Mistress

Remi Sloan had been married to the top scion of the elite circle for five years. To outsiders, their marriage looked like a fairy tale. Everyone said he adored her—that he would even give his life for her if she asked. However, because she could not get pregnant, a few hints from her in-laws became outright demands. The man who had held her hands and promised to protect her for the rest of her life on their wedding day cried in front of her. “Be good… I can’t hold on anymore.” So this was how short a man’s promise could be, because less than two months later, she saw him supporting a pregnant woman in the hospital's obstetrics department, his movements gentle.

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…

On our son's fifth birthday, I found the texts on Stanley's phone—from his best friend's widow: [Stanley, the kid misses his dad again. When are you coming over?] [Stanley, Archie liked a set of matching family outfits. I already ordered them. Let's wear them together this weekend.] [Stanley, Archie starts school tomorrow. I put your name down under "father." Hope that's okay?] And Stanley? He was all in: [Loretta's asleep. I'll head over now.] [My size is 3XL. Don't get the wrong one.] [It's fine. You two have always been my responsibility.] I stood there, frozen. Then I called him back in from the living room, where he'd been helping Luca open gifts. He didn't deny it. Just hugged me and started rambling. "Hallie's Howard's widow. I promised I'd look out for her and Archie. I know I messed up. It won't happen again." We'd been together ten years. Luca had just turned five. Ending a marriage over a few texts felt dramatic. So I let it slide. Believed him. We even went out to celebrate Luca's birthday. Then his phone lit up on the table: [Stanley, the kid's crying for his dad before bed. I can't calm him down.] Stanley shoved his chair back and walked out—no hesitation. I looked at Luca. He was startled at the noise. And just like that, divorce didn't feel so dramatic anymore.

Even though it's been three years since we held our weddings, Adrian Johnson refuses to get our marriage registered. I overhear him venting to his best friend after he gets drunk. "Colleen got kidnapped before. I keep thinking of her as a tainted woman. Plus, her family has already gone into bankruptcy. She has no idea that my company is about to get listed." I feel my blood turn into ice in my veins. His confession leaves my feet rooted to the spot. Then, Adrian pulls a woman into his arms before kissing her belly. That woman is Rosalind Muller, the young and beautiful bar singer. I'm still dazed when I receive a text on my phone. It's a photo of Rosalind's pregnancy bump. The caption writes, "You're just a tainted woman. How can you ever compare to me?" What Adrian doesn't know is that I never got kidnapped three years ago. At that time, I had carried out a top-secret rescue mission as a secret agent. Soon, I text my dad. "Dad, where's your island? Can you send a helicopter over to pick me up?" On the day I leave Adrian once and for all, it's time for my mysterious identity and the truth from three years ago to be revealed.

My father, Benjamin Ward, was bedridden, paralyzed, and unable to move. The AI model he spent his entire life developing—a model powerful enough to cure terminal diseases—had been stolen and published under someone else's name. Humiliated beyond endurance, he suffered a stroke and collapsed. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even write. I swore I'd find the thief who destroyed him. My girlfriend, Maris Dawn, wept and promised to help me uncover the truth. But at a dinner party, when her first love proudly announced that he'd been specially recruited by a national research lab thanks to that very model, she immediately grabbed my arm, whispering, "Don't make a scene. Grayson just wants a good future. Don't ruin his life." Grayson Vale smirked with disdain. "The old man was about to retire anyway. Think of it as recycling waste." My vision went red. I charged at him, ready to make him pay for what he'd done to my father. Maris tripped me before I could reach him. She threw a check for ten million in my face. "Here's for your dad's medical care. Don't be shameless, alright? Grayson is a rising star. You're just a broke grad student. You should learn your place." I tore the check apart, piece by piece. That check could never buy the Dawn family a future in the world of science.

At my mother's funeral, my fiancé, Matt Moore, arrived with Kayla Wood to pay his respects. In front of everyone, he announced that our engagement was over. He was going to marry Kayla instead. As the whispers and laughter of the crowd swirled around me, Zach Hayden, my childhood friend, suddenly knelt on one knee and proposed. He said he had loved me for many years. Moved by Zach's sincerity, I accepted his proposal. For three years after our marriage, I remained childless. Each time the topic came up, Zach would reassure me gently that it didn't matter. As long as he had me, that was enough. But not long after, I overheard a conversation between him and the family doctor. "Mr. Hayden, I've prepared the contraceptives as you instructed. Should I continue giving them to your wife?" His voice was cold and detached. "Yes. Don't stop. Marrying her was nothing more than a convenient arrangement. In my heart, only Kayla is worthy of being the mother of my child." So, this marriage I thought was filled with happiness was nothing more than a carefully crafted lie. Since he never loved me, I no longer wanted him either.

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.

I fell in love with the nanny's son. After boldly pursuing him, he reluctantly agreed to marry me. But I never expected his young lover to storm into my home like a madwoman, prying my mouth open to pour scalding water down my throat, pressing me into a sink full of dirty water, and finally pushing me down the stairs. My husband stood by my hospital bed, looking at my broken body with disdain. "Irene, every moment with you makes me sick," he spat, barely able to hide his impatience for my death. Yet, when I finally died, he sobbed uncontrollably in public, playing the role of the devoted, heartbroken husband. "Irene, don't leave me! You have no idea how much I wanted to die with you!" At that, I spoke softly from behind him. "Is that so?"

After a team building event, my colleague, Matthew Wells, gives me a ride to the company so I can work overtime. That very night, his girlfriend throws a fit and claims I'm a homewrecker who tried to seduce Matthew. She even produces edited photos of us being intimate. The company's management speaks to Matthew and me—he claims I regularly harass him and pushes the blame on me. The management labels me as a troublemaker and fires me. My apprentice tries to speak up for me but gets bullied and sidelined. Ultimately, she quits out of depression. I charge over to the company to seek justice for my apprentice but accidentally get pushed down a staircase during an argument. I land with my head on the ground and die on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I'm reborn and taken back to when Matthew's girlfriend starts throwing a fit.