Chapter 4The Husband Who Was The Mistress

I walked out of the government building, the useless piece of paper fluttering in my hand. I started to laugh, and the laughter turned into ragged, choking sobs.

So that’s what she was going to say in the hospital.

It wasn't an affair. I wasn't the husband being cheated on. I was the mistress. I was the side-show. I was the third wheel in my own life.

I was wandering aimlessly when a black SUV screeched to a halt beside me. Two men jumped out and threw me into the back seat. Monica was there, her eyes red and swollen.

“Logan! I told you to stay away from Dexter! Are you trying to destroy him?”

She shoved her phone into my face.

SCANDAL: Brooks Heir Caught in BDSM Affair at Funeral; Brooks Group Stock Plunges.

The video on the screen was a grainy, hidden-camera shot. The background was unmistakable: it was the funeral home where my parents had been laid to rest three years ago.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Dexter’s father had a heart attack. The family had him whipped—he’s in the ICU right now! He worked for years to become the heir, and you ruined it in a second!”

I stared at her, bewildered. I was so sick back then; I barely remembered the funeral. How could I have filmed anything?

“You think I did this?”

Monica’s fury spiked. “Who else would want to hurt him like this? You’ve pushed me too far, Logan.”

She tapped her phone and sent a file. Then, she ordered the driver to the city center.

“Dexter and I got married a year ago,” she said, her voice trembling with a cruel sort of triumph. “He’s my legal husband. Out of pity for you, he let you have the ‘wedding.’ He was willing to be the invisible man just so you wouldn't break. And this is how you repay him?”

“You like posting videos?” she hissed. “Fine. Let's see how you like this one.”

We pulled up to the tallest skyscraper in the city, the one with the massive LED screens. My heart stopped.

On the giant screens, visible to thousands of commuters, a video began to play.

It was my mother. The night of the bankruptcy. The men who had broken into our house were humiliating her, laughing as she begged for mercy. It was the deepest, most private trauma of my life.

“Stop it,” I whispered. “Monica, stop it!”

But she wasn't done. The car sped toward the outskirts, toward the abandoned apartment building where my parents had jumped.

Monica’s smile was demonic. “Since you love funerals so much, why don't we visit them one last time?”

Several of her family's men were already on the roof. They were holding two ceramic urns.

My parents’ ashes.

“No! Stop! Please!”

I tried to lunged out of the car, but the guards pinned me to the pavement. I watched, screaming, as they tilted the urns. A gray cloud of ash spilled into the wind, scattering over the trash and the dirty concrete of the alleyway.

“Drag him up there,” Monica commanded. “Lock him in that building until Dexter wakes up. Let him think about what he’s done.”

By the time they dragged me to the roof, the urns were empty. I fell to my knees, clawing at the dust and gravel, trying to find any trace of them, let alone a goodbye. I let out a sound that wasn't human—a raw, broken howl of agony.

In the car below, Monica’s assistant winced. “Ma’am... is this too much? He’s unstable. If he has an episode...”

Monica scoffed, her eyes cold as she watched the building. “There are no ‘episodes.’ It’s just fake ash—I had the urns swapped. It’s a lesson. He needs to learn that for every action, there’s a consequence. Dexter is the victim here.”

Her phone rang. It was the hospital. Dexter was awake.

Without another look at the building, she ordered the driver to go. She spent the night by Dexter’s side, managing the PR crisis and ensuring the scandal was buried. Only when his vitals were stable did she finally relax.

“The heat is off Dexter,” she told her assistant. “Call the guys at the apartment. Tell them to bring Logan here. He’s going to apologize to Dexter on his knees.”

Just as the assistant reached for his phone, the hospital’s waiting room TV flashed an emergency bulletin.

“Breaking News: A man has just jumped from the roof of the Willow Street Apartments. Witnesses say he was clutching two empty urns. The victim was pronounced dead at the scene. Viewer discretion is advised...”