WTF! My Fiancé's Mistress Turned My Prize Horse into My Little Pony Right Before Kentucky Derby?！ - Chapter 87: Chapter 87

Life abroad was calm and warm.
My mom's condition improved a lot—she could recognize me completely now.
I landed a job as Director of Operations at a mid-sized media firm.
The pay wasn't amazing, but the freedom and peace were worth it.
Mom never quite got used to the steaks and pasta here, so she'd always whip up comfort food just for me.
All the stuff I used to love as a kid.
Thanks to her cooking, I met my husband—Lucas Wilder.
An indie film director with a thing for deadpan humor. Four years older than me.
He was totally hooked on my mom's food.
Our neighbor, this stylish older lady who wore ripped jeans and dyed her hair silver—Professor Eleanor—was his former film school mentor.
He visited her often, which meant I kept running into him.
We were both from the same city back home, so we started saying hi, chatting more…
One day, he came over to visit Eleanor, but she happened to be out walking her dog.
He plopped down on her doorstep to wait.
It just so happened—it was my birthday.
My mom had cooked a huge feast. The smells were impossible to ignore.
He couldn't resist.
"Don't worry, I'm not freeloading. This gift covers dinner."
He waved a pretty wrapped box and flashed a smile full of perfect teeth.
It was a handmade crystal nightlight.
After we got married, Eleanor confessed—Lucas had asked her to stall that day.
Said he had "a plan."
We moved back to the U.S. in our third year abroad.
At an antique auction, I ran into Ryan again.
He looked… different. Older. Darker.
His scarred left cheek looked stiff and unnatural.
He kept glancing at me like he had something to say.
I just turned away and picked up some mini cakes from the buffet.
Someone at the table called me "Mrs. Wilder," and I caught Ryan hearing it.
He crushed his wine glass in his hand, blood dripping everywhere.
As I turned to leave, he called out, "Melanie… you've gotten so thin."
I smiled politely.
"Not really. My husband's an amazing cook. I've probably put on a few pounds."
His eyes dimmed.
He stepped closer.
"Is he good to you? If there's anything—anything at all—he does wrong, you can come to me—"
"Mr. Dawson," I cut him off, cool and calm.
"If you're drunk, maybe try the rooftop to sober up. Don't lose it in public."
Lucas came out of the bathroom and wrapped an arm around my waist.
He didn't ask who Ryan was—he already knew.
We kept no secrets.
Lucas looked down at the desserts.
"Hey, you're hogging the pink macarons. Feed me one."
I popped one in his mouth.
"Weren't you supposed to cut sugar? Not scared of diabetes anymore?"
He glanced at Ryan for the first time.
They exchanged some fake pleasantries, then Lucas handed him a business card.
"Your face looks a little… asymmetrical."
"I know a plastic surgeon who specializes in stuff like that."
"Might boost his numbers if you drop by."
I jumped in with a grin.
"Don't mind him, Mr. Dawson. My husband's just brutally honest."
Ryan gave a tight smile and backed away, disappearing into the crowd.
Outside the glass windows, the sun was shining.
The wind passed through without a trace.