He Made Me His Mistress So I Became His Widow

I'd spent days meticulously planning our wedding, while Lorenzo just wanted a simple ceremony with close friends.

That afternoon, while he was at his bachelor party, I went to his study to find our wedding invitations.

I found a strange envelope among his documents.

A marriage certificate, wedding photos, and property transfer documents scattered before me.

In the photo, a beautiful brunette in a white dress smiled radiantly beside Lorenzo in his black tuxedo.

My fiancé.

The certificate read: Lorenzo Moretti and Elena Rossi, dated six years ago.

Six years ago—but we'd only been together for five years.

This meant...

I grabbed the wedding photo and rushed downstairs.

"Come look at what I found!" I called out, bursting into the living room.

Lorenzo's men were gathered around him, whiskey glasses in hand. They all stopped talking when they saw me.

"I was looking for our wedding invitations and found this instead." I held up the wedding photo.

Marco immediately tried to snatch the photo away. "Don, this..."

"Damn, how did Elena's photo end up here?" Tony blurted out.

"Tony, shut up!" another man quickly interrupted.

Elena. So her name was Elena.

"So you all know about her?" My voice began to shake as I clutched the marriage certificate. "You all know he has a wife?"

Silence.

"Everyone out," Lorenzo said calmly.

His men quietly filed out, leaving Lorenzo and me face to face.

"Shouldn't you explain what the hell this is?" I slammed the marriage certificate against his chest.

Five years. I'd been an intruder for five years.

Lorenzo waved his hand dismissively. "Ava, it's just a piece of paper."

He approached me with complete composure, as if we were discussing what to have for dinner.

"Elena is only my wife on paper." He stepped closer to me. "Her late father left her in my care. I have to protect her. This is just an alliance between two families."

"A family alliance?" I stepped back, feeling something breaking in my chest. "Then why didn't you tell me? Five years, Lorenzo!"

"Because it's about responsibility. I love you, but I can't abandon Elena." His tone became righteous, as if I were the unreasonable one. "I thought a smart woman would understand—"

"Understand what?" My voice rose. "Understand how to be a competent mistress?"

"Don't say that," he frowned, his tone reproachful. "The life I've given you, the protection I provide - it's more than most women could ever dream of. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" I angrily pulled my hand away. "Lorenzo, listen to what you're saying!"

"Then what exactly do you want?" he asked coldly. "You want me to go divorce Elena right now? Destroy the alliance between two families? Start a war?"

I looked at him standing there, tall and sharp in his tailored suit.

The same man I'd loved for five years.

But now, the coldness in his eyes made my blood run cold.

"You're being too extreme. After the wedding, you'll be my woman. My children will only come from you."

His tone sounded like he was making some kind of concession, some kind of charity.

That's why he wanted a simple wedding and never brought me to meet his parents.

"Get out!"

Lorenzo paused. "Ava..."

"I said get out!"

Rage erupted like a volcano. I grabbed the crystal glass from the coffee table and hurled it at the wall with all my strength.

Glass exploded behind him, shards flying everywhere, one piece cutting across my palm. Blood dripped onto their wedding photo.

"You're crazy!" Lorenzo rushed over to check my wound.

"Don't touch me!" I pushed him away. "Five years, Lorenzo! I was unknowingly your mistress for five years!"

My voice grew louder and louder, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Just then, Lorenzo's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and declined it.

It rang again. Declined again.

When it rang a third time, he finally answered.

Soft, broken crying came through the phone.

"Lorenzo... I feel terrible... can you come see me..."

Lorenzo rubbed his temples. "Alright, I'll be right there."

He hung up and turned to me, trying to explain, "Ava, she's always been sickly—"

I said nothing, just looked at him.

This scene had played out countless times over the past five years.

His phone always rang at the most critical moments.

And I was always the understanding one, saying, "Go handle it first."

Now I realized that those nights when he hurriedly got dressed and left, those weekends when he canceled our plans for "urgent business"—some of those times were spent with his real wife.

"Lorenzo," I called out to him.

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"If you dare to leave, we're completely done!"

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

"I'll be back soon."

Then I heard the door close.

My hand resting on my lower abdomen trembled slightly.

Inside, there was the surprise I'd planned to tell him about today...