Mistress

After I suffer from a miscarriage, Jude Dixon, my psychiatrist husband, hypnotizes me and seals my memories so that he can take his depressed patient, Maddie Pittman, on a vacation. For the next three months, Jude and our son, Oliver Dixon, keep Maddie company as they travel around together. Once they are finally done with the vacation, Jude decides to unseal my memories. Once again, I become a mother and a wife. But now, I no longer deal with the household affairs, nor do I nag their ears off. At first, Jude and Oliver think that I'm just trying to attract their attention out of spite by playing hard to get. They don't really care about my change in behavior at all. That is, until they see my post on a forum. "Help! What should I do when my memories are back, but my feelings aren't? Heck, I can't even relate to the past me! Right now, I feel super nervous and awkward whenever I'm in the same room as my husband and son! What should I do? Please help me!"

The nights in Vicente were a coexistence of order and gunfire. Tonight was the wedding, ten years overdue, between Anthony Oliver, the don of the Oliver mafia family, and Mabel Samson, the woman who had stood beside him through bloodshed, betrayals, and underworld wars. A top-tier luxury hotel had been cleared by the family's soldati. Below them glittered a sea of city lights; above them bloomed fireworks commissioned for the future Donna alone. The man known for his ruthlessness knelt on one knee with a rare diamond ring, his eyes filled with rare tenderness. "Mabel," he said, "you walked through hell at my side. Let me give you peace for the rest of your life." It seemed that all the sacrifices and patience had finally led somewhere. However, just as Mabel's fingers were about to touch the ring, a piercing scream came from above. "Don't! Anthony! Save me!" That single cry drew all of Anthony's attention away. The girl was not unfamiliar to Mabel. Two years earlier, Anthony's twin brother had been tortured to death by a rival mafia family while covering his retreat. His body was never recovered. And Cheryl Reyes was the fiancée he had protected with his life. Mabel watched as the man she loved abandoned everything without hesitation and ran toward another woman. She stepped forward and tried to stop him. "Don't go. The wedding isn't over." However, when their eyes met, the Don accused her coldly of being heartless and selfish. And in that moment, Mabel felt tired. Perhaps it was time, just once, to choose herself over the Family.

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world. A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award. But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio. "All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares. Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now." Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off. I stand in the corner, my heart in despair. As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

When my husband, Austin Hart, and I participated in the earthquake disaster relief, he discovered the corpse of his first love, Stacy Deleon, in the collapse zone. That night, Austin left a suicide note behind before jumping off the building with our son, Clifford Hart, in order to reunite with Stacy in the afterlife. Only then did I realize that both Austin and Clifford never cared about me, to begin with. When I was reborn, I returned to the moment when Austin first asked for a divorce. This time, I agreed to the divorce immediately. I even gave the custody of the three-year-old Clifford to Austin right away. Five years later, we meet again at an auction. Austin laces fingers with Stacy while taking Clifford's hand with the other. He mocks me, "It's only been five years, Kendra. You're really that shameless now, huh? You can't wait to latch onto me again now that you've found out I'm here!" Clifford mocks me as well. "Mom… Wait, you should be Ms. Powell to me now. You should stop pestering my dad already. My parents and I are living a very happy life right now." I just ignore them. Instead, I grab my daughter, Faye Gilmore, who has been sneaking food off the table, and steer her back to our seats. But Austin flies into a fit of rage instantly. A vein pops out of his hand, which is still laced with Stacy's fingers. "You really are shameless, Kendra Powell! We've only been separated for five years, yet you already have a daughter that old? I can't believe you're willing to resort to such despicable methods just to make me jealous! Which bastard did you have that bastard child with, huh?"

It has been fifty-five days since my fiancé cut me off. I called off the wedding I'd waited eight long years for. All while he was caring for his childhood sweetheart, who was battling depression and seeking peace at a remote retreat. He even had the historic chapel—a local landmark called the Aethelred Sanctuary—closed to the public for six months because of her. And me? I was left to face the swarming reporters, hounded from one place to the next until I had nowhere left to hide—all because he disappeared without a word. Out of options, I went to the retreat to find him. But he turned me away, saying I would disturb the quiet and sanctity of the place. In the bitter cold of deep winter, I collapsed outside the gates, barely holding on. When I woke, I saw him—Jonathan—planting an entire garden of roses on the grounds, every bloom a declaration of love. Six months later, he finally left and returned home with his childhood sweetheart. The roses they had planted now filled what was supposed to be our wedding venue, from floor to ceiling. I watched them, cold and unmoved. What he didn't know was this—I was already engaged to someone else.

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

My wife, Chelsea Sloane, has always been an avid user of computers when it comes to work. But one day, she suddenly falls in love with the idea of using pen and paper. In fact, she loves one particular black pen to the point that she refuses to let anyone touch it. Unable to endure her twisted obsession over that pen, I decide to bring up divorce before her on our wedding anniversary. Enraged, Chelsea points at me and yells, "Are you seriously getting a divorce over a pen?" I reply coolly, "Yup. It's precisely that."

Princess Vionna of Aurenza was dead. She died in the estate of Theron Thornefell, Warden of the North—buried beneath snow and silence. The blizzard raged for seven days before it eased, uncovering her frostbitten body beneath the drifts. Even in death, she was curled around her swollen belly, one arm reaching toward the nearest gates. No one came. She and the unborn child were frozen to death. Left behind. As the cold took her, regret cut deep. She never should've loved him. Never should've bowed. Because of her, the child never saw the sky. If she had another life, she'd never look his way again.

During a battle with the vampires, I get injured by a silver dagger in order to protect my mate, Evan Stormhowl. Not only am I incapable of giving birth since then, but my wolf also sinks into an eternal slumber. Because of those reasons, I lose my status as the strongest warrior in the pack and become a laughingstock. For seven years, I grit my teeth and endure the mocking comments from others while doing my best to carry out my duties as the Luna, just so I can preserve Evan's dignity as the Alpha. But he can be seen with an arm wrapped around Lilian Wolfhart's waist at the hunting rite that's only hosted once per five years. When the celebratory banquet is in full swing, an elder named Lucas Nightshade clinks his wine glass while guffawing loudly. "Alpha Evan, I know you've been yearning for Lilian this whole time. Why don't you let her have your pup tonight?" The bonfire illuminates Lilian's bright red cheeks, making her look delicate and beautiful. I let out a cold chuckle before dumping a glass of red wine onto Lilian, who's still fantasizing about having Evan's pups. "I reject that suggestion! I, Erin Bloodmoon, will never share my mate with other she-wolves!" Since seven years have already passed, everyone else must have already forgotten that I'd rather have a dead mate than a disloyal one.

In the seventh year of marrying Don Sebastian Quinn, I finally stopped loving him. After finishing the family business in the afternoon, I found an excuse to go out for coffee; He wanted to take me to attend the family core meeting, but I politely declined by saying I had to fly to Paris to watch a show; When he finally refused his social engagement and tried to get intimate with me, I lied about feeling unwell and slept in a separate room. Even when his lover was wearing my silk nightgown and commanding the housekeepers in the living room, I calmly complimented her good figure. My indifference finally hurt this man. He forcefully grabbed my chin in the middle of the night, his eyes red. "Why aren't you mad seeing another woman sleeping in my bed? Nicola Scott, I'm your husband. Don't you care at all?" I looked at his out-of-control state and only smiled faintly, thinking, 'Sebastian, you've probably forgotten that I loved you the most during the years you punished me by making me kneel and reflect on my actions.'