He Left Me for a Richer Bride

My boyfriend suddenly announced online that he was getting married in two months.

Everyone congratulated me on the culmination of our seven-year relationship, and I was so stunned I started preparing for a wedding I hadn’t expected to plan.

Then, at the door to the private room, I overheard him talking with his best friend.

“Adrian, your elimination system is insane. Picking one wife from nineteen lovers—only the best makes the cut.”

“Adrian won’t eliminate anyone else. Right now Serena is going up against the mistress she slept with most.”

“If you don’t marry your mistress in two months, aren’t you afraid Serena will be upset?” his friend asked.

He answered casually, “I’ll marry whoever performs best. That’s fair. It all depends on whether Serena can perform.”

Laughter filled the room. “Adrian, you’re so biased—you gave your mistress such a high score. Serena will definitely lose! It’s like trial by fire”

Adrian flashed a playful smile. “When two paths meet, the brave prevail. I gave her the chance — if she doesn’t win me, that’s on her.”

My body froze. My heart hammered so hard I could barely breathe. After a long, cold deliberation, I sent the man who had waited for me eight years a single message:

“No need to wait for a ten-year agreement. I don’t want him anymore.”

——

I still didn’t know who Adrian had cheated with. It felt absurd. Three months later, when the girl showed up on purpose, everything clicked into place.

“My name is Miranda Voss,” she announced, producing an elegant box. “I’m bringing Mr. Blackwell some health underwear.” She pulled the men’s underwear from its packaging with a defiant, knowing smile. “Mr. Blackwell ordered this yesterday but didn’t pick it up, so I brought it over. He likes wearing this.” She gave me a look that made the idea obscene. “Especially after sex — it’s good for your health.”

“He’s so addicted he has sex at least fifteen times a month. He needs to take care of himself.”

Fifteen times a month? Was she bragging about their frequency? My head spun, but I kept my face calm and looked straight at the childish girl in front of me. She looked barely grown—maybe eighteen or nineteen—cheap lipstick and rushed makeup failing to hide her youth.

“All right. Thank you. I’ll give it to him when he gets back.” I fished out a five-dollar note and held it out. “You must have traveled far. This is for your expenses.”

I’d already lost my place in that final round. I had imagined ripping her face off, shaving her head in fury. But when I saw Miranda’s juvenile expression and the way she clutched the money, my anger oddly cooled. There are plenty of men in the world. Let her have this unfaithful one.

She blinked, stunned that I didn’t explode. Then, venomous, she snatched the five dollars and slammed it back at me. “What do you mean, humiliating me with five dollars? Calling me a whore?!”

Rage flared and I slapped her. “Don’t insult whores. They only care about money — not people. You’re different.”

She clutched her face, furious and hurt. “Just wait,” she hissed.

She followed through on that threat. When Adrian stormed in, I was already packing my suitcase.

“Serena, why did you hit her? If you’ve got the guts, hit me instead. Why bully the weak?” he demanded.

I paused, clothes in my hands, fury rising like a tide.

Without hesitation, I slapped him.

Adrian froze, disbelief flashing across his face as if my hand had cut the air. He had always treated me like the gentlest person he knew; the idea that I could raise a hand at him seemed impossible to him.

“What—are you crazy?” His frown deepened and his voice climbed a register. Anger darkened his features as he stared at me, incredulous.

I met his gaze, every nerve raw. “I’m going crazy.”

That only inflamed him more. He pressed his thumb against his forehead, turned away for a second as if to steady himself, then jabbed his hand toward me. “She’s just a salesperson—why would you hit her? Don’t you know how important face is to a woman? If she calls the police, you’ll be fined 15,000 dollars for that slap!”

“Then let her call me,” I said.

His eyes narrowed, disgust and impatience in equal measure. “I don’t have time for this. Serena, you’re becoming unreasonable.” With that he slammed the door and left.

I felt oddly calm, but the tears wouldn’t stop. The man who’d once unnerved me because he mistook my quiet for weakness had finally shown his true colors. After seven years, all I walked away with was a single suitcase.

I paused in the living room I’d spent years arranging, imagining Miranda stepping into my shoes and erasing every trace of me. I could be petty and tear the place apart, or I could be lazy and let her have it. I chose laziness. Let her have him.

I moved into the small house I’d bought two years earlier. This was mine — I wasn’t running away forever.

Just as I folded the last shirt, my phone buzzed. Damien Korrigan. “Serena, I just woke up and saw your message. I’m overseas,” he said, apologizing for the delay because of the time difference. His voice was bright and shaky with excitement; I could hear him grinning through the line.

“Are you serious?” he asked, almost breathless. “You really mean you’ll keep the ten-year promise if we’re both single?”

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.

He laughed aloud. “I’ve got about two more months of work overseas. After that I’ll fly back and we’ll get the marriage certificate together. Deal?”

“Deal.” We talked for a long time until he had to go.

No sooner had I hung up than a bank notification popped up: 15,000 dollars had been transferred from my account.

Only Adrian knew all my passwords. We had no financial secrets. I called him, voice sharp. “Why did you take 15,000 dollars from me?”

“You slapped Miranda,” he said flatly. “That money’s compensation for her. I know you won’t apologize, but she can’t take a slap for nothing. You’ll be embarrassed if she calls the police. I’m doing this for your own good.”

As he spoke, Miranda’s coquettish voice chimed in on his end: “I just got out of the shower. Should I wear the nurse uniform or the student uniform today?” He cut the call off quickly, the guilty silence obvious.

My whole body trembled with fury. I texted him: “Return the money in one day, or I’ll call the police.”

In the middle of the night, my phone buzzed with a new friend request. I clicked “Agree,” and messages immediately popped up:

“Sis, I got your apology.”

“Don’t be naughty next time.”

“Still awake? Waiting for your boyfriend?”

“Sis, you’re old now. Staying up late just makes you age faster. Don’t wait for him—he’s already asleep.”

My chest burned with fury. I sent her a single warning:

“If you don’t return the money within one day, I’ll call the police.”

She replied with a tongue-out emoji, smug and taunting. For the first time, I felt a flicker of fear.

The next day, I went to Adrian’s private room at the bar to demand my card and money back.

But just as my hand touched the doorknob, I froze. Voices carried through the door.

“Adrian, why do Serena’s scores keep dropping? She’s at thirty now, while Miranda is a hundred!”

“How does Miranda please you? From what you’ve said, your bride in two months will definitely be her.”

“If Serena found out, wouldn’t she be devastated? She’s loved you for seven years.”

Adrian’s voice came, careless and mocking:

“Miranda deserves a hundred. She’s young, she pleases me, she doesn’t nag. If Serena were better than her in even one thing, she wouldn’t be rated so low.”

Someone laughed. “So if you marry Miranda, will you break up with Serena?”

He smirked. “Break up? Why bother? I still sleep with her sometimes. She’s easy to handle—a perfect mistress.”

My heart felt as if it had been ripped apart by claws. My whole body trembled. Seven years of devotion—all rotted away in an instant.

Without hesitation, I dialed 911.

“My ex-boyfriend stole 15,000 dollars from me. Please help.”

The police arrived quickly. I pushed open the door with them at my side. Adrian’s face went rigid, like he’d just swallowed poison. He glared at me.

“How long are you going to act like this? You stormed off in a fit, and I didn’t chase you down. And now this?”

I stared at him coldly. “I don’t need your comfort. We’re over. Give me back my money.”

He laughed bitterly. “Your money? Fine. Money it is.” He yanked a bank card from his wallet and slammed it onto the table. “Take two hundred thousand!”

His friends quickly smoothed things over, telling the police it was just a couple’s quarrel. I swallowed my humiliation, took the card, and left. Behind me, I heard one of them mutter in disbelief:

“Serena was always so gentle. How could she suddenly call the police on Adrian? What’s gotten into her?”

That night, my mother called with her familiar, earnest tone.

“Adrian told me you need to control your temper. Don’t misunderstand him and that salesperson. And hitting people—how could you do that? He said to come back once you’ve cooled down. You two are getting married soon, so stop making a fuss.”

My mother adored him. For years, Adrian had courted her favor with gifts on holidays and frequent phone calls. She treated him like her own son, always taking his side whenever we argued.

“I broke up with him,” I said flatly.

She didn’t believe me. She went on lecturing, assuming I was just being hotheaded again.

Meanwhile, Damien had returned earlier than expected. He was nervous, afraid I might change my mind.

He took time off and flew back early so we could get the marriage certificate first.

I teased him, “I’m not someone who breaks promises. How could I possibly run?”

He gripped my hand and slowly interlaced our fingers like a child delighted with a new toy. The usually composed man looked small and happy.

“I was so afraid you’d run,” he admitted. He couldn’t wait another second; he dragged me straight to the registry. Only when the certificate sat heavy in our hands did his relief feel complete.

That night, on our wedding night, Adrian texted: “Okay, I’m not angry anymore. Come back soon. The house feels empty without you.”

I didn’t reply.

The day after, Damien had to leave for overseas work. Before he left he pressed an unlimited gold bank card and keys to his villa into my hands. Then I moved, got back to work, and tried to stitch my life together.

Then Miranda showed up at the boutique asking me—insincerely—to design her wedding dress. “I heard you’re the best. Why don’t you make mine?” she purred. “Money’s no object.” She flashed a card I immediately recognized as Adrian’s account—eleven million dollars sitting in plain sight.

I kept it professional and drafted designs to her specs. She hated every one. When she realized I wasn’t crumbling, she goaded me. “My wedding to Adrian is coming. Can you even handle that?”

“A great designer wouldn’t be this calm, right?” she laughed. “No wonder he dumped you—you’re like a dead fish.”

I met her with cold clarity. “At least I’m not a chicken, clucking all day.”

She snapped, raised a hand to slap me, and I caught it mid-air. “If you don’t want the world to know you’re a mistress, go on—play the part.” She wrenched free and glared like a spoiled queen.

She finally picked the most extravagant gown in the house and demanded, “Help me try it on.”

“This dress is twenty million dollars,” I warned. “Once you sign, there’s no return.”

She scoffed. “You’re such a pauper. My husband can afford anything. He won’t waste it on someone like you.”

I said nothing — secretly savoring the thought of him going bankrupt. I helped her into the dress. Halfway up the back zipper she flopped to the floor, feigning pain and accusations: “You’re pinching me! It’s not my fault he doesn’t want you!” Her sobs were perfectly timed.

She called Adrian. He arrived moments later, saw her on the floor, and immediately turned on me. “Serena, where did you learn to be such a shrew?” he spat. “I’m so disappointed in you.”

I laughed, because his disappointment felt hollow. Miranda moaned and clutched at him. He gathered her to his chest like a saint and, without ceremony, slapped me — hard.

It was the first time he’d ever hit me. The slap stunned me into silence. I was about to fight back when my boss—who happened to be on friendly terms with Adrian—stepped in and put a hand between us.

He stepped between us and urged everyone to calm down, but Adrian’s anger didn’t cool. Turning to my boss, he said, “Her temper’s getting worse. Send her on a six-month overseas assignment—let her calm down.”

“If Miranda hadn’t been so kind, she’d have been locked up long ago.”

My boss gave me an awkward look. He ran an overseas wedding-dress branch—in the same city Damien was working in. Without thinking, I said, “I’ll go.”

The next day Adrian leaned on my boss until the transfer was arranged. He messaged me, “Calm down. I’ll pick you up at Lunar New Year,” then posted online: “Wedding postponed. My girlfriend is unmanageable. We’ll see.”

I moved overseas with Damien and, not long after, I was pregnant. The next time I saw Adrian, my belly was already showing. He and Miranda were in my restaurant; he looked wild with excitement and stared at my bump as if it were a prize. “Serena, I was coming to find you—our baby’s almost here. Why didn’t you tell me?”