The Second Lead Strikes Back

My sister had just returned to the country, the prodigal daughter arriving home to reclaim her throne. I should have known what was coming. The very next day, my husband handed me divorce papers, his face cold and unreadable.

“Our marriage is over,” he said, as if discussing a failed business venture rather than three years of my life.

My heart felt like it was being torn apart, shredded into confetti, but I signed those papers through the pain, my hand trembling with each stroke of the pen. Then, carrying his child—a secret I held close like a hidden dagger—I walked out of his life and straight into the arms of his greatest rival.

Four years later, he looked at the child standing behind me and froze in shock. The boy was a miniature version of him—same sharp jawline, same intense eyes, same stubborn set to his mouth—but he was clinging to another man’s leg, calling him “Dad” with complete trust and affection.

David’s eyes turned red, and for the first time, I saw genuine emotion crack through that perfect armor he wore. But it was too late. The supporting character had rewritten the script, and there was no going back to the original story.

Chapter One: The Contract and the Con

The pregnancy test showed two faint pink lines that seemed to glow in the harsh bathroom lighting. A surge of hope, fragile and terrifying, bloomed in my chest like the first flower of spring after a brutal winter. My hands shook as I held the plastic stick, imagining David’s face when I told him, imagining how this news might finally bridge the canyon that had grown between us over three years of cold civility masquerading as marriage.

Before I could even process the mixture of joy and fear swirling through me, David threw a manila folder at my feet. Papers scattered across our pristine marble floor like autumn leaves, each one a nail in the coffin of my naive hopes.

“Cherry, let’s get a divorce,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. He might as well have been discussing quarterly earnings or stock portfolios.

I looked up at the well-dressed, cold-faced man standing before me—my husband in name only, checking his expensive watch as if he had somewhere more important to be. Which, of course, he did. He always did.

“When we got married, we signed a contract,” he reminded me, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “Our marriage term is three years. It ends in one month. If you don’t agree to divorce now, the contract will end automatically anyway, but you won’t get a dime of the extra twenty million I’m offering as a settlement.”

I took a deep breath, my hands instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach, protecting the tiny life growing inside me. “David… what if I told you I was pregnant?”

I admit, I was desperate. Even at this point, even knowing how he felt—or didn’t feel—about me, I was trying to use the child to keep him. David’s family didn’t have many heirs, and for the baby’s sake, maybe he’d reconsider this cold transaction of a marriage. Maybe he’d finally see me as something more than a placeholder, a substitute, a contract wife who had served her purpose.

But David’s next words chilled me to the bone, freezing the hope in my chest until it shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

“I had a vasectomy two years ago,” he sneered, his lip curling with disgust. “So the kid can’t possibly be mine. Nice try, though. Points for creativity.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. The room spun around me as his words sank in. David was the only man I had ever been with—the only man I had ever loved, the only person I had given myself to completely. If this child wasn’t his, whose could it be?

The accusation in his eyes answered that unspoken question. He thought I had cheated on him. He actually believed I would betray our marriage vows, hollow as they might have been on his side.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Cherry,” he spat, turning on his heel with military precision. “I’ll have the lawyers send over the revised papers with the settlement terms. Sign them, take the money, and let’s both move on with our lives like civilized adults.”

When someone doesn’t believe you, when they’ve already decided you’re a liar, any explanation becomes useless. The words die in your throat before they can form, strangled by the futility of it all. I stared blankly at the divorce agreement scattered on the floor, the legal terminology blurring before my tear-filled eyes.

My marriage to David had been complicated from the very beginning, built on a foundation of lies and substitutions and family obligations rather than love. Three years ago, the woman supposed to marry David was my older sister, Jane. She was the family jewel, the daughter who shone brightest in every room, the one who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes.

But Jane had left the country just two weeks before her scheduled wedding to David, running off to Paris to chase “true love” with some struggling artist she’d met at a gallery opening. To preserve the business alliance between our families—millions of dollars in contracts and partnerships that couldn’t be allowed to dissolve over something as trivial as a runaway bride—my parents had me marry David in her place.

David’s family had agreed for the sake of saving face in their social circles. After all, one daughter was as good as another when it came to maintaining appearances and business connections, right?

I had nursed a crush on David for seven years, watching him from afar at family gatherings and business functions, so I didn’t refuse this arranged marriage even though I knew it was built on the shakiest of foundations. The only truly unwilling person in this entire transaction was David himself, who had been in love with Jane since they were teenagers.

On our wedding night, while I wore the wedding dress that had been altered to fit my smaller frame—Jane’s dress, of course, because why waste a perfectly good custom gown?—David had tossed me a legal contract across our honeymoon suite.

“Three years,” he said flatly, not even looking at me as he poured himself a whiskey. “After three years, no matter your wishes or protests, this marriage ends automatically. No extensions, no negotiations, no second chances.”

I felt lost and pained, standing there in white lace and tulle that had been meant for someone else, but I didn’t give up on the possibility that things could change. I thought if I treated David well enough, if I was patient and kind and supportive, he might eventually warm up to me. Maybe he’d see that I wasn’t just Jane’s inferior replacement, but someone worthy of love in my own right.

For three years, I played the role of the perfect wife with dedication that bordered on obsession. David had stomach issues from stress and irregular eating; I studied cooking and nutrition, preparing bland meals that would soothe his chronic gastritis. He suffered from tension headaches after long days at the office; I learned pressure point massage and kept his favorite pain medication stocked. I memorized his schedule, anticipated his needs, became his shadow and his caretaker and his safe harbor in the storm of corporate warfare.

In hindsight, I was too naive, too hopeful, too willing to accept crumbs of attention and mistake them for affection. Who falls in love with their nanny? Who develops romantic feelings for someone who exists solely to make their life more comfortable? We weren’t building a marriage; we were just torturing each other in different ways—him with his cold indifference, me with my desperate attempts to earn love that couldn’t be purchased with acts of service.

I picked up the pen lying on the coffee table, my hand trembling so badly I could barely grip it. The divorce papers stared up at me, mocking my failed attempts at creating something real from this arranged marriage.

Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering the heavy silence. It was my mother, her voice unusually chipper and warm—a tone she typically reserved for conversations about Jane.

“Cherry, darling, your sister is back!” she chirped, the excitement practically vibrating through the phone line. “She’s on the afternoon flight from Paris. Come home with David for a family dinner tonight. We need to welcome her properly after all this time away.”

My stomach dropped. “Why did she come back so suddenly? I thought she was settled in Paris with… what was his name? The artist?”

“Oh, that man turned out to be no good,” Mom sighed dramatically. “Fooled around with other women constantly, even when Jane was pregnant with his child. She had a miscarriage from the stress, poor darling. But she’s back now, so she must have figured things out. That’s good, right? Resilience is important. Just… don’t bring up the past when you see her tonight. She’s been through enough.”

The pieces clicked into place with nauseating clarity. I suddenly understood exactly why David was so eager for a divorce right now, why he was offering such a generous settlement, why he couldn’t wait even one more month for the contract to expire naturally.

Jane was back. The leading lady had returned to reclaim her role, and the understudy was being unceremoniously shoved back into the wings.

My head spun, flooding with strange thoughts that seemed to come from somewhere outside myself. I felt like I was living inside a novel, watching the plot unfold from a distance. Jane was the protagonist, the heroine who overcomes obstacles and learns valuable lessons before finding her true love. I was merely the supporting character, the placeholder who keeps the male lead’s seat warm until the real leading lady can claim what was always meant to be hers.

Was I losing my mind? Or was I finally seeing clearly for the first time in three years?

In that moment, with my mother’s cheerful voice still chattering about dinner arrangements and my sister’s triumphant return, a strange clarity washed over me like ice water. I realized something profound and liberating: I no longer loved David. The desperate, clinging affection I had harbored for so long had finally been crushed under the weight of three years of emotional neglect and this final, devastating betrayal.

I put down the pen without signing the papers, a small act of rebellion that sent a thrill of power through my exhausted body.

Why should I step aside gracefully just because Jane had decided to come home? Why should I make things easy for them, smoothing the path to their inevitable happy ending at the expense of my own dignity? Why should the supporting character fade quietly into the background, forgotten and disposable?

Before I agreed to this divorce, before I signed away three years of my life for a twenty million dollar consolation prize, I decided I would make them uncomfortable. I would throw obstacles in their path. I would refuse to follow the script that had been written for me.

I would be the villainous supporting character they never saw coming, the one who rewrites the story to suit herself.

Chapter Two: The Villainess Awakens

I took a cab to my parents’ sprawling estate in the suburbs, my mind churning with plans and possibilities. David and Jane arrived together in his black Mercedes, and I watched from the window as he helped her out of the car with a gentleness he had never shown me.

Jane looked worn compared to three years ago, less vibrant and carefree, with shadows under her eyes and a fragility to her movements that suggested her time in Paris had been harder than she’d let on. But she was still magnetic, still the center of gravity in any room she entered, still the daughter my parents preferred.

It had been raining earlier in the afternoon. Jane’s clothes were perfectly dry, but David’s left sleeve was soaked through. I could easily imagine him holding the umbrella entirely over her, letting the rain drench him while he kept her protected from even a single drop. With me, he always walked several steps ahead while I scurried behind, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

I pushed down the familiar pang of hurt and walked purposefully to David’s side, my face arranged in an expression of exaggerated wifely concern. “Honey, how did your clothes get so wet? You’ll catch cold.”

I clung to David’s arm affectionately, pressing close enough that Jane couldn’t possibly miss the intimacy of the gesture. Her gaze shot over to us, her eyes vacant but somehow sharp, cataloging every point of contact between my body and David’s.

David tried to pull away discreetly, but I hugged his arm tighter, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“Your clothes are soaking wet,” I fussed loudly enough for everyone in the entrance hall to hear. “You’ll definitely catch cold, and you’re the backbone of the company. You can’t afford to get sick right now with the Henderson merger pending. Let’s go upstairs and change into something dry immediately.”

I watched the vein pulse in his temple, could practically see his internal struggle to maintain his composure while preserving his carefully cultivated image as a devoted husband in front of my parents and their household staff. Finally, he allowed me to lead him upstairs, his body rigid with barely suppressed anger.

The moment we were alone in the guest bedroom with the door closed behind us, he shoved me away hard enough that I stumbled back a few steps.

“Stop clinging to me like that,” he hissed, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “It’s pathetic.”

“You’re my husband,” I said with exaggerated innocence, widening my eyes. “Why can’t I hold onto your arm? Isn’t that what wives do? Show affection to their husbands?”

David took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself. “Did you sign the divorce agreement yet?”

“No. I’m pregnant, remember? I need to think about what’s best for my child.”

“I already told you I had a vasectomy. That child cannot possibly be mine.”

“Are you absolutely certain the doctor didn’t scam you?” I countered, crossing my arms. “Medical procedures fail all the time. And you’re the only man I’ve been with these three years, David. Don’t try to weasel out of your responsibilities just because it’s inconvenient for your plans.”

David looked at me with such fury that I thought he might actually lose his legendary cool completely. “Cherry, what the hell happened to you? You’re acting insane.”

For the past three years, I had always been the perfect wife—gentle, considerate, submissive to the point of invisibility. He had never seen me harsh, never seen me fight back, never encountered this thorny, difficult version of me that refused to be dismissed.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked coolly, examining my manicured nails. “At least I’m better than someone who doesn’t even recognize his own pants are wet because he was too busy playing gentleman for my sister.”

David was so angry he couldn’t formulate a response, just stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Downstairs, I reverted to playing the role of gentle, devoted wife. I sat next to David at the dinner table, reaching across him to serve myself food and accidentally brushing against him repeatedly.

“Honey, I want some of that fish, but it’s too far to reach. Can you get it for me, please?” I asked sweetly.

“Honey, my water glass is empty. Could you refill it for me?” I requested a few minutes later, holding out my glass with a helpless expression.

I kept finding excuses to make David serve me, treat me with obvious affection in front of everyone. David and Jane both looked increasingly upset as the meal progressed. Maybe Jane was finally realizing that the man who used to follow her around like a devoted puppy throughout their teenage years was now legally bound to someone else.

Jane made an excuse about being exhausted from her flight and went upstairs halfway through dinner, unable to stomach watching the domestic scene any longer. David excused himself to the bathroom shortly after, probably to escape my relentless attention.

The moment they were both gone, my mother leaned over and grabbed my wrist hard enough to leave marks.

“Cherry,” she scolded in a harsh whisper. “Your sister just went through a terrible breakup and lost a baby. Acting so lovey-dovey with David right in front of her might upset her. Show some sensitivity.”

I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. This family had always revolved around Jane and her feelings, her comfort, her happiness. When Jane ran away from her wedding, they made me marry in her place without a second thought about my happiness or my future. Now that Jane was back, wounded and vulnerable, once again she was all they cared about.

“Mom, Dad,” I said loudly enough to carry through the dining room, hiding the deep sadness in my eyes behind a carefully constructed expression of pitiful vulnerability. “I’m pregnant with David’s child. That’s why I’m being so needy and clingy. I can’t help it—it’s the hormones.”

Before anyone could respond, I heard the sound of glass shattering against hardwood. Raising my head, I saw Jane standing on the staircase landing, her hand empty, what had been a water glass now in pieces on the floor below. Her face was frozen in shock, all color drained from her cheeks.

David came running out of the bathroom, saw the scene unfolding, grabbed my hand roughly, and practically dragged me toward the door.

“We’re leaving,” he announced to no one in particular. “Cherry isn’t feeling well.”

In the car, David gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Why did you announce your pregnancy like that? In front of everyone?”

“I really am pregnant, David. Isn’t that worth mentioning? Don’t I have the right to share happy news with my family?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You’re trying to manipulate the situation, using this fake pregnancy to—”

“It’s not fake,” I interrupted calmly. “But believe what you want. You always do.”

Back at our house, David glared at me with such fury I thought he might actually do something violent. But he just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, before finally turning away.

“This changes nothing,” he said coldly. “The divorce is still happening.”

Ignoring his murderous stare, I walked calmly to our bedroom—soon to be just my bedroom—and closed the door. Alone in the darkness, I replayed the entire evening in my mind: Jane’s shocked face, David’s barely contained rage, my mother’s scandalized whisper.

And I felt a strange, unfamiliar satisfaction warming my chest. Maybe I really did have a knack for playing the villainess after all.

Chapter Three: The Rival

The next morning, I slept in until bright sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows. When I finally emerged, it was already past eight o’clock. David was sitting on the living room sofa, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, looking absolutely furious and exhausted.

David is incredibly particular about his routines, especially his morning coffee and breakfast. Normally, I would have prepared everything exactly to his specifications—espresso pulled at precisely the right temperature, eggs cooked for exactly two minutes, toast browned to a specific shade. But today, I didn’t feel like catering to his demands.

“Hungry?” I asked cheerfully, walking past him to the kitchen.

David didn’t answer, but his stomach growled loudly in the silence, betraying him.

“I’m ordering delivery for myself,” I announced, scrolling through my phone. “Want me to get you anything? Oh wait, you’re very particular about your coffee. Never mind, you’ll probably just complain that it’s wrong.”

David stared at me in disbelief, as if I had suddenly started speaking a foreign language. Before my delivery arrived, he slammed the front door and left without a word.

That afternoon, while I was getting a spa treatment and enjoying being pampered for the first time in months, I received a call from David’s assistant, Marcus.

“Cherry, I’m so sorry to bother you, but David’s been hospitalized,” Marcus said, his voice tight with stress. “Severe stomach pain. The doctor says it’s his gastritis flaring up badly. I thought you should know.”

I smiled at my reflection in the spa’s gilded mirror. David doesn’t eat spicy food because of his sensitive stomach, but Jane has always loved fiery cuisine. I would bet my entire divorce settlement that he had taken her out for hot pot or some spicy meal last night, trying to comfort her after the shock of learning about my pregnancy.

I made a small batch of plain congee—using leftover rice from my own breakfast, because why waste fresh ingredients?—and drove to the hospital at a leisurely pace.

David was set up in a private VIP room, looking pale and miserable under the harsh fluorescent lighting. When he saw me enter, his face somehow managed to darken even further.

“Look, Cherry’s here!” Marcus said with obvious relief, stepping aside to let me approach the bed. “David was so worried you wouldn’t come. He’s been asking about you.”

“I brought some congee,” I said cheerfully, placing the thermos on the bedside table with a slight thud. “It’s leftovers from my breakfast. I figured it was a shame to throw it away, and you need something bland for that stomach, right? Two birds, one stone.”

David’s face turned an interesting shade of purple.

I gave him a bright smile and turned to leave, my duty as a wife technically fulfilled. As I reached the door, I almost collided with someone entering from the hallway.

He was tall—taller than David by an inch or two—with a face that rivaled my husband’s in classical handsomeness but with a distinctly roguish, playful glint in his eyes that David’s serious demeanor had never possessed.

It was Simon Chen. David’s greatest business rival and personal nemesis.

Simon was the human embodiment of chaos and unpredictability. Whatever David wanted, Simon had to have. Whatever David was pursuing, Simon would interfere with. He had tried to pursue Jane years ago purely to annoy David, sending her elaborate flower arrangements and expensive gifts just to watch David seethe with jealousy.

After I married David, Simon had flirted with me relentlessly at every social function and business dinner, always pushing boundaries, always testing how far he could go before David lost his composure completely.

“Eavesdropping on private conversations?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“How is it eavesdropping when I’m listening openly in a public hallway?” Simon replied with that infuriating grin that made me want to simultaneously slap him and laugh. “Besides, Cherry, watching you make that man absolutely miserable feels good, doesn’t it? Very therapeutic.”

“Stop calling me that. It sounds ridiculous coming from you. Now move, I need to leave.”

“Cherry, when did you suddenly become so fierce and sharp-tongued?” His eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like genuine tenderness. “Although, this is more like the real you I remember from university, before you started pretending to be someone else.”

I deliberately stepped on Simon’s expensive Italian leather shoe, grinding my heel down slightly. Hearing him yelp in pain brought me more satisfaction than it probably should have. I left feeling considerably lighter.

A few days later, I returned to the hospital, but this time as a patient rather than a visitor. I had been torn about what to do, but ultimately decided to keep the baby growing inside me. The doctor’s words had been sobering: given my physical condition and some complications she’d detected, attempting an abortion could be dangerous, potentially even life-threatening.

Besides, this was my child, my own bloodline. I would raise this baby alone if necessary, without David’s support or acknowledgment.

As I walked out of the OB-GYN clinic, lost in thought about the future, I saw Simon leaning casually against the corridor wall, looking like he had all the time in the world.

“Cherry, you’re pregnant,” he said, glancing at the departmental sign behind me. His expression was unreadable. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come with you to the appointment. Moral support and all that.”

“It’s none of your business, Simon. Stop pretending you care.”

“I’m an incredibly busy man,” he said, pushing off from the wall, “but I would always make time for you and the baby. Anytime, anywhere. Just say the word.”

I stepped hard on his foot again, this time grinding my heel with more force. He hissed in pain but didn’t move away, just stood there taking it.

“Be careful on the stairs,” he said softly as I walked past him. “They’re steeper than they look.”

I was so flustered and annoyed by his bizarre behavior that I wasn’t paying proper attention to my footing. My heel caught on the edge of a step, and suddenly I was tumbling forward, the world tilting sickeningly. Instinctively, I curled around my belly, trying to protect the baby from the impact that was coming.

“Doctor! Someone get a doctor, quickly! She’s pregnant!”

The voice sounded like Simon’s, frantic and terrified in a way I’d never heard from him before. Then darkness swallowed everything, and I knew nothing more.

Chapter Four: The Tables Turn

When consciousness returned, I was lying in a hospital bed with crisp white sheets tucked around me. Simon was sitting beside the bed on a low stool, his long legs folded awkwardly, looking disheveled and exhausted.

“Awake finally, Cherry?” he drawled, but his voice was rough with worry. “Do you have some kind of balance disorder? Who falls down stairs in broad daylight? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Shut up, Simon.”

Suddenly, his demeanor shifted completely. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from mine. “Your cheek looks terrible. Does it hurt? Let me blow on it to make it better.”

In that instant, another figure stepped forcefully between us, breaking the intimate moment. David grabbed Simon’s shoulder and roughly pulled him back.

“This is my wife,” David said, his voice cold and possessive in a way it had never been during our actual marriage.

“Oh, so Cherry has a husband?” Simon retorted, yanking his shoulder free from David’s grip. “That’s funny, because I thought she came to her prenatal appointment completely alone, like her husband was dead or didn’t care. Which is it, David?”

“Get out,” David snarled through clenched teeth.

“‘Get out, get out,'” Simon mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Is that all you can say? Are you a broken record player stuck on one phrase? Your vocabulary is embarrassingly limited for a supposedly successful businessman.”

Simon kept needling David, pushing him closer and closer to losing his composure entirely, before finally sauntering out of the room with an infuriating wink in my direction.

David turned to glare at me as soon as we were alone, his face twisted with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify. Jealousy? Anger? Hurt?

“Simon wants everything that’s mine,” David said bitterly. “He’s only acting concerned about you because you’re my wife. It makes you a trophy to win, a prize to steal away from me. Don’t flatter yourself into thinking he actually cares about you as a person.”

A brilliant, terrible idea crystallized in my mind. I arranged my features into an expression of troubled confusion, biting my lower lip.

“What should I do, David?” I asked in a small voice. “I think… I think I might be falling for Simon. He’s been so kind to me lately.”

David’s face went completely ashen, all color draining away. “What did you just say?”

“I’ll sign the divorce papers as soon as I’m discharged,” I continued, warming to this new plan. “You and Jane can finally be together like you’ve always wanted. And I’ll pursue something with Simon. It works out perfectly for everyone, doesn’t it? Everyone gets what they want.”

Two days later, back at the house, I searched everywhere for those divorce papers, tearing through drawers and filing cabinets. They had completely disappeared. I called David, who was supposedly at the office.

“Where are the divorce papers you were so eager for me to sign?”

There was a long pause. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered, which was unusual for a man who always spoke with confident precision. “I might have… lost them. Misplaced them somewhere.”

He was lying. I could hear it in his voice. He had deliberately hidden those papers, made them vanish. For the sake of his pride and his ego, he wasn’t going to let his wife leave him for his greatest rival. The humiliation would be unbearable for someone like David, who valued his reputation above almost everything else.

In the following days, I carried on with my life as normally as possible, eating well and resting, taking care of myself and my growing baby. But then my mother called, summoning me home with a tone that suggested this was not a request.

When I arrived at my parents’ house, Mom, Dad, and Jane were arranged in the living room like a tribunal preparing to pass judgment. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken accusations.

“Cherry,” Mom began, grabbing my hand with what might have looked like affection but felt more like restraint. “I know you haven’t been happy these past three years with David. Maybe… maybe it would be best for everyone if you got a divorce. Cut your losses and move on with your life.”

I glanced at Jane, who was sitting primly on the sofa, looking pleased with herself in a way that made my blood boil.

“You’ve been miserable,” Jane added, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “And David has never really loved you, Cherry. Everyone knows that. Why torture each other for another month when the marriage was always meant to end anyway? Just… let him go.”

“So what you’re really saying, Jane, is that I should divorce David so you can marry him instead?” I asked directly, tired of the pretense. “Let’s stop dancing around it and be honest about what this intervention is really about.”

Jane didn’t respond verbally, but her silence and the slight smile playing at her lips spoke volumes. She had always been terrible at hiding her true feelings.

“If we get divorced, what happens to my child?” I asked, one hand moving protectively to my slightly rounded belly. “What provisions will be made?”

“Cherry, please stop this charade,” Jane snapped, her fake sympathy evaporating. “Everyone knows that child isn’t David’s. He told me all about the vasectomy he had. He’s been kind enough not to call you out publicly to save your face and our family’s reputation, so don’t push your luck by making demands.”

“Five million dollars,” I said quietly, the number popping into my head.

Jane froze, momentarily confused. “What?”

“Give me five million dollars as a settlement, and I’ll divorce David immediately. Today, if you want. I’ll sign whatever papers you put in front of me.”

Jane’s face cycled through several emotions before settling on calculation. She was clearly weighing the cost against the prize she would win. Finally, she nodded sharply.

“Done. I’ll arrange it.”

She immediately pulled out her phone and called David. He arrived remarkably quickly—he must have been nearby, possibly waiting for this exact scenario to unfold. He looked confused and wary when he entered the room and saw all of us gathered.

“David, where’s the divorce agreement?” I asked calmly. “I’m ready to sign now.”

David’s eyes widened, darting between me and Jane. “You’re in such a hurry? Can’t wait to run to Simon?”

“That’s right,” I confirmed, my voice steady and emotionless. “I can’t wait another day. Even if I could wait, the baby growing inside me can’t. Time is a factor now.”

“David, since Cherry is absolutely insisting, just go through with it,” Jane urged him, placing a proprietary hand on his arm. “Stop dragging this out. It’s better for everyone.”

David pulled out his phone and called his secretary. Within thirty minutes, a courier arrived with fresh divorce papers, properly drawn up with all the legal language intact.

I signed my name with a flourish, each stroke of the pen feeling like liberation rather than loss.

“David, remember this moment,” I said, standing up and looking him directly in the eyes. “I’m the one who doesn’t want you. I’m the one choosing to leave. Also, remember to transfer that settlement money to my account within twenty-four hours.”

I walked toward the door without looking back, my head held high. “David, goodbye. I hope you and Jane are very happy together.”

Outside, I wandered somewhat aimlessly down the tree-lined street, not quite ready to go home to that empty house full of memories. I had thought I wouldn’t feel sad about ending the marriage, but my heart felt hollow and empty, like a house after all the furniture has been removed.

I had lost David, yes, but more than that, I had finally, clearly seen that my own family had never truly cared about me as anything more than a pawn to be moved around for Jane’s benefit or the family’s business interests.

Suddenly, an expensive Maybach pulled up beside me, the black paint gleaming in the afternoon sun. The door opened, and Simon stepped out, looking annoyingly perfect in a tailored suit.

“Divorced?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. That infuriating grin was back.

“How did you know already?”

“Jane called me to gloat about five minutes ago,” he admitted. “Cherry, now there’s nothing stopping us from being together. No legal barriers, no moral complications. What do you say?”

“You’re insane,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You’re only doing this to get revenge on David. And I’m pregnant with another man’s child, Simon. Have you forgotten that detail?”

“Do you want to be a stepfather?” I challenged him.

“David’s biological kid calling me ‘Dad’ for the rest of his life?” Simon said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and grinning wider. “Just thinking about how much that would infuriate him feels absolutely incredible.”

I stared at him. “You really are crazy.”

“Maybe,” he agreed cheerfully. “But life’s more interesting this way, don’t you think?”

Chapter Five: The New Life

I left the city entirely, moving to a small coastal town thousands of miles away from everyone and everything I had known. New people, new places, new air to breathe that didn’t carry the weight of old memories and failed relationships. A completely fresh start.

My new apartment was small but comfortable, with a view of the ocean from the tiny balcony. I was unpacking boxes when I heard a door open across the hallway. Simon’s face appeared in the doorway opposite mine, looking absurdly pleased with himself.

“Cherry! What an amazing coincidence!” he exclaimed with obviously fake surprise. “You’re living right across from me? And you’re still going to claim you’re not stalking me? The evidence is getting pretty damning.”

I slammed my door in his face without responding.

But Simon was nothing if not persistent. It turned out he had opened a branch office of his company in this small seaside town specifically to be near me, relocating an entire business operation for the sole purpose of continuing to insert himself into my life.

He visited every single day, bringing flowers, groceries, offering to help with anything I might need. At first, I tried to refuse, to maintain distance and independence. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began to look forward to his visits, to the easy conversation and genuine laughter that had been absent from my life for so long.

One afternoon, as I was crossing the street to the market, a car suddenly veered wildly out of control, heading straight toward me at terrifying speed. My mind went completely blank with shock. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except stare at the approaching vehicle.

Then someone slammed into me from the side, pushing me hard out of the car’s path. I hit the pavement roughly, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. When I looked up, dazed and confused, Simon was lying several feet away, groaning in pain. His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle that made my stomach lurch.

“Simon!” I screamed, scrambling toward him on my hands and knees, ignoring the scrapes on my palms.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he gritted out, his face pale and covered in cold sweat. “Black belt in taekwondo, remember? I know how to fall properly. Mostly.”

At the hospital, it was confirmed: a badly broken leg that would require surgery and months of physical therapy. I stayed with him throughout the emergency room visit and the surgery, hiring a private nurse but visiting every day anyway, bringing homemade soup and keeping him company through the long, boring hours of recovery.

“Cherry, feed me,” he whined like a child whenever I visited. “My arm works fine, but food tastes better when you feed it to me. Cherry, my shoulders hurt. Massage them, please.”

I was in the middle of massaging his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from lying in bed all day, when the hospital room door burst open with enough force to slam against the wall.

David stood in the doorway, looking disheveled and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and several days’ worth of stubble on his normally clean-shaven face. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his tie askew.

He grabbed my arm roughly, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. “Come with me. We need to talk. Now.”

“Let go of her!” Simon shouted, attempting to get out of bed despite his broken leg and the doctor’s strict orders.

“Stay in that bed right now!” I ordered Simon firmly. “You’ll hurt yourself worse. I’ll talk to David outside and be right back.”

In the sterile hospital hallway, David looked at me with eyes full of desperation and something that might have been genuine emotion for once.

“Cherry, let’s get back together,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I made a terrible mistake. I realized I love you—I’ve loved you all along but was too blind and stupid to see it. Losing you made me understand. Come back. Please.”

“Did you marry Jane?” I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear him say it.

“No. I called off the wedding. I realized it wasn’t her I wanted. It was you all along, Cherry. You.”

“I’m sorry, David,” I said, and I meant it sincerely. “But I don’t love you anymore. Whatever feelings I had died a long time ago. And I have someone I care about now, someone who’s been there for me when I needed help.”

“Don’t trust Simon,” David said desperately, grasping at straws. “He doesn’t actually love you. This is all just a game to him, a way to compete with me and win. You’re a trophy, not a person to him.”

“When I was sick with morning sickness and could barely function, you were working late at the office,” I said calmly, stating facts rather than accusations. “When a car almost killed me and my baby, Simon jumped in front of it without thinking. Who loves me more, David? Who has actually demonstrated that they care whether I live or die?”

David stood there speechless, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

“Go find Jane,” I said gently, without malice. “Find someone who actually wants to be with you. I’m not that person anymore.”

I turned and walked back into Simon’s hospital room, closing the door firmly between my past and my future.

Inside, Simon was attempting to look innocent despite obviously having been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

“My leg hurts terribly,” he announced dramatically. “You should kiss it to make it better. That’s proper medical treatment.”

I pinched his ear hard enough to make him yelp. “I am absolutely not kissing your broken leg, you ridiculous man.”

But I was smiling when I said it.

Chapter Six: The Ultimate Revenge

Simon stayed by my side throughout the remainder of my pregnancy, attending every doctor’s appointment and learning everything he could about newborn care. He took classes on how to change diapers and make formula, watched endless YouTube videos on infant sleep training, and read so many parenting books that I finally had to tell him to stop because he was stressing himself out.

When my baby was born on a cool spring morning, Simon was the first person to hold him after me, cradling the tiny bundle with such tenderness and awe that it made my heart ache.

When my son turned one, his first word was “Mama,” directed at me with a gummy smile. His second word, spoken just days later while reaching his chubby arms toward Simon, was “Dada.”

We celebrated his third birthday at the park, and that same evening, Simon got down on one knee in our living room.

“Cherry, I know this isn’t the most romantic proposal,” he said, “but I can’t wait another day. Will you marry me? Will you let me be this kid’s dad officially, legally, permanently?”

I said yes before he finished asking.

Our wedding was deliberately small and intimate, held in a garden overlooking the ocean. Just close friends, no family drama, no business obligations. As Simon slid the ring onto my finger, I caught sight of a lone figure standing at the back of the small gathering.

David. He looked older than when I’d last seen him, more tired, with new lines around his eyes and mouth.

After the ceremony, I walked outside for some air, my son holding my hand and chattering about the cake. David was standing in a corner of the garden, partially hidden by a flowering tree, holding out a piece of wrapped candy to my son.

My boy, who was a miniature version of David in every physical way with his serious eyes and stubborn chin, shook his head firmly.

“Mommy and Daddy said not to take things from strangers,” he announced seriously, stepping closer to my leg.

David’s hand trembled slightly, the candy falling from his suddenly nerveless fingers. His eyes turned red with unshed tears.

Simon walked over and effortlessly picked up our son, who immediately wrapped his arms around Simon’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” Simon said gently. “Who’s this man?”

“Stranger,” my son said decisively, then looked at Simon with complete trust. “Daddy, can we go play now? You promised we could feed the ducks.”

Simon looked at David for a long moment. There was triumph in his expression, yes, but mostly there was just quiet protectiveness and genuine love for the child in his arms.

“That kid…” David’s voice trembled, breaking on the words. “He looks exactly like…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, David,” I said softly but firmly. “Don’t show up in my life again. Don’t contact me or my family. Just… let us be happy.”

I turned and walked toward my husband and my son, toward the life I had built from the ruins of my failed marriage. Behind me, I heard a choked sound that might have been a sob, but I didn’t look back.

I never looked back again.

David never married. Jane went back abroad within a year, chasing another doomed romance. And me? I found the love I deserved in the last place I expected to find it, with the man who had always seen me clearly even when I couldn’t see myself.

Simon told me years later, during a quiet evening at home, that he had loved me since university, long before David ever entered the picture. But I had only had eyes for David back then, so Simon had waited patiently in the wings for his chance, never quite giving up hope.

“Cherry,” he whispered that night, kissing my forehead as we lay in bed. “Do you ever wonder if we knew each other in a past life? It feels like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

“Maybe we did,” I smiled, snuggling closer. “But I like this life just fine. Actually, I like it more than fine. I love it.”

Our son grew up calling Simon “Dad” and David remained a stranger he occasionally resembled in photographs. He was happy, loved, secure in a way I had never been in my own childhood.

And sometimes, late at night when the house was quiet and my family was sleeping safely, I would think about the scared, desperate woman I had been three years ago, signing divorce papers with a broken heart and a secret pregnancy.

I would think about how being the supporting character in someone else’s love story had almost destroyed me, how desperately I had clung to a man who had never truly seen me.

And I would be grateful—deeply, profoundly grateful—that I had found the courage to rewrite my own story, to become the heroine of my own life rather than remaining the disposable placeholder in someone else’s narrative.

The supporting character had become the leading lady of her own beautiful, messy, perfect life.

And she lived happily ever after.