding venue.

Everyone I knew—friends from school and childhood—were there, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and mockery.

“Faye actually brought her wedding dress. I told you, if we just mentioned a photoshoot, she’d fall for it.”

“She’s so eager to replace Arlene’s place, but it seems like she only made a fool of herself.”

“Faye,” she began tearfully, “my mom is in the late stages of cancer. Her last wish is to see me get married. Lenard only did this because he felt sorry for me. Please, help me this once.”

Lenard immediately reached out to pull Arlene to her feet, his expression filled with guilt as he looked at her. Then his gaze shifted to me, cold and accusing.

“Is it really necessary to make her kneel? If you think my decision to help her is an attack on your ego, then maybe we should just break up right now. So, you can go be with any man you want.”

I nodded, accepting his proposal without hesitation. If that’s how little I meant to him, then so be it. I turned around, found a new partner and married someone else. A month after receiving my marriage certificate, he called me.

“Isn’t a month enough for you to self-reflect?” he asked, his tone full of mockery. “Cut out the drama. I’ll take you to the registry office, get our married certificate and throw you the best wedding ever as soon I get back.”

But before I could respond, another voice chimed in, this one amused yet firm:

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your chance, Lenard. You won’t be getting a marriage certificate with her anymore. Because she’s already your aunt now.”

***

It all started on our anniversary. For the first time, Lenard called me, his voice unusually gentle. “Let’s take a commemorative photo for our anniversary. Don’t forget to bring the wedding dress you designed. It suits the occasion.”

“Sure,” I replied, barely able to hide the excitement in my voice.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. After three years together, our relationship had always felt like it was living in the shadow of Lenard’s past. Most of the time, I listened to stories about him and his ex. His friends never hesitated to remind me of how important she had been in his life. He’d quit smoking and drinking for her. He kept entire photo albums of their time together, cherishing every moment. Even years later, he still celebrated their anniversary, revisiting those memories as though nothing had changed.

I always envied their connection. I longed for something of our own, something special. So, one day, during a group gathering, I finally asked, “Can we create a photo album for our anniversary too?”

His response was swift, cutting through my hopes like a blade.

“I’ll never take pictures like that with anyone but her,” he declared loudly, making sure everyone heard.

“You’re not Arlene. Stop trying to be like her. You’re not even a hair’s breadth better than her.”

His friends laughed and the sting of their mockery didn’t stop there. From that moment, the teasing grew relentless.

“She’s nothing compared to Arlene.”

“Arlene’s back. It’s just a matter of time before she gets dumped.”

“Just because she’s been with Lenard a little longer doesn’t mean she’s on Arlene’s level.”

“I can’t wait to see her humiliated.”

Lenard overheard these comments more than once, but his response was always the same: a half-hearted mutter, “Don’t go too far.” He never actually defended me. Every time I confronted him about it, he turned away, as if my pain didn’t matter to him.

I thought our relationship had reached its breaking point, but then he changed.

He started calling me first. He suggested we celebrate our anniversary properly. He wanted to take a commemorative photoshoot, something I’d always wanted.

I was overjoyed. I spent hours getting ready, trying on several different makeup looks, wanting to present my best self for this special moment.

But when I arrived at the location, I froze. The so-called photoshoot venue wasn’t what I’d imagined at all. It wasn’t just a place for portraits—it was a full-on wedding scene.

A knot of unease twisted in my stomach.