Mistress

On our third wedding anniversary, I received a cake from my husband. It had the names Clarisse Burke and Antonio Carey written on it, along with Happy Third Anniversary. But I felt like I'd been plunged into ice. That wasn't my name. Clarisse was his secretary. Sure enough, I saw my cake in Clarisse Burke's latest post, labeled Iva Grant and Antonio Carey. [Three years, and someone's already treating me like his wife.] Below, there was a comment. [Delete that post! The cakes got mixed up. Don't let Iva find out.] That was when I realized he had planned every romantic surprise in pairs. Holding my phone, I laughed at his pathetic attempt to cover it up. But I was done. I started planning my exit.

My daughter has a sudden allergic reaction, and my husband, an expert in these things, is the only one who can save her. I call him at this critical juncture, but his childhood sweetheart is the one who answers. "Clinton is busy. He wants me to tell you not to call him if it's not important." There's no time for me to get mad. I say anxiously, "Tell him to come to the hospital now. Ivy has had an allergic reaction and is waiting for him to save her." Clinton Reeves says impatiently, "Gemma and I are just watching a soccer match. Do you have to joke around with Ivy's life? I'm so disappointed in you." Later, Ivy dies in the hospital, her body covered in rashes. I wipe my tears and call Clinton once more. I say icily, "Let's get a divorce." The first thing I hear is his and Gemma Walken's laughter. After a while, he says, "Sure, but Ivy is mine."

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…

Inside the tattoo studio, Seth Jones let his fingertips trace the dip of Rita Searle's waist and move slowly up her spine. With a soft rustle, her dress slipped to her ankles. He stood over her, taking in the blood-red rose inked across her chest. They had been married for three years, and this was the anniversary gift he'd be giving her—999 roses tattooed into her skin. A broken sob scraped up Rita's throat. "Seth, it hurts… Please, stop…" Her tears splashed onto the back of his hand, but he only pressed the needle deeper, dragging it along until angry red welts marked her body. "Victor wanted those damn roses so he could give them to another woman, and that led to Tara falling off that cliff and ending up in a vegetative state. I'm just giving him what he wanted. You should be grateful." Lying on the cold tattoo table, Rita felt the chill spreading through her. Her eyes stung, weighed down by grief churning behind them. "Isn't it enough? You bought out Searle Group, you hung Victor over a cliff, and left him for the vultures. What else do you want from us?" Seth grabbed her by the throat and forced her chin up. "And isn't Tara innocent in all this? Rita, you and Victor destroyed her life. Don't you owe her for that?"

Cecilia Jones kept a forgiveness notebook. Six months ago, on Cecilia's birthday, Jeff Lawrence abandoned her to meet Yvonne Smith. It was the 93rd time she’d forgiven him. Three months prior, when Yvonne mentioned she was allergic to cat dander, Jeff gave away the cat Cecilia had raised for years. Cecilia forgave him for the 94th time. One month ago, Jeff got drunk and woke up in the same bed as Yvonne. He insisted that nothing had happened and accused Cecilia of having a dirty mind. Cecilia forgave him for the 95th time.

In their four years of marriage, Ethan Sterling had always refused to visit any romantic couple destinations with his wife, Pearl Whitmore. He said she was shallow and just chasing trends. However, when his first love came back from overseas, he could not wait to take her up the legendary mountain where it was said couples who climbed it successfully would grow old together. Pearl divorced him and moved abroad. However, Ethan followed her to the new country, sobbing as he searched for her in the ruins...

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.

“One day earlier or later—what’s the difference?” Henry asked calmly. It was my thirtieth birthday. The deadline of the promise he made beside my dying mother’s bed. But that day, he needed to take his pregnant sister-in-law to her prenatal appointment. “She’s carrying my late brother’s only child,” he said. “Why are you fighting her for this?” I wasn’t fighting for a date. I was fighting for the last shred of dignity in a fifteen-year love. The girl who once meant everything to him Had slowly become the unreasonable one. The sister-in-law who used to disgust him Had somehow become the one he needed to protect. So I smiled and said, “Fine.” And I left. Three days later, I turned thirty without him. That was the day Henry Jones began to regret it. Because soon he would learn— The baby wasn’t his brother’s. The betrayal didn’t start with me. And the woman he chose to hurt… was the only one who ever stood by him. But by then—I was already gone. And this time,He would be the one begging.

My fiance, Alexander Elrod, the most outstanding fashion designer of the 21st century, had finally agreed to marry me. He promised to propose once he won the Paris Fashion Award. When the day arrived, I braved a typhoon to attend his celebration banquet. There, I watched as Alexander and his assistant, Stella Monroe, kissed shamelessly in front of the cameras. Then, they proudly displayed their wedding rings. Alexander picked up the microphone. “Stella dear, thank you for your hard work during this time. In the future, I’ll continue leading the fashion world with you, one trend after another!” My colleagues all turned to look at me and expected me to cause a scene. I smiled, and I was the first to applaud them. “How wonderful! Wishing you two a lifetime of happiness.” The room erupted in shocked murmurs. After the event, Alexander immediately dragged me aside to explain, “Stella stayed up with me for nearly half a year for the Paris Fashion Award. Her mother’s terminally ill, and her last wish was to see Stella get married. Must you take it so seriously? “Once work is over, I’ll divorce her and throw you the grandest wedding, okay?” I walked away without answering him. Then, I gave my father a call. “Dad, the ten-year bet is over. I’ve lost. I’ll come home and take over the family business.”

Following the death of her parents in a tragic accident, Alessia Santoro became a servant of the Alpha and Luna of the Crestview Pack. Being an omega isn't easy, especially when she's mated to a Beta who hates her. When the one who was destined to love and protect her rejects the bond, it destroys her hope. As a result of the cruel actions of her ex-mate, she is forced out of her pack and taken in by another. As Alessia settles into her new life, she thinks everything is going to be fine, but the moon goddess hasn't finished with her yet. A second chance, mate? An Alpha for an omega? Although she isn't ready for more heartbreak and rejection, he is persistent, kind, and everything she has ever wanted. Does she have what it takes to move beyond her trauma and accept the man who makes her feel worthy of love? Is she going to be able to break free from her monsters and find true happiness? Or is it all doomed to fail?