How to Dump a Fake Husband

"Miss Denver, this marriage certificate is fake."

The receptionist handed the document back to Emily again with the same polite tone, but the mockery in her eyes was unmistakable.

Emily Denver caught the certificate, a laugh escaping her lips.

"Why on earth would I forge a marriage certificate to deceive you?"

"Maybe to take advantage of our anniversary couple's promotion," the receptionist replied, curling her lip in disdain.

Emily was momentarily speechless. What promotion? She hadn't even heard of it. She'd chosen this restaurant for their third wedding anniversary simply because she loved its garden setting.

"You can't just claim my certificate is fake without proof. I can file a complaint," Emily said, her tone turning frosty.

The receptionist only shook her head, as if she'd just heard a joke.

Emily's brows knitted.

"How can you be so sure?"

The woman tapped a few keys, then turned her computer screen toward Emily.

"When I entered your husband's ID number, the system pulled up his record."

"And?"

"He also booked our anniversary package."

Emily's irritation eased into surprise.

"He did?"

The receptionist gave her a look reserved for idiots.

"Yes, Mr. Morrison made a reservation—but not for you."

Emily froze.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Mr. Morrison's wife is someone else."

Emily's expression went blank, caught between disbelief and laughter. She bent forward to check the record herself—then her eyes snagged on the screen.

The name listed under Mrs. Morrison was Catherine Harlow, her best friend.

Her mind went completely blank.

"And Mr. Morrison and his wife are currently in our rooftop garden," the receptionist continued, "celebrating their third anniversary—"

Before she could finish, Emily was already running for the stairs.

Her husband… and her best friend… were celebrating their third anniversary?

There had to be a mistake—there had to be.

But the moment she reached the rooftop and saw them, she stopped dead.

The tall man in a suit and bow tie looked as composed and handsome as ever. The woman in his arms, dressed in a red gown, was radiant and delicate. They gazed at each other with deep affection, bathed in golden light.

Behind them, a massive screen came to life with the words "Time Music Box."

Soft music played, and the slideshow began.

The first photo—taken secretly—showed Catherine holding her phone shyly beside Chuck.

Then came their early group photos—awkward smiles, tentative distance.

Next, their first dinner together, both laughing brightly.

A picture in his car—Catherine sitting in the passenger seat, a spot Emily had thought exclusive to her.

Then business trips. Vacations. Visits to Catherine's hometown.

Moments Emily knew nothing about.

She was his wife. Catherine was her best friend. Yet she'd been completely blind.

Then came a photo of them kissing under a sunset. Another of them laughing in bed.

And one more… Catherine flushed and intoxicated in his arms, both of them naked.

The final photo froze Emily's heart entirely: Chuck kneeling, slipping a diamond ring onto Catherine's finger.

On cue, he picked up a bouquet of roses and knelt before her on the rooftop.

"Mrs. Morrison, you're breathtaking tonight."

Catherine caught the flowers, then threw herself into his arms, tilting her head to kiss his chin.

He stroked her hair tenderly, eyes filled with love.

Emily stared, willing herself to believe her eyes were lying—but they weren't.

The man was her husband. The woman—her dearest friend.

She forced herself to step aside and dial a number. When the call returned moments later, the investigator's voice came through.

"Miss Denver, we confirmed it. Mr. Morrison was legally married three years ago—June sixth."

June sixth? But she and Chuck had registered on June sixteenth.

"And the spouse's name?"

"Catherine Harlow."

Emily's throat tightened.

"Are you sure? Could there be a mistake?"

"There's no mistake."

Her heart shattered into pieces.

So her husband wasn't hers at all—he belonged to her best friend.

A violin began to play. Emily turned, numb.

Under the stars, amid flowers and candlelight, Chuck took Catherine's hand and led her into a slow dance.

The big screen changed again—to a photo taken on a cruise. Emily recognized it instantly. She'd been there too. It had been her who organized that trip—yet in this version, she'd been neatly cropped out.

Her breath hitched. God.

Rage erupted inside her, clawing up her throat. She clenched her fists and strode forward.

She would confront them. She would make them tell her why!

But just then, Catherine pulled something from her purse and waved it before Chuck's eyes.

His eyes widened, then his face lit up with unrestrained joy.

Emily stopped mid-stride.

It was a pregnancy test.

She'd used those same sticks before—every time ending in disappointment.

"I'm going to be a dad! I'm going to be a dad!"

Chuck, usually so composed, shouted in delight, nearly bursting with happiness.

And in that instant, Emily understood everything.

…

Two hours later, Emily followed their car back to the Morrison residence.

As soon as Catherine stepped out, Melinda Sterling rushed from the door to greet her.

"Catherine, my perfect daughter-in-law! Chuck just called—he said you're pregnant! Oh, what wonderful news! Do you know why I never let Chuck marry Emily? Because that car accident left her barren!"

Catherine clasped Melinda's hands gently.

"I don't feel wronged, Mom."

"Good girl," Melinda said warmly, eyes brimming with affection. "That's what I love most about you—you understand what really matters."

Emily watched as the woman who had always treated her with cold disdain now held Catherine's hands with love, calling her good daughter-in-law again and again while ushering her inside.

So that was it.

Because she couldn't bear children, the Morrison family had cast her aside.

But she'd been injured saving their son's life.

Too proud to admit their ingratitude, they'd fabricated a fake marriage certificate and fooled her for three years.

Her phone rang then—a name flashing across the screen she'd once dismissed as absurd.

She took a deep breath and answered.

"You knew all along, didn't you? That my marriage to Chuck was fake?"

On the other end was Patrick Seymour, patriarch of the most powerful family in Rezellard City. They'd met once through a business collaboration between his company and her firm, Skyyard Group.

At the time, she'd thought his proposal insane.

He had said, "If you are willing to marry my son and give the Seymour family a grandchild, everything I own will one day belong to you."

She had laughed it off. She was a married woman—what nonsense!

But now, thinking back, she realized—he must have known the truth even then.

"Miss Denver, I'm sorry this revelation hurt you," Patrick said softly. "But between a cruel truth and a comforting lie, I believe you'd rather know the truth."

"If you've investigated me, you must know about the accident," Emily replied. "The doctors said it's nearly impossible for me to conceive."

"I know an old doctor who once took your pulse," he said. "She told me she's confident she can help you. I trust her."

Emily didn't know who that old doctor was—or when she had supposedly examined her—but after what had happened today, she didn't doubt Patrick's resources.

She turned to look at the brightly lit Morrison residence—once her home, now a stranger's house.

"All right," she said. "I'll marry your son."

"Excellent!"

"But I want a grand wedding—and soon."

"Of course. When the Seymour family takes a daughter-in-law, the whole city will know."

And so, preparations began.

The wedding was set for one month later, and it would be a celebration that would shake the entire city.