I Hired My Husband's Mistress

My tears had barely dried, but I was already wearing a flawless smile.

A few hours earlier, I had broken up with my secret boyfriend.

Now he was just my ex.

He said we weren’t right for each other.

He said he was tired.

I understood perfectly.

“We’re not right for each other” and “I’m tired” were just softer ways of saying, “You don’t have money,” and, “You’re not good enough for me.”

The funny part was, before I had even recovered from the sting of being dumped, I had to sit in Gavin Hart’s car and play the role of his perfect wife.

Outside the window, the city was coming alive under the evening lights.

Inside the car, it was silent.

Gavin was focused on his phone, his long fingers gliding across the screen as if he were reviewing a multimillion-dollar contract instead of sitting beside a wife who had just had her heart broken.

I stole a glance at him.

His profile was still perfect. Cool. Precise. Untouchable.

To him, I was probably nothing more than a decoration in one of his mansions.

Something that looked good in the right setting.

Then his phone rang.

The sound cut through the silence.

Gavin glanced at the caller ID, and the faintest trace of warmth softened his cold expression.

It was not for me.

My heart went cold.

He answered the call, lowering his voice into a gentle murmur.

“Hey. Don’t fuss. I’m on my way.”

I knew that tenderness was not meant for me.

The way he spoke to her was nothing like the cold, commanding tone he used with me.

He ended the call and turned to me.

“We’re going to the hospital. Nora got hurt.”

For a second, my mind went blank.

Then humiliation washed over me.

He was not asking.

He was informing me.

He wanted me, his wife, to go with him to visit his mistress.

The insult made my whole body go cold.

I stared at the blurred city lights outside the window, my stomach twisting as though I might throw up every grievance I had swallowed over the years.

But in the end, I only said quietly, “Okay.”

At the emergency room, Nora Quinn had a cartoon Band-Aid wrapped around one finger.

The swelling was so slight it barely looked worse than a mosquito bite.

Yet she was curled against Gavin’s chest, eyes shining with tears, looking heartbreakingly fragile.

Gavin held her hand with ridiculous care, soothing her over and over.

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry. I should’ve taken better care of you.”

He sounded like he was comforting a child who had gotten hurt at preschool.

I stood a few steps away and watched the entire performance.

Strangely, I felt calm.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Nora wanted attention.

And I was just there to watch her get it.

When she saw me, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes before she quickly hid it beneath a watery gaze.

She slipped out of Gavin’s arms and gave me a small, timid bow.

“Mrs. Hart, I’m so sorry you and Mr. Hart had to come all the way here so late.”

Her voice was sweet enough to make my teeth ache, but there was confidence beneath it.

A challenge.

I did not answer.

I only gave her a brief, indifferent look.

To me, Nora was not a rival.

She was simply someone who had mistaken temporary attention for victory.