The Stranger With My Husband's Face

On the fiercely competitive track of Self-Preservation at All Costs, I deserve an Olympic medal.
Every time my husband, Rhys Harrington, prioritized his 'untouchable first love,' I found a new man. A diversion. A distraction. A silent, rebellious middle finger to a marriage that had withered down to a business contract.
I sought out what felt like N different men, all to achieve one singular, necessary goal: making sure I came first. That I was taken care of. That I didn't leave this awful situation empty-handed in the emotional bank.
I made sure I wasn't losing.
The only problem? I have a profound case of face blindness.
My friends would laugh whenever I showed up with a "new" date, their smiles dazzling and seemingly approving of my relentless pursuit of pleasure.
I assumed they were commending my dating prowess.
It took me three months to realize that the rotating cast of menthe flirtatious bartender, the brooding photographer, the sweet music studentwas, in fact, the same person. And he was the one person in my life I should have never, ever gotten involved with.
1
I was just wrapping up a late afternoon at the office when a text from my college alumni chair popped up.
A five-year reunion dinner.
The venue was The Sinclair Club, a private society in the city where a single bottle of wine costs more than my monthly mortgage.
The moment I pushed open the door to the dining room, the atmosphere curdled into a subtle, uncomfortable stillness.
Rhys was seated at the head of the long table, and to his immediate rightthe hostess's seat, my usual seatsat Serena Beaumont.
Everyone had been laughing, teasing them, an undercurrent of warm, shared history swirling between them, but my appearance killed it instantly.
"Oh, look who decided to join us! Ava Sullivan is here!"
Someone called out loudly, attempting to shatter the awkward silence.
Serena was wearing a pristine white sundress, making her look precisely as innocent and pure as the college sophomore who had originally captured Rhyss heart. The One That Got Away, or so the legend went.
Rhys didnt bother to look up.
I kept my expression neutral and settled at a place setting across the table, quietly serving myself a piece of the pan-seared Chilean sea bass. The fish was buttery, the glaze perfectly tangy.
Rhys had brought me here once, years ago, telling me I would love it. He knew my tastes then, just as he knows precisely what it means for Serena to occupy that specific chair next to him tonight.
The message was clear: Ava, the wife, was being shown the door.
I excused myself to the restroom, battling the icy burn of humiliation in my chest.
When I returned, the wine had been flowing, and the conversations were louder, looser.
"Rhys, why are you letting Serena take Ava's throne tonight? Aren't you worried your wife will get jealous?"
The laugh that followed the question was laced with curiosity and malice.
Serena preempted Rhyss response: "They're getting divorced soon, aren't they? There's no point in keeping up appearances anymore, right?"
The room fell into absolute silence.
Rhys offered no objection, no protest.
Serenas voice, now thick with faux regret, picked up again. "I know everyone thought I broke them up back in college. But who can truly control matters of the heart?"
She paused for effect. "Yes, Rhys and Ava were childhood sweethearts, but he never actually loved Ava. When Rhys confessed his feelings to me, and we started seeing each other, Ava refused to let go. She chased him to classes, showed up at his parents' house, and eventually... threatened to hurt herself."
Her eyes welled up. "Rhys is a good man, he's too kind-hearted. He was terrified she would actually do something drastic, so he felt he had to marry her."
"Enough," Rhys finally cut in.
It wasn't a denial, or a defense. Just two quiet words.
Enough.
Yes. I agreed. It was more than enough.
Twisted fragments of memory flashed through my mind:
Didnt I quietly step aside the moment Rhys told me he was in love with her? Didnt she later take the payout from his parents and vanish? Didn't Rhys come back to me, we started seeing each other again, and then he cheated with her? Didnt I, genuinely battling depression, stand on the edge of my apartment balcony, only for him to rush out and hold me, his eyes red as he whispered, "I'll marry you, just come down"?
But the truth was irrelevant now.
When a person chooses a narrative, every fact, every detail, is rearranged to fit the picture they want to see. And Rhys had clearly chosen his.
I pulled up my phone, my fingers flying to the contact I had labeled "Sweet-Talking Golden Retriever."
My furious text: COME FIND ME TONIGHT. WEAR SOMETHING NICE!!!
The reply was instantaneous:
Yes, ma'am.
All those exclamation points... not happy, are we?
I'll sing for you tonight. Don't let them get to you, gorgeous.
I stared at the screen, a genuine, albeit brittle, smile finally curving my lips. He always knew how to read the mood and shift the energy.
The door to the restroom swung open.
Rhys stood there. We made eye contact, his expression complexa mix of guilt, discomfort, and perhaps a flicker of shame from overhearing Serena's lie.
I didn't bother to speak. I simply brushed past him, my silence louder than any accusation.
As the dinner approached its inevitable, awkward end, a server wheeled in a massive, three-tiered cake to celebrate the five-year anniversary of our graduation.
Id had too many glasses of Merlot. I stumbled slightly as I got to my feet.
Clutching my wine glass, I weaved my way toward Rhys and Serena.
Rhys watched my approach, his face a mask of weary caution. "What are you doing? Ava, sit down."
I lifted the glass with a shaky hand. "I came to toast you both."
"You've had too much to drink, Ava. Just sit this out," he frowned.
I ignored him, my voice slurring just enough to sound convincingly drunk. "A toast... to your happily ever after!"
The air thickened with dread.
Then, with a dramatic lurch, I threw myself forward, planting both hands squarely on the sides of the cake.
The three-tiered structure collapsed with a muffled thud, cream and raspberry glaze splattering everywhere.
I "conveniently" lost my balance and ensured Rhyss face was pressed directly into the sugary wreckage. My other hand "accidentally" smeared a generous handful of pink icing through Serena's meticulously styled blonde hair.
Time stopped for two seconds.
Then Serena's shriek sliced through the silence. "Ah! My hair! My dress!"
Before I could properly register Rhyss expressionwhich I knew would be apoplecticZara, my best friend, was on me like a shot.
"Oh, my God, she's had way too much!" Zara's voice boomed, drowning out the rising panic and gasps. "I am so sorry, everyone! She's been having a rough week! I'm taking her home now!"
She half-dragged, half-carried me out.
I laughed, a real, full-throated laugh, as I licked the sticky, sweet cream from my finger.
"That was quite the exit, you maniac," Zara said, poking my forehead as we sped away. "Rhys must be absolutely furious."
"Let him be furious." I shrugged.
I pulled out my phone and sent a new message to the contact.
Change of plans. Meet me at the usual place. I want you to sing to me tonight.
At the discreet boutique hotel we frequented, my "Golden Retriever" showed up with bright green hair.
I couldn't help but burst out laughing.
The last time Rhys had truly infuriated me, Id jokingly demanded that the man I was seeing dye his hair green to match the color of my rage. I didn't mean it, but to my surprise, hed taken me seriously.
"Well," I grinned, "at least that vibrant green makes you easy to spot."
He offered a mock grimace. "Anything to make sure my favorite client, who happens to be face-blind, can pick me out of a lineup."
We moved into the room, and he sat on the edge of the bed, playing soft acoustic songs on his guitar. Later, we showered, and finally, we slept, the sheer physical exhaustion and release momentarily erasing all the nights unpleasantness.
I woke in the pre-dawn haze, nestled against his chest.
My eyes fell on a familiar, tiny object hanging from a thin silver chain around his neck.
It was a ring, engraved with an intricate, almost hidden patterna coiled serpent and a small cross.
This distinct, one-of-a-kind signet wasn't just a ring; it was the Harrington family heirloom, traditionally passed down to the eldest son, the heir.
And Rhyss grandfather had given it to Rhys years ago. Why would Liam have it?
Liam stirred, his arm tightening around me. "Go back to sleep, gorgeous. You were practically begging for a nap a minute ago."
I was, indeed, spent, and the warmth of his skin was instantly soothing. I drifted back to sleep.
But the question lingered, a tiny, annoying insect buzzing in my mind.
When I woke again in the morning, the first thing I did was reach for the chain.
Strange. The ring was now a plain, unadorned silver band.
Liam woke up. "What are you looking at?"
Had the wine and my lack of sleep caused me to hallucinate the elaborate engraving?
I sat up and studied his face. "You look so much like my husband."
He responded flatly, "You've said that before, Ava. Didn't you pick me the first time because we look alike? So you could vent your anger on someone who looked like the source of your problems?"
I wrapped my arms around him. "Oh, my poor thing. You are so much more comforting than that monster. I'm not mad at you anymore."
He ran a hand through his vivid green hair. "So, can I finally dye this back to a natural color?"
"I think Id prefer red now," I mused.
He sighed, but his lips curved into an indulgent smile. "Fine. Red is better than green, I suppose."
We washed up, had coffee, and went our separate ways.
I was halfway through the drive home when Rhys called. "Where are you? Where were you last night? Why weren't you home?"
It hit me thenthe similarity wasn't just physical. Rhys and Liam's voices were so much alike. The deeper register, the subtle cadence.
I drove home, needing a fresh start and a change of clothes.
The first person I saw when I walked in was Serena.
She was wearing my expensive silk pajamas, the neckline plunging just enough to hint at her curves. The sight of her made my stomach clench with disgust.
I immediately changed direction and headed straight for Rhyss private study.
"I told you not to come into my study!" Rhyss voice was sharp.
I wasnt allowed in there because, on a previous occasion when he had coldly blown me off to be with Serena, Id lost it and completely trashed the room, ruining several important documents.
But I walked straight to his massive desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, found the pre-prepared divorce papers, and signed them with a sweeping, fluid motion.
"You said I could only come in here to sign the divorce papers. I didn't break the rules."
Rhys stared at the signed document, his eyes wide. He stood there for a long moment, then, with a sharp breath, he tore the papers to shreds. "Who said I want a divorce? What are you doing?"
His reaction was so theatrical I couldnt help but smile, a bitter, hollow expression. "Rhys, darling, you've been preparing for this divorce since the day we got married..."
My words caught in my throat.
Around his neck was a simple leather cord, exactly like the one Liam had been wearing.
My gaze snapped up to his face. The resemblance to Liam, especially when he was slightly irritated, was unnerving. Identical.
Serena slipped into the doorway. "Rhys, honey, breakfast is ready."
I watched him turn, his back and his gait identical to the man I'd just spent the night with.
No. Stop it. I instantly dismissed the wild thought. It was impossible. Rhys had no reason, no motive, to pretend to be a "golden retriever" to sleep with his own wife.
I printed a fresh set of divorce papers and placed them neatly on the desk.
Rhys gave me one cold look and left without another word.
The company's annual gala was that evening, the ballroom bathed in warm, glittering light.
I scanned the crowd, spotting a solitary Serena, but Rhys was nowhere to be found.
Zara walked up to me, two champagne flutes in hand. "What are you looking for?"
I shook my head, accepting a glass. "Zara, do you ever think Rhys and Liam look alike?"
Zaras eyes flickered, then she burst into an overly bright laugh. "How? Liam has that crazy green hair, doesn't he?"
"I told him this morning to dye it red," I said, but then stopped myself. "Wait. How did you know he had green hair?"
"I... just guessed," Zara answered quickly, her smile suddenly too wide, too forced.
Before I could press her, the ballroom lights dimmed slightly.
The Master of Ceremonies took the stage to celebrate the successful completion of the first phase of "The Dawn Initiative."
The spotlight hit the large screen behind him, which promptly blinked, flickered, and went a blinding, horrible blue.
A wave of confusion rippled through the audience.
Technicians rushed up to fix the failure.
A few minutes later, the screen cleared, not to the planned video, but to a dense, scrolling data report.
The MCs voice sounded tight with panic. "Apologies, technical error, we will switch back immediately..."
"Hold on." A director from the board stood up.
"That data that's The Dawn Initiative's core parameters, correct?"
His voice rose. "Why is there such an obvious error? This compatibility test data is completely skewed! That mistake would compromise the entire system architecture. If we proceed to phase two, all our upfront investment could be worthless! Who is the final responsible party?"
A thousand eyes, sharp as needles, turned and fixed on me.
I stood up, feeling the blood drain from my face.
That file could only be accessed by me, Rhys, and the core project team.
And I distinctly remembered that the last person to physically handle the final printed copy, besides me, was Serena.
I turned to her.
"That file," I stated clearly, "you picked it up from my office last Wednesday afternoon. You said you were taking it to Rhys for his final sign-off. Is that correct, Serena?"
Serenas eyes immediately filled with tears. "Ava, I was just a courier! I took the envelope to the office, but Rhys was in a meeting, so I left it with his secretary! I never looked at the contents! Why are you saying this in front of everyone?"
She started to sob, her shoulders shaking delicately. "I know you're upset and arguing with Rhys, but you can't push this responsibility onto me! You were the lead on the project! All the equipment, all the parameters, I was just following your directives..."
"Are you deliberately trying to mislead people?"
The whispering starteda low, venomous chorus.
"Isn't that the wife? Heard they're getting a divorce..."
"Makes sense. Trying to sabotage the project on her way out? Or just sheer incompetence?"
"Treating a multi-million-dollar project like a childish game, that's what happens when you marry into the top..."
I saw several unfamiliar, sharply dressed people gathering near Serena, their expressions harsh. I didn't recognize them as company high-fliers.
Just as the suffocating tension reached its peak, Bang!
The heavy double doors of the ballroom were thrown open.
A man with a shock of vivid red hair strode in.
He looked like Liam.
The red hair was the exact color I had idly requested this morning.
But the sharp lines of his jaw, the precise curve of his lips as he scanned the room, the cool, detached look in his eyes...
He looked exactly like Rhys.
Serena reacted first, rushing towards him. "Rhys! Thank God you're here! Ava is trying to pin the project failure on me!"
My face blindness could be playing tricks on me, but Serena called him Rhys.
Who is he? Both a stranger and terribly familiar.
I fumbled for my phone, found the contact "Sweet-Talking Golden Retriever," and hit dial.
My eyes never left the red-haired man.
One second, two seconds...
A subtle vibration started in the pocket of the red-haired mans perfectly tailored suit.
He reached into the pocket and answered the call without urgency.

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