Mistress

I discover that I'm a homewrecker after dating my boyfriend for a decade. We're looking at marital homes when his wife seeks me out. She beats me up in public and rips my hair out, yet all he does is hurry to her after I've pushed her to the floor. Why? Because she's pregnant. Later, he gets a divorce and begs me to marry him. "I'm begging you, Madison. Forgive me this once."

My wife, Caroline Bailey, was a forensic pathologist. For her first love, Ian Lawson, she was willing to break every rule she held sacred and allowed him into the autopsy room to observe. She even let him throw acid onto a corpse's face. That was, until Caroline took on a new case. As she stood over the disfigured body on her operating table, she began to fall apart. The acid-burned face was starting to look more and more like mine.

The year Lawrence Scott and I were most in love, he died in a car accident. Everyone thought I would fall apart, but I did not cry, and I did not scream. Two years later, I ran into him at a private lounge: Lawrence was there, holding a young girl in his arms, kissing her passionately. His friends hurried over to explain: "Back then, Lawrence was badly injured in the crash and fell into a coma. He just woke up recently but lost his memory. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry." Lawrence pushed the girl aside, frowned slightly, and looked straight at me. "So you're the fiancée I supposedly forgot? I don't remember you, but since you never gave up on me, I'll honor my promise to marry you." I smiled faintly and said, "They lied to you. We don't know each other." What Lawrence did not know was that on the day he faked his death, I received a video. In it, he was laughing and saying to his friends, "The thought of spending the rest of my life with only Yoana drives me crazy. I'll fake my death, take a few years off to have fun. Just keep her company so she doesn't do anything stupid." He also did not know that during those two years he was 'dead,' I had found someone else.

My husband's adopted sister invited me out to dinner, and while we were eating, disaster struck—a violent earthquake shook the ground beneath us. My husband, a firefighter, rushed to the scene as quickly as he could. But fate had a cruel plan for us. We were trapped beneath a massive boulder, unable to move, and the rescuers could only save one of us. He made his choice. He chose her—the adopted sister who had always been frail and sickly—over me, his wife, who was five months pregnant with his child. I begged him, pleaded with him to save me. But he turned his back on me. The boulder pressed harder, and I felt the sickening crack of my arm breaking. He didn't even flinch. "Alice has always been weak," he said coldly. "If I leave her here, she'll die." But when I died, he lost his mind.

On my birthday, my boyfriend ditched his childhood friend's desperate call to be with me. Devastated by his rejection, she spiraled into depression and ended her life. Heartbroken, he proposed to me beside her body. "I've already lost Giselle. I can't lose you, too." I said yes, moved by his grief and sincerity. But on our wedding night, he turned on me, hacking me with a knife. "You vile woman! Giselle died because of you. Time to feel her pain!" As I bled out, the girl waltzed back, saying she'd faked her death to spook him. Overjoyed, he pointed at my corpse. "Thank God, you're alive. This wretched woman is gone, and we're free to be together." They looted my wealth for their lavish wedding and happy life. When my eyes snapped open again, I was back on that fateful birthday.

On the day the Cole family went bankrupt, Adrian Cole left behind a suicide note and went alone to the snow mountains to end his life. I chased after him without hesitation, searching for him in the snow for a full ten hours. Just as despair hollowed me out completely, I saw his secretary, Zoe Bennett, livestreaming Adrian's proposal on social media. One of his friends joked in the comments, "You're about to be a groom. Aren't you afraid your woman will get mad?" His reply was icy cold. "I only promised her the title of Mrs. Cole. She shouldn't even think about anything else." Another comment followed. "She's marrying in with ten billion in investment. Is she really willing to swallow that kind of grievance?" I could almost see Adrian sneering as he typed, "She got ten billion for the position of Mrs. Cole. She's not losing out. If it weren't for her, Zoe wouldn't have been forced to go abroad. These last few days are my compensation to Zoe." My fingernails dug deep into my flesh. Calmly, I burned everything that had anything to do with him. On the day of the wedding, he went mad searching for me everywhere. In the upscale venue across the street, I had just slipped on a diamond ring given to me by another man, Julian Cross. Unbeknownst to him, while he was calculating the countdown to our breakup, I was also preparing to marry someone else.

On the day of my twenty-first birthday, I posted online: [I want a lollipop.] My childhood rival, who was overseas, dropped everything there and flew back. He showered and showed up at my doorstep. I vowed to savor lollipops more carefully from then on—they were simply too sweet. From that moment, even after I was exposed as a fake heiress, everyone in high society knew: Jonathan Chase wanted to marry me. When the Sterling family carried out their harsh punishment, the hundred lashes meant for me were almost entirely taken by him—ninety-nine of them, borne by his own body. When they locked me in the basement, with darkness closing in from all sides, his shouts each day became my only light. "Chloe, don't be afraid. I'll get you out," he promised. And he did. He really saved me. He also made me witness, with my own eyes, his magnificent wedding to the true heiress. The man who once couldn't bear to make me wait had, "for my sake", told me to wait three times. The first time was on his wedding day. Pain was etched into every line of his face. "Chloe, if I don't marry Eleanor, they'll never let you go. Wait for me for three years. Three years from now, I'll marry you." The second time was three years later. He looked at Eleanor's rounded belly, hesitation written all over his face. "Chloe… she's carrying my child. You'll have to wait a little longer." The third time was just yesterday. I was just a step away from his kid. He pushed me violently to the floor, his face tight with warning. "Chloe, can't you just wait? Why do you have to take it out on a kid?" Sunlight fell across the face that once loved me, now stripped of all its former warmth. "If that's how it is… then maybe it's time for me to leave too." I said inwardly.

Everyone knows that I've been pursuing Ciara Hudson for several years now. For her sake, I reject a marriage alliance with the Langstons and invest ten billion dollars into saving the Hudsons from the brink of collapse. But on the night before our wedding, while attempting to appease her adopted brother, Carl Hudson, Ciara allows him to take her to bed, right in our marital home. After their steamy, sordid night together, Carl emerges from the bedroom dressed in my bathrobe, showing off the bite marks on his chest. Ciara simply brushes it off with a smile, saying that Carl was merely throwing a tantrum and that I shouldn't take it to heart. She even uses the marriage to threaten me, demanding that I give Carl a house and some of my company's shares to ensure he never wants for anything in life. She even says she'll make sure my family's lineage ends with me, all for Carl's sake. The disgruntled Carl runs off with my car and even crashes into me on purpose. Even as I slump on the ground, covered in injuries, Ciara runs straight to Carl, who has nothing more than a few scratches, without sparing me so much as a glance. As I lie on the hospital bed, my head finally clears. It occurs to me that my sacrifices have moved no one but myself, and how pointless it'll be to persist in them. I call up Serena Langston, my business rival, and tell her I'll go through with the proposed marriage alliance between our families. Since Ciara has betrayed me, I don't want her anymore.

On my twentieth birthday, my father asked me to draw from a box of straws. It was to pick a husband between William Smith and Austin Smith to inherit North Town. The short straw represented Austin, while the long straw represented William. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the long straw. However, I was certain that I did not want to marry Austin. I drew straws for three years, but it was to no avail. I had no choice but to tamper with the straws to marry William as I wished. However, ten years into our marriage, he was no longer gentle and kind. He had turned into a really cold person. He neither returned home nor touched me. Even when I threatened him with a knife, he refused to talk to me. Despite feeling hurt, I was unwilling to let him go. That was until I watched him kick away the only medicine I had for my asthma while I was writhing on the floor. “I was the one who switched out the straws. There was no long straw, yet you forced me to marry you. Mandy died from a broken heart, so you should pay with your life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was holding a short straw. I calmly said, “Since it’s the short one, I choose Austin.”

When my boyfriend, Mark Jamison, gets in a car accident that leaves him paralyzed, I pawn the ring my mother left to me before she died to help him. With hands that have never been used to do any work or a single household chore in my life, I start lugging around delivery bags. In the middle of a rainstorm, I get assigned to deliver a food order worth 10,000 dollars, with a 100-dollar tip. Just as I happily celebrate my luck, I overhear the raucous laughter coming from inside the villa. "She actually believes you got paralyzed in a car accident? She now spends all day doing deliveries just to support you financially? She even sold off her dead mom's ring?" "She'd probably cry her heart out if she ever finds you're actually a wealthy scion worth tens of billions of dollars, who's just pretending to be poor!" Mark twirls the wineglass he's holding and says, "A lowly woman like her was born to wait on others. She brought it upon herself by always being better than Rosie back in school. Messing with her is the punishment she deserves." I continue to stand in the rain, tears rolling down my cheeks. This is how I find out Mark has spent the last two years faking his condition just to help his childhood sweetheart get back at me. His so-called paralyzed legs, deceased parents, and helpless tears are all just part of a meticulously executed lie. I haven't talked to my father, the richest man in town, for years. But now, I have finally decided to call him. "I lost, Dad. I'll accept the marriage alliance and marry the guy you picked for me."