He Left Our Wedding Bed Because She Was New

Our wedding night was barely over. Rhys held me, still warm from our bodies, and then he said it:

“I have a mistress, and it’s her birthday tonight. I need to go be with her.”

My mind went numb, my ears ringing with a sharp, high-pitched static.

“If you love someone else, why did you marry me?”

He got up and began to dress. The hickey I’d left on his neck was still raw.

“Ava, I love you the most, but she’s new.”

“We’ve been together too long, sweetheart. I needed the edge, the thrill.”

My throat tightened, my voice trembling. “So, on our wedding night, you’re leaving me to go celebrate with another woman?”

“The act of the wedding night is officially over,” he corrected me. He bent down and gently pinched my cheek. “She’s young, she’s dramatic, and she needs constant attention. You’re Mrs. Lockwood now. You need to be the bigger person.”

“And if I can’t be the bigger person?”

He looked like he’d been waiting for that question. He smiled faintly.

“Then we divorce. But you walk away with nothing but the clothes on your back. Think about that, hmm?”

I collapsed onto the messy sheets, the evidence of our recent passion still heavy around me.

The silk wedding banner hanging on the wall was a violent, angry red—like a slap across my face.

1

Perhaps the despair on my face was too profound, because Rhys sighed and gently stroked my hair.

“Remember the day you tried on your dress? I was in the fitting room right next to yours. That’s when I took her virginity.”

“She was so scared to make a sound, she just choked on it—a tiny, pathetic sound like a kitten. That kind of heat, that forbidden rush—you couldn’t give me that. Do you understand?”

The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice, yet the tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

That day, I had been overflowing with joy, floating in the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. I came out, looking everywhere for him, but he was gone.

When I called him, his voice was tight. He said he had an urgent deal he couldn’t put off. I thought he was stressed, and I stupidly comforted him, telling him not to work too hard.

Rhys caught one of my tears on his thumb, his voice sickeningly soft. “I didn’t want to miss a second of you in that dress, but that little firecracker was too clingy. We didn’t get out of bed for a full day.”

I stared blankly at the ceiling, unblinking for so long my eyes dried out.

Rhys clicked his tongue, took my hand, and kissed my palm. “I’m sorry, Ava. I know you’re hurt. If we have to divorce, I’ll give you a mansion downtown as compensation.”

“But if you stay, if you tolerate this for me, everything I have is yours. My life, my wealth, and yes, even my heart.”

Today was supposed to be the single happiest day of my life. I had married the man I’d loved for eight years—a century-defining wedding, a million-dollar ring. It was a fairy tale five minutes ago.

Now, I was a crying mess, asking him like an idiot: “Why did you tell me? Why tonight?”

Rhys gently wiped my tears, his eyes filled with something close to pity. “My sweet girl, because I feel awful for you. I know I’m rotten, but since we’re married, I owe you the truth.”

He paused, then suddenly chuckled. “Of course, there’s another reason. I was so looking forward to this moment. Seeing you broken, just like this. It makes me feel… protective. It makes me want to make it up to you even more.”

“So, don’t divorce me, okay? I’ll still love you just like before, hmm?”

I slapped him. Hard.

Then I grabbed anything I could reach and threw it at him, screaming until my lungs burned.

“Get out! Get the hell out!”

Rhys tilted his head, wiped the corner of his mouth, and stood up, still smiling a little. He smoothed his collar and walked toward the door.

“Ava, just cool down.”

“I’m going to go celebrate with the girl now.”

The door shut softly.

I saw my reflection in the diamond on my hand—a raging lunatic. I curled up in the corner of the bed, tearing at my own hair, banging my head against the wall until the pain blurred and consciousness finally retreated into darkness.

The instant my eyes closed, I was eight years younger.

In a cramped room, Rhys stood between me and my abusive father, shielding me completely. His back was a bloody mess, and I screamed for them to stop.

The police siren finally blared. Rhys was missing a tooth, but he still smiled at me.

“Don’t be scared, Ava. No one will ever hurt you again.”

We lived under a bridge, scavenged for food, and his thin back was my only bed. Later, he worked construction and sales until he could finally afford a tiny one-bedroom walk-up.

He held me tight and whispered, “Ava, we have a home.”

Those memories were so beautiful, they kept me sinking into the dream for too long.

I woke up to my best friend’s text messages blowing up my phone.

“Ava! This has to be fake news! Rhys loves you too much, it’s a total lie!”

I numbly clicked the link she sent.

One glance was all it took. My entire body went rigid.

Rhys and his mistress had been caught having sex in an upscale rooftop restaurant. Hundreds of people saw. It was a global trending topic.

My hand shaking, I called him to demand an explanation.

His voice was hoarse. “That? Yeah, we got a little carried away. Didn’t want you to see it. The trending topic is a pain to get removed, too. If it bothers you that much, maybe you can help figure out a solution?”

Like a zombie, I used the last of my strength to drive to the address he’d sent me.

A flicker of memory: early in his career, he was courted by the heiresses of both a real estate magnate and a foreign trade giant. Everyone in the city was betting on which family he would marry into.

But Rhys shocked them all. He paid hundreds of media outlets to run one single quote:

“I have a girlfriend. I love her, and only death will part us.”

From that day on, the world knew Rhys loved me. Which is why his betrayal today felt so much more spectacular to the entire world.

I found Rhys’s second home. Outside the door, I ran into his assistant. The man’s gaze was so full of pity, my breath hitched.

I pushed the door open. Clothing was strewn everywhere.

Rhys was sprawled on the sofa, clutching a woman. He heard me and patted the woman’s back.

“Get dressed. My wife is here. Show some respect.”

The woman slowly pulled on her dress, pouting for him to zip the back. She turned to me and stuck out her tongue.

“Oopsie, so sorry, Sis. I really didn’t think Rhys would actually ditch you to be with me for my birthday. I got so excited, we just went a little crazy.”

She blinked, then gasped as if remembering something. “Oh, right, we didn’t use protection. But I’ll take the pill, okay? Don’t be mad.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth. My stomach churned, and I bent over, dry-heaving violently.

Rhys’s face darkened. He immediately jumped up to support me.

“Ava? What’s wrong? Are you sick? I’m taking you to the hospital!”

I shoved away his arms, trying to embrace me. Tears and the acidic taste of vomit mixed in a miserable, humiliating rush.

Rhys’s face hardened. He snarled at the mistress.

“Get out!”

She stomped her foot and whined. Rhys frowned, but still leaned in to kiss her softly.

“Stop, baby. I’ll have the assistant get your pill. And I’m yours again tonight, okay?”

She finally looked satisfied, tossing her lace underwear onto his shoulder before glaring at me and leaving.

Rhys carelessly flicked the scrap of fabric onto the sofa. He turned back, his tone shifting to concern, gently rubbing my back.

“Ava, feeling better?”

“I know this is hard to accept right now. I get it. So, if you want a divorce, I won’t blame you.”

I wiped the mess from my mouth and looked up, staring at him with eyes that were swollen and raw.

“Rhys, I’m not divorcing you.”

I couldn’t explain what I was thinking. Disgust, yes. Fury, absolutely. But mostly, it was refusal.

I didn’t want to cut my losses. I was like a gambler who’d lost everything, frantically clutching at the one remaining chip: the belief that he still loved me.

I cried, I screamed, I even held a knife to my own neck to threaten him.

Rhys finally caved, promising to cut ties with the other woman completely.

See? He still cared. If he loved me, maybe we could still go back.

But the retribution was swift. One month later, on my own birthday, intimate office photos of him and my best friend, Tatum, went viral.

The double betrayal was a dull knife to the throat. I physically retched and coughed up blood.

I spent all my energy writing scathing online posts and paying off media to ruin him.

But Rhys crushed my entire struggle with one casual move.

He produced a fabricated psychological evaluation and announced to the world that I was mentally unstable. At the same time, he sent Tatum to a top overseas university with a huge donation, telling reporters:

“Tatum is an exceptional woman, and I look forward to her returning home a master of her field.”

I was a public joke, a cautionary tale.

When the spotlights went out, Rhys took my hand, his voice laced with patronizing fondness, as if soothing a difficult child.

“Ava, you threatened your life last time. I was not happy. Sleeping with your best friend was just a small lesson for you.”

He sighed. “I understood, and I tolerated your moods, but I waited an entire month to get something new. You can’t stop a man’s nature.”

“I thought you two were close. I’m a little disappointed you made such a scene. Don’t push me like this again. You’ll regret it.”

The next day, he found a college student. To show how much he adored her—and to warn me—he sold our original one-bedroom walk-up.

That apartment held all our youthful memories. The tiny place where we once shared one cup of instant noodles, dreaming of a perfect future. He promised he would never fail me.

I fell to my knees, begging him. I told him he could take everything, just leave that one apartment.

I failed. The money went to the student’s expenses.

She lasted two months, then he traded her for a restaurant hostess.

My mind started to unravel. I shuffled between psychological clinics and alternative medicine practitioners, often leaving acupuncture treatments looking like a human pin cushion.

One day, I came home early and found Rhys coupling with yet another woman in our matrimonial bed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but it was the first time I’d seen it with my own eyes.

I lost it. I attacked them both, striking him, then hitting the woman until she had to go to the emergency room.

To appease his new conquest, Rhys had me committed to a psychiatric hospital.

Three days of electric shock therapy.

The day I came home, the bedroom door was locked. I could hear his strained breathing from inside.

“Ava, wait out there for a second. We’ll be done in a minute.”

I waited from afternoon until deep into the night.

When Rhys finally emerged, I had already slit my wrists with a kitchen knife.

I woke up in a hospital bed. He was by my side, eyes dark with exhaustion.

He clutched my hand, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Ava. I went too far this time.”

“But how can you use your life to make a point? If you truly can’t handle this, you can file for divorce. I promise to give you a generous settlement.”

In our eight years, we hadn’t been strangers to hardship. But he had suffered more than I had. I was fed; he starved. He collapsed at construction sites, by the side of the road, right in front of me.

That year, terrified that I would starve him to death, I tried to break up with him. I staged a hunger strike. That was the first time he ever cried, begging me not to leave.

“Ava, don’t go. If you leave, I really won’t make it.”

Now, lying in this bed, I gently touched his face and asked seriously: “Rhys, do you still love me?”

He squeezed my hand fiercely and kissed my palm again and again. “My sweet girl, how could I not love you?”

During my hospital stay, he was like the Rhys of old—the man who loved me most. We held hands, embraced, and made love, giving ourselves fully to each other.

But it was fleeting. He soon had someone new. A fragile, youthful girl in a summer dress, who stood behind him and shyly called me “Sister.”

I had a flash of déjà vu when I looked at her.

But Rhys wouldn’t let me get a closer look. He completely shielded the girl, and the look in his eyes—for the first time—was protective and wary.

“Madi is innocent, a simple soul. I had to chase her down. Any complaint you have, you direct it to me. She doesn’t understand anything. I have to protect her.”

In that moment, I knew. If I still held three percent of his heart, Madison owned the other ninety-seven.

He protected her completely; the media never got a photo of Madison.

He, who had always hated spicy food, accompanied her to eat an entire pot of blazing hot chili oil, clutching his stomach all the way to the emergency room.

He told her he couldn’t give her a title, so he transferred ten percent of his company stock to her.

On their hundred-day anniversary, he bought out the city’s fireworks show and set them off all night long.

I stood by the window, watching the dazzling display, my heart tearing apart.

I remembered years ago, when we were huddled under the bridge. We found discarded fireworks in a dumpster. He always gave them to me first. I never lit them right away; I saved them for my birthday or a special occasion. A small spark flared in the darkness, a poor, lonely flower bursting open.

Rhys would hold me tight from behind, his voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry, Ava. This is the best I can do for you now.”

“I swear, one day, I will show you the grandest, most beautiful fireworks the world has ever seen.”

Later, we had money. Our wedding was extravagant.

But I never saw a single firework.

I thought he’d forgotten.

He hadn’t forgotten. He just took the light and gave it to another woman’s night sky.

The final blow was the wedding he orchestrated for Madison. Every detail was planned by him. He invited all his closest friends and announced that Madison was his true love, the one he’d waited for all his life.

In that moment, seeing Madison in her white dress, the image of her merged with a shadow in my memory.

I went insane. I ran into the wedding, holding a knife, and screamed at him.

“Rhys! Why don’t you love me anymore?! Isn’t she just the ghost of the girl you shattered?!”

His first reaction was to shove Madison behind him. Then, he grabbed my arm and threw me down the grand staircase.

I collapsed on the ground, blood immediately soaking through my clothes.

I woke up in the hospital again. Rhys was standing nearby, his white shirt stained with dried, dark blood. His face was a mask of pain.

The doctor told me I’d lost the baby.

I couldn’t remember which one it was anymore. The third? The fourth?

I only remembered the beginning: too poor for decent birth control. Then, two ambitious young people sacrificing their bodies for their business. The first child was lost to malnutrition. The second, an accident after exhaustion.

The doctor had gently told me then that it would be difficult to conceive again. Rhys had hugged me, his eyes red. “It doesn’t matter, Ava. We’ll be child-free. I only need you.”

Now, this accidental child was gone, lost in this brutal way.

Rhys collapsed beside my bed, his shoulders shaking. He cried, swearing: “Ava, I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you. I won’t let you suffer another moment.”

But my soul had already drifted away with that unformed life.

He didn’t leave to be with Madison, but she showed up at the hospital herself. She carried a fruit basket. When she heard I’d lost the baby, her tears streamed down her face.

“Sister, I didn’t want to tell you now. I was scared you’d be sad.”

“But… I’m pregnant.”

The wire that had been stretched to the absolute limit finally snapped.

I grabbed the water cup on the bedside table and hurled it at her, screaming with all the air in my lungs:

“Get out!”

Rhys instantly shielded her. The cup shattered against his back. He spun around and roared at the nurses rushing in.

“Give her a tranquilizer!”

“You couldn’t keep your own child! Don’t you dare take it out on Madi!”

“I told you, take your anger out on me!”

The cold drug was pushed into my vein. The world began to spin and blur.

But I felt it clearly: the last shred of dignity that had kept me going until now had completely dissolved.

I stared at the ceiling blankly, silent tears streaming down my face.

Rhys let go of Madison. He looked at me with an expression of deep anguish, reaching out to embrace me like he always had.

The moment his hand touched my shoulder, I said:

“I agree.”

He froze, confused.

“I said, I agree to the divorce.”