Six Years Later My Ex Realized I Married His Boss

Six years. Six years after the ink dried on the divorce papers, I ran into Miles Kingston at The Sweet Spot Bakery. The cashier greeted him with a familiar, easy smile. “Professor Kingston, back for the strawberry shortcake for the wife? The usual, right? I’ll have it boxed up for you.” Miles gave a curt nod. He glanced at the two Mango Dream cakes I was having packaged, then turned back to the cashier. “Add hers to my tab.” I politely refused, already pulling out my phone to pay. But he was faster. His card was swiped before I could object. “Those cakes are ninety-eight dollars apiece, Anya,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, condescending tone. “You used to have to save up for ages just to treat yourself to one slice. I’m a university professor, I’m doing a little better financially than you are. Don’t be stubborn.” I still wouldn’t accept it. He surveyed my attire—a faded, borrowed trench coat—and sighed. “Anya, it’s been this long. Are you still holding a grudge?” I offered a thin, level smile. “You’re overthinking it.” My fingers traced the large, cool stone of the wedding band resting on my left hand. I had a new husband and a daughter I loved. I didn’t have the time or the energy to hold a grudge against him, or any other man, anymore.

Miles’s movements were too fast; he’d already paid. I insisted on paying myself. The cashier gave a flustered, apologetic laugh. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The Professor already took care of it. Maybe you can just transfer to him?” I turned to Miles, my voice clipped but polite. “Open your Venmo, please. I’m paying you back.” Miles sighed, a show of long-suffering patience, and gently pushed the packaged cake box into my hands. “Anya, just take it.” “Your birthday is in three days. Consider these two cakes my gift to you.” His tone was unexpectedly sincere. I ignored his words, my payment app still open. “Just scan my code.” “I don’t want to owe anyone.” Especially not him, and especially not over two cakes meant for my daughter’s afternoon snack. Seeing my stubborn refusal, Miles stood silently for a long moment before finally pulling out his phone. “You haven’t changed at all.” I kept my eyes down, initiating the transfer. He gently stopped my hand. “Anya, you don’t need to be so aggressive about this.” His gaze flicked over my worn jacket again, and he hesitated, a look of pity darkening his features. “I don’t miss a couple hundred dollars. You’d be better off using that money to buy yourself some new clothes.” I paused, then laughed a little. I’d been volunteering at the shelter today and had lent my own thick wool coat to a young woman who was bleeding through her clothes. It was autumn, and the air was getting chilly, so I’d borrowed the first spare jacket I found—a tired, heavy thing that belonged to a facility staff member. Miles clearly thought I was destitute, struggling to make ends meet. I didn’t bother to explain. “Thank you,” I said flatly, and turned to walk away. But his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “Let me drive you.” My body went rigid. I immediately yanked my arm free. “No need.” “Your wife might misunderstand.” Miles’s hand froze mid-air. He knew. Dahlia—his small, spoiled wife who was eight years his junior—was the master of petty drama and theatrical jealousy. “Anya…” He pressed on, gripping my wrist again. “How about we exchange numbers?” I looked down, silent. Six years ago, the divorce had been a disaster. We hadn’t just deleted and blocked all contact; we had sworn an oath of mutual destruction. I shook my head. “Let’s not.” “You don’t have to hold a grudge anymore, Anya. So much time has passed. I just want to know that you’re doing okay…” He insisted he wanted to add my number so he could Venmo me some money. “Consider it… compensation for the past.” I felt a sudden, sharp urge to laugh. Years ago, I’d fought tooth and nail, sacrificing every shred of my dignity, and hadn’t gotten a single cent of compensation. Now that I no longer needed him, he was running after me, offering a payout. “Honey, I called you! Why didn’t you answer? Who are you talking to?” Just as I was reeling, a young woman in a flashy pink coat skipped over and looped her arm through Miles’s. Seeing me, her smile faltered for only a second before snapping back into place. “Anya! It is you. What a coincidence! It’s been ages. We’ve been trying to find you for years, but no one knew where you went. Even your old colleagues thought you moved out of the country. Where have you been?” I looked at Dahlia Reed, quietly taking in the changes. I could barely recognize her. The needy, timid scholarship student with the frazzled hair and guarded eyes, who once wore plain, ill-fitting clothes. Six years of Miles’s careful cultivation had transformed her into a blinding, fiery red rose. My smile was cordial but distant. “I was abroad, yes.” Dahlia’s eyes widened in theatrical surprise. “Really?” “But Anya, I stopped by a few times after you left. They told me you were going to move back to the boonies, to your hometown…” She was a motor-mouth, but Miles cut her off before she could finish the jab. “Sweetheart, let’s leave the past where it is,” Miles said, giving her hair a familiar, indulgent ruffle. “Your cake is here. It’ll melt if you don’t eat it soon.” Dahlia nibbled on her small cake, talking through a mouthful. “Anya, we finally ran into you! Let us treat you to dinner.” “I know you hate us for what happened back then, but you helped me so much. You sponsored my four years of college. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you…” Dahlia sounded genuinely earnest, as if refusing her would be the height of poor manners. I glanced at my watch. The afternoon was still young. “Fine. I have an hour and a half.” They chose the restaurant. On the way, Dahlia chattered incessantly, occasionally even feeding Miles bits of cake from her mouth. Miles, aware of my presence, looked slightly stiff. He caught her hand when it reached his lips. “Behave, sweetheart. Anya is watching.” Dahlia gave a playful pout and stuck out her tongue. “Sorry, Anya! We’ve been married for a few years, and we’re just used to being like this. Sometimes we can’t even help kissing right in the middle of the street. Please excuse us.” I watched the flicker of smug triumph in her eyes and simply smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” I said calmly. “I got used to more intimate displays of affection back when you were in college—remember the study sessions in our home office? I learned to tune things out a long time ago.” The atmosphere instantly froze. Miles and Dahlia’s faces both paled. I continued walking ahead, my expression utterly serene. Before reaching the restaurant, we passed a fireworks shop. Dahlia immediately lit up. She dragged Miles inside. “Honey, you said you were going to set off fireworks across the whole city for my birthday in three days, didn’t you?” “I want to pick out the design first… You don’t mind, do you, Anya?” I smiled. “I don’t mind.” Miles, though, gave me a strange, complicated look before starting to browse the displays. “I’ll take this one,” he finally said. “The Sapphire Weeps.” I froze. Long-buried memories, things I thought I’d successfully forgotten, rushed back into my mind. Miles had truly loved me once. We had dated for four years and been married for six. Everyone in our circle said he was a legendary doting husband. He was a university professor, yet he always refused to socialize outside of work, and he would coldly turn down female students who asked for his number. Among the stacks of dense academic texts he had published, there was one slim volume titled A Declaration of Love. It was written just for me. The entire campus of Crestwood University celebrated our perfect, storybook romance. Even on my birthdays, he would orchestrate a huge, public fireworks display over the city skyline. But then, one day, while tidying his bookshelf, I accidentally found a hidden, intimate photo tucked inside his book. The girl was young, wearing a micro-mini skirt, sitting astride his lap, smiling at the camera. I recognized her instantly. It wasn’t just anyone. It was Dahlia Reed, the sweet student who always called me “Sister Anya,” the impoverished girl I had personally sponsored for three years. She was also his student. I had saved her once, on a rainy day, when she was cornered and harassed by a group of thugs in a dark alley. I brought her home, let her shower, and gave her dry clothes. She was initially terrified of Miles. I laughed and reassured her. “Don’t worry. Professor Kingston won’t bite.” She slowly grew bolder. She even began to cautiously seek Miles out in his study to ask for help with her coursework. Seeing them interact so easily made me feel a warm, maternal pride. Until I found the photos on Miles’s computer. After that discovery, I charged into the study, shrieking, hysterical. Sure enough, the student and the professor—the two who were supposed to be discussing academics—were intertwined, lost in each other on his desk. They scrambled, horrified, trying to cover themselves as I burst through the door. My dignity, my manners, everything was gone. I was screaming like a lunatic, demanding to know how he could cheat on me right under my own roof. Miles’s only concern was shielding the woman beside him. He covered her completely, then looked up at me, his eyes cold and furious. “Get out!” “Anya Lane, have some decency! We do!” I realized then that men are inherently cruel and heartless creatures. When they love you, they would give you their life. But when the love is gone, they’ll strip the skin from your bones. I smashed everything in the room I could get my hands on. I refused to believe it. The man I had loved for nearly ten years, and the girl I had sponsored and treated like a younger sister—they had been blatantly carrying on in my study, while I was downstairs cooking dinner. They were using the pretense of academic discussion to commit their sordid acts. I was trembling violently, my eyes bloodshot. I couldn’t accept any of it. Miles looked at me with open disgust, always shielding Dahlia behind him. “Anya Lane, you’re acting like a psychopath!” “You need to calm down. If you dare hurt Dahlia in any way, I will make you regret it.” Dahlia peeked out from behind him, sobbing uncontrollably, the red marks on her neck still visible. “Sister Anya, I’m so sorry. I know this is wrong…” “I know it’s immoral, but Miles and I truly fell in love…” “Please, I don’t need a title. I don’t want anything. Just let me be with Miles, please?” I was stunned into silence. “Don’t you know you’re the home-wrecker? The mistress?” “I don’t care!” Dahlia yelled back, as if she were fighting for her own life. “We have a physiological connection, Anya. Even if you hadn’t saved me, I already had feelings for the Professor at school, and he felt the same…” Watching her desperate, brave display, I recalled the rainy night I’d found her. Because I saved her, the thugs had targeted me for weeks after, until the police finally got involved. I had never regretted saving Dahlia. But that night, I hated myself for being so naive. Why had I ever given another woman the chance to get close to my husband? Ten years. I’d given him ten years. I couldn’t accept reality. I became disheveled, a frantic mess, endlessly demanding to know when it had started. Looking back, I was so foolish. What was the point of knowing the details? But then, I was only consumed by the white-hot rage of betrayal. “Anya, stop making a scene.” “Dahlia needs to focus on her studies. She won’t try to take your place. She doesn’t want your title. You will remain Mrs. Kingston.” Miles, now dressed, said this to me with a stunning lack of accountability. “You won’t have to sponsor Dahlia anymore. I’ll take care of her tuition now.” Dahlia never came to the house again. But their rendezvous spots grew bolder: coffee shops, restaurants, the library, and then hotels… I started tracking them like a stalker. Miles never worked on Saturdays, but after Dahlia came into his life, he was at the university every weekend. I followed him in a taxi. I found them in the parking lot, kissing passionately. Unable to control themselves, they crawled into the back seat of the car—the car I had bought him for his birthday. A few minutes later, the car began to shake with a slow, rhythmic motion. That time, I stormed up and smashed the windshield. It caused a huge scene, humiliating them both. But Miles was determined to protect her. He treated me like a mental patient and had campus security drag me away. For a long time after, I caused endless, undignified scenes. I put up banners at the university where Miles taught and even found Dahlia’s classroom. I wanted the whole world to know she was a homewrecker. She was the student I had sponsored; the person I had loved like a sister—I hated her with the same intensity now. I couldn’t understand why she had to fixate on my husband. I wanted everyone to know she was an ungrateful viper and Miles was the lowest kind of liar. Our love had become utterly unrecognizable. Afraid I would jeopardize Dahlia’s reputation and studies, Miles hired security guards to keep me under soft confinement. I self-harmed many times. The feeling of being discarded by the world was unbearable; I needed an outlet for the misery that was choking me. Miles used to worry if I got the smallest cut. But now, he grew increasingly impatient. Seeing the gashes on my arms, he would only shout at me with disgust. “Enough! If you’re going to kill yourself, do it somewhere else. What is this, some kind of pathetic plea?” “Anya Lane, I never intended to divorce you. If you had just looked the other way, like before, you could have been Mrs. Kingston for life.” “But now, I’m afraid you are no longer fit for the role.” Finally, I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. I was rushed to the hospital but survived. When I woke up, I was suddenly lucid. I signed the divorce papers. Six years, just like that. My thoughts snapped back. Dahlia had finished choosing the fireworks. “I want these, the Sapphire Weeps!” “Honey, I want the same kind you used to set off for Anya, the one that writes out the name when it explodes in the sky. I want you to write ‘Dahlia I Love You’…” Miles smiled indulgently, agreeing to every detail. They quickly selected a restaurant near Crestwood University. “Anya, this place is amazing. Miles and I come here all the time. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had food this good, hasn’t it?” Dahlia held the menu up, excitedly pointing out dishes. I kept my polite, thin smile. “I’ve had enough Western food while I was abroad. Just order whatever you like.” I heard that Dahlia struggled to find work after graduation. Miles used his connections to secure her a low-level administrative position at the university. Everyone praised them as a model couple. I heard the gossip and just smiled privately. People’s words were cheap. Dahlia’s eyes swept over my jacket with a complex mixture of pity and contempt. “Anya, what kind of work are you doing now?” I paused, then answered truthfully. “I’m not currently working.” Dahlia gave a look that said, I knew it. She sighed. “We really are sorry about the past, Anya. If you don’t have a job, Miles and I could help. I heard Crestwood University is hiring janitorial staff. I think you’d be a perfect fit…” Miles frowned slightly. “Dahlia!” “What, Honey? Did I say something wrong?” Dahlia’s face was innocent. “I’m just trying to be nice. Anya hasn’t been doing well, clearly. I want to help her.” Since I didn’t deny anything, Miles didn’t press. He just turned to me. “Dahlia can be thoughtless sometimes. Try not to take it personally.” I gave a half-smile. “Thank you. But you really don’t need to worry about my life.” Just then, my husband, Lincoln Caldwell, called. “Lan-Lan, I just picked up Autumn from school. Where are you?” “Didn’t you say you were craving hot pot? Autumn and I will come meet you.” My voice softened. “Okay. I’m at the bistro across from Crestwood University.” I hung up, and they both stared at me, suspicious. “Anya, you don’t have any family in the city anymore, do you? Who was that on the phone?” I smiled. “My husband.” The two of them froze. Dahlia gasped, standing up in shock. “Anya! You got married?” Miles’s face suddenly went ghostly pale. “Anya Lane, you don’t have to be this dramatic. You are not married. Don’t lie to me.”