1 Seven years long-distance. I quit my job, hid it from my boyfriend, and traveled far to Seaview City—for a surprise proposal and wedding. At the desk, a sharp-eyed receptionist eyed me oddly when I asked for Eric. “He’s in a meeting. Wait.” I frowned—Eric hadn’t mentioned a promotion. Last week he’d moaned about work stress, saying promotion was distant. Turning, I overheard: “Is that his side piece?” “Brave, showing up here.” “Mrs. Hillman will go mad if she finds out.” I moved to explain—Eric wasn’t married; I was his real girlfriend. But the door opened, revealing a woman in Chanel. Receptionists fell silent, greeting, “Madam.” She was on the phone, sweet: “Darling, I’m downstairs. Come get me—prenatal appointment!” A deep, familiar voice replied, adoring: “Alright, my queen. Meeting’s almost over. Wait in the lounge.” That voice—Eric’s. For seven years. Like my heartbeat. … Thud. My handbag slipped from my grasp, hitting the polished marble floor. As I bent to retrieve it, a crumpled prenatal report fluttered from my bag to my feet. Twelve weeks pregnant. The father's name, printed starkly on the form, was Eric Hillman. Around that time, Eric had always claimed to be swamped, only picking up my calls once a week. Once, when he finally agreed to a video call, I’d spotted a hickey on his neck. “Mosquito bite,” he’d explained quickly. “Elara, all these years apart, have you ever seen me with anyone else?” I’d believed him, even apologized, blaming my own overthinking. Now, he was someone else’s husband. And soon, a father. The woman, noticing the report, picked it up and handed it to me with a polite smile. Seeing me frozen, she asked, “Are you here to see Eric too?” I nodded. “Then let’s go up together. My husband’s meetings always run long.” That word. Husband. It pierced my heart without warning, leaving a raw, bleeding wound. In the guest lounge, she introduced herself as Clara Vance, the treasured daughter of the Vance family of Seaview City. “My husband’s just stubborn, always saying he’s too busy, but he comes to every prenatal check-up.” She stroked her belly, her tone complaining but her eyes sparkling with affection. “He’s been working late a lot lately, says he needs to earn enough for the baby’s formula. As if the whole company isn’t his anyway, making up excuses to humor me.” My knuckles whitened as I clutched my bag, fighting to rein in the burning rage inside. Eric had told me he was just an ordinary employee, sidelined and struggling for promotion. Seven years of long distance, and he’d used the distance as an excuse, constantly postponing our marriage. So, after finishing my last project at work, I’d immediately quit, rushing to Seaview City to marry him. Footsteps approached from the corridor. Several men in crisp suits passed the guest lounge, nodding respectfully to Clara. “Mrs. Hillman, waiting for Mr. Hillman again?” When Eric walked into the lounge, his colleagues immediately started teasing him. “Mr. Hillman, your wife’s here to check up on you!” Clara flung herself into his arms. “Darling, I’ve been waiting so long my back hurts.” Eric naturally put his arm around her waist. Then he looked up, saw me, and his smile faltered, freezing on his face. It was only a second before he regained his composure, his voice chillingly distant. “What are you doing here?” Clara turned to me, a curious tilt to her head. “Darling, who is this?” His colleagues exchanged glances, quickly jumping in to explain for Eric, their voices full of knowing smiles. “What else could she be? Just a friend of Mr. Hillman’s, of course.” “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hillman, everyone knows how devoted Mr. Hillman is to you.” Eric took a step forward, subtly positioning himself between Clara and me. His explanation was polite, yet utterly detached. “She’s a… university acquaintance.” He then turned to his assistant. “Please escort this young lady out. We wouldn’t want to disrupt anyone’s work.” I stared at him, incredulous. His gaze, however, was entirely fixed on Clara. As the assistant approached to usher me away, Eric was already taking Clara’s hand, playfully flicking her nose. “Come on, my little queen, let’s get you to your appointment.” Clara stood on tiptoe to kiss him, her voice a purr. “You’re the best, darling.” As they passed me, Clara glanced back. “Darling, isn’t it a bit rude to leave your acquaintance standing there?” Eric didn’t even turn around. “Just a casual acquaintance, hardly important. You are.” Tears welled, then spilled down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Passing employees watched my humiliation with mocking fascination. Ten years of shared life, seven years of long distance, traveling over a thousand miles… all for a dismissive “casual acquaintance.” On my phone, a message from Eric, sent just three days ago, still lay unread: Elara, just a little more time. Once my job is stable, I’ll marry you. For those words, I’d quit my job, traveled across the country. I never imagined it was all a lie. 2 My phone vibrated, a new message from Eric flashing on the screen. Go back with the assistant. I’ll explain later. I stared at the terse message, my heart twisting. Finally, I couldn't hold back, typing: Why did you lie to me? Eric’s reply was cold: Just go back. Behave. Don't make a scene at the office entrance. It hit me then. Every time I’d suggested visiting Seaview City, he’d found an excuse to put me off. He was afraid of me showing up, afraid of being exposed, afraid of his embarrassment. I looked up to see a huddle of employees, their phones out, filming me. “The mistress dares to show up? How shameless!” “So young, so many other things to do, but she chose to be a home-wrecker.” I quickly raised my hand to cover my face, my voice choked with sobs. “I’m not a mistress! Eric lied to me…” All I got in return was a chorus of laughter. The assistant grabbed my suitcase and almost shoved me into a waiting car. Thirty minutes later, it pulled up to a sprawling villa. Eric, who’d told me he was cramped in a tiny rented apartment, lived here. I’d even worried he wasn’t doing well in Seaview City, sending him half my salary every month. The assistant pushed me inside, and I heard the click of the lock as the door shut behind me. “You can wait for Mr. Hillman here.” A faint scent of perfume hung in the air. I’d smelled it on Eric a few months ago, when he’d visited Fairview. I turned, and my blood ran cold. On the living room wall hung a colossal wedding photo. Eric, in a black suit, embraced Clara, who was radiant in a white gown. The date in the bottom right corner screamed at me. The day they took their wedding photos was also my birthday. The first birthday Eric hadn't spent with me. He'd said work was too demanding, he couldn't get away. Frantically, I rushed into the bedroom. The walls were covered with photos of Eric and Clara. In the closet, a slinky lace nightgown hung next to Eric’s shirts. The dresser overflowed with luxury brand cosmetics. The last sliver of hope shattered completely when I saw the almost-empty box of condoms on the nightstand. So, Eric's "busy" meant building a family with another woman. I sank to the cold floor, burying my face in my hands, crying uncontrollably. I hadn’t come from much. My parents were farmers, and I’d fought tooth and nail to get into a big city university. Any moment I wasn’t in class, I was working part-time off-campus, which was how I met Eric. I was a scholarship student from the countryside, he was a rebellious heir who’d fled his family’s expectations. We had no family support, only ourselves. Months later, we were a couple, and our classmates had jokingly called us the "struggling sweethearts." We truly were broke back then. But for every birthday, Eric would somehow scrape enough money together to buy me a gift I loved. He’d eat only two meals a day just to save up for a branded lipstick. He always said, “Other girls have these things, and you shouldn’t go without.” No matter how tough things got, he always made sure I was cared for. After graduation, I stayed in Fairview, while Eric moved to Seaview City. I rented a discounted apartment in Fairview, just eight hundred a month. Eric came back every weekend. We’d lose ourselves in each other in the darkness, the old bed creaking under our weight. He’d kissed away the tears from my eyes, his voice hoarse, promising, “Elara, once my job is stable, I’ll marry you.” To save enough for our wedding, I worked relentlessly, often staying late until two in the morning. Eventually, my body gave out, and I collapsed at work. When Eric found out I was sick, he immediately took time off and rushed to the Fairview hospital. He’d cursed me for being foolish, then gripped my hand, his eyes red-rimmed. Eric had tried to take more leave to stay and care for me, only to be torn apart by his superiors. It was the first time I’d seen him so humbled, a bitter smile on his face. I’d begged him to go back to work, not to worry about me. But he’d looked at me, utterly serious. “Elara Ewing, nothing is more important to me than you.” In that moment, I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Eric loved me. And it was that unwavering belief in his love that carried me through seven long years. 3 When Eric returned home, he found me with swollen, tear-stained eyes. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his gaze filled with sorrow. “Elara, I’m so sorry.” “My father passed away unexpectedly, and I had no choice but to return to Seaview City to inherit the family business. Your background… it’s too humble. My family elders would never allow me to marry you.” I couldn’t bear to hear another word. I sobbed, pushing him away. “So you married someone else? Eric, what was seven years of long-distance for?” Eric stood above me, his eyes regaining their cold composure. “Elara Ewing, I’m the head of the Hillman family. I have responsibilities. Clara and I are from similar backgrounds; our marriage is a beneficial alliance for both families.” “Clara said, as long as you’re discreet, she’s willing to look the other way, to let you stay with me.” I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face. Eric leaned down, gently wiping away the tears. “Elara, you’ve been with me all these years. I won’t mistreat you. If you want to stay in Seaview City, I’ll arrange for you to work at the company as my assistant.” But instead, I slapped him. His eyes widened in shock as I grabbed my suitcase and rushed out the villa door. As I sped away in a taxi, Eric sent a voice message. “Elara Ewing, don’t be foolish. Hillman Corp isn’t a place just anyone can walk into. I’m giving you three days to think this over.” Then, he transferred ten thousand dollars to my account. Before, to maintain his carefully constructed image, he’d never sent more than a hundred. Now, ten thousand. I didn't reply, sending the money back. After finding a temporary place and settling in, I reopened my phone. The internet was on fire. Someone had posted a video of me at the company entrance. My frantic, cornered expression in the video was brutally humiliating. The trending topic declared Eric was cheating, and his mistress had brazenly shown up. I, his legitimate girlfriend, was now being reviled as a homewrecker. In a fit of desperate defiance, I uploaded our entire relationship history, including screenshots of our messages. The timeline clearly showed that Eric and I had been together long before his marriage to Clara. The tide of public opinion immediately turned, and the entire internet condemned him as a scumbag. Eric called several times, but I ignored them all. A few minutes later, Clara posted a photo of her marriage certificate on social media, claiming her and Eric’s marriage was harmonious, and accusing me of faking everything for clout. Hillman Corp’s PR team swiftly intervened, declaring my chat logs were “fabricated” and threatening me with a defamation lawsuit. Influencers and gossip sites went wild, spreading rumors, branding me as a mistress who’d provoked the wife. The comments section of my post was completely overwhelmed. “Mistress’s attack failed, even got a legal warning, hilarious!” “The real wife wins, of course. A few words and this arrogant mistress is crushed!” “Being a mistress, destroying someone else’s family, and trying to get clout? Disgusting!” My DMs were flooded with insults, some even wishing me dead. Half an hour later, my posts vanished, and my account was banned. It was then I understood for the first time how utterly powerless I was in the face of absolute wealth and influence. My phone rang again and again. I wouldn’t answer, but they wouldn't stop calling. Finally, reluctantly, I picked up. It wasn’t Eric. It was Clara. “Miss Ewing.” Her laugh was laced with disdain. “Let’s talk.”
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