No More Mrs. Nice Girl

The moment I set foot inside the mall, a sense of unease gripped me. My pulse quickened as I scanned the bustling crowd, an inexplicable feeling that something—or someone—I’d rather avoid was just around the corner. Brushing off the feeling, I reminded myself of my mission: buy some dresses. My wardrobe had suffered after the last purge when I realized Alex bought those dresses for her. The nerve of him—gifting me his mistress’s rejected outfits as if they were symbols of love. I’d burned every last one, and today, I intended to replace them.

As I wandered through the Western wear section, my fingers grazed a sleek, emerald dress. A small smile formed on my lips, thinking how satisfying it would feel to treat myself after months of pouring myself into the Royals project. Just as I was about to pull the dress from the rack,  a familiar voice cut through the air, freezing me in place.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mila,” the voice purred, dripping with false sweetness more likely in moking tone.

I turned around, locking eyes with the last person I wanted to see—Lily, Alex’s mistress. She stood there, designer bag slung over her shoulder, a hand resting on her barely-there baby bump. Her expression was smug, lips curving in a way that suggested she thought she had won some twisted game.

“Stop chasing my husband already, Mila. Why don’t you give up?” she said loudly, as if she wanted the whole world to hear.

Her words struck like ice, yet I barely blinked. The gall of her, parading around as though she were entitled to lecture me on my own marriage—my marriage, which she tore apart with her perfectly manicured claws.

I clenched the dress in my hand, steadying myself. “Oh, you mean my ex-husband? I’m surprised you’re worried about me. Feeling a little insecure?”

Her face darkened, but she quickly regained her composure, offering me a sickly sweet smile. “Well, you should know, Mila. Alex divorced you because I’m carrying his child. He left you for me because I’m giving him what you couldn’t.” She caressed her stomach, the ultimate show of triumph, as if to suggest that motherhood and betrayal were trophies she’d earned.She wanted me to feel small, worthless.

I gave her a half-smile. “Congratulations. But it’s funny how obsessed you are with me. Must be hard, always feeling like a replacement.”

Lily’s smug facade faltered for a split second. The satisfaction I felt was delicious, and it must have shown because she immediately scowled.

She covered it with a nasty laugh,“Don’t fool yourself, Mila.You were just…practice.”

I laughed, a short, cutting sound. “If I was just practice, Lily, then you’re the consolation prize. So enjoy the title, because I’m done with him. Have fun, though; I’ve heard he likes to recycle his gifts.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but I brushed past her, letting her swallow my words with the bitterness she deserved.

As I turned to leave, feeling the familiar satisfaction of putting Lily in her place, something unexpected happened. A hand gripped my wrist with a roughness that made me freeze. Before I could react, a sharp, stinging slap landed across my face, knocking me a step backward.