Fake Husband, Real Affair

Chapter 1

In the second year of our marriage, my husband, Sean Everstone, and his so-called adoptive sister posted a photo of a marriage certificate on social media.

When I confronted him, he snapped, clearly annoyed.

"Mischa and I have a show coming up. It's just for publicity. Can you stop overreacting?"

Later, I found out our own marriage certificate was fake. That's when he stopped pretending.

He publicly declared his love for Mischa, seized control of my family's assets, and his actions even contributed to my mother's sudden illness. The final blow? They were being so affectionate in our home, they knocked over my mother's urn. I completely lost hope that day.

For two years, Sean barely spent any time with me.

This morning, I checked his latest social media update. There it was: a photo of two marriage certificates arranged into the shape of a heart, with the caption:

"My one true love. Forever yours. @Mischa is just too adorable."

Mischa Preston , his junior apprentice. She'd followed him since her debut, practically glued to his side.

I called him immediately. He answered in his usual gentle voice,

"Hey, Krystal. What's going on?"

I didn't sugarcoat it.

"What's that post supposed to mean? You're my husband, and you just registered a marriage with my stepsister? Are you seriously playing games with me right now, Sean?"

His tone instantly turned cold.

"Krystal, it's for a show. Marketing. Can you stop being so dramatic? I'm working my ass off, filming late every night. Who do you think I'm doing all this for? The family, right? The least you could do is be a little more understanding."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my voice to stay calm.

"Mom's birthday is coming up… Can we at least have dinner together?"

He sighed, clearly wanting to end the call.

"We'll see."

Right before he hung up, I could've sworn I heard a woman's voice in the background , soft, cautious.

"Was that Krystal? Does she know about us?"

My chest tightened. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe not.

People on set had warned me about Sean and Mischa more than once.

I called again. This time, a robotic voice cut through the silence:

"The number you dialed is currently unavailable."

The silence in the room was deafening. I could hear my own heartbeat getting louder. Outside, the rain slammed against the windows like someone had cranked up the volume.

Was Sean caught in this downpour? He'd catch a cold for sure.

He'd told me how rough it was filming in the mountains , the rain, the bugs, the sleepless nights. So I quit my job, found an apartment near his set, and moved in. It wasn't ideal, kind of remote, no parking , but it was the best one available.

And now? The storm outside was brutal.

I grabbed an umbrella, threw on a raincoat, and headed downstairs to wait for him. Maybe he forgot his umbrella. He always forgot his umbrella.

The wind howled, and the rain came down like a curtain, everything blurry and washed-out. I hugged my coat tighter around me.

After a while, a sleek black Maybach pulled into the lot.

I immediately ran toward it with the umbrella.

"You're so slow," I said, trying to smile. "Didn't you see me waiting?"

Sean hunched his shoulders as he stepped out of the car, squinting through the rain.

"It's coming down too hard. I couldn't see anything."

I reached for his arm, wanting to pull him under the umbrella and hurry inside.

But he brushed past me.

Without a word, he took the umbrella from my hand… and walked straight to the passenger side.