Into His Mistress's Body: Billionaire's Heartless Wife

Yvonne,

Life has always been unpredictable. Some situations just occur with no explanation. But when we search for the reason, we realize that no matter how unexpected incidents and miracles may seem, everything has its own reason.

Last night I remembered lying next to my husband, his arm resting around me, his breathing slow and steady against my neck. The warmth of him had always been my favorite comfort.

But this morning, I found myself standing before the mirror, staring at an unfamiliar face that made my blood run cold.

I touched my cheek, tracing the skin that looked far too smooth. My neck felt strange beneath my fingertips, and when I ran my hand over my wrist, I froze. The scar that once stretched across it — the one I got after falling down the stairs three years ago — was gone. No mark, no trace of pain or memory. Just perfect, untouched skin.

My breath hitched as I took in the reflection again. Long dark hair that wasn’t mine. A thinner frame. Lighter eyes. Everything about me looked younger, sharper, foreign. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming, if I had died, or if my mind had split into some cruel illusion. I opened my mouth, and even the voice that escaped felt wrong — softer, higher, unfamiliar.

Panic rippled through my chest. My stomach twisted, and I gripped the edge of the sink as the cold surface grounded me. I was supposed to tell something important to my husband this morning, something I promised I wouldn’t forget. Something about… the appointment, or maybe the test results?

But when I tried to remember, my head spun violently, a searing pain flooding my skull. It was as if someone had struck me behind the ear. My knees weakened, the world tilting, sounds echoing in distorted waves until—

"Mama?"

A small voice cut through the haze. I turned sharply. A little girl stood near the doorway, clutching a plush rabbit against her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear, glistening under the soft light. She couldn’t have been more than three years old.

"Mama?" I whispered back, my throat dry. "Who is your mama?"

Her little shoulders tensed, and the terror in her eyes deepened. She took a step back, her lips trembling. Then she turned and ran down the hall, her tiny feet thudding against the wooden floor. I followed without thinking, not out of reason but instinct. My body moved on its own, as if pulled by a string I couldn’t see.

When she reached another room, she tried to slam the door shut, but I caught it before it closed completely. Her small frame pressed against the wood, struggling.

"Mama! I am sorry. I won’t be bad girl. Please don’t hurt me!" she cried out, covering her ears.

The words pierced through me. My entire body went still. For an instant, I wasn’t here; I was back in that small, suffocating room from my childhood — the stench of alcohol, the dark walls, the sound of my father’s footsteps. I remembered the fear, the helplessness, the ache of waiting for a kind word that never came.

The sight of this trembling child shattered something inside me. My voice cracked as I spoke, softer this time. "Hey… no one is going to hurt you."

I lowered myself to her level and gently reached for her arm. She flinched, shrinking away, but I couldn’t bear the distance between us. My hands were shaking when I finally pulled her closer, pressing her against me. She trembled like a leaf in a storm.

"I am sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I won’t hurt you again. It’s alright. You are safe now."

She hiccupped softly, her tiny fingers clinging to my clothes as if unsure whether to believe me. I held her tighter, rocking her slightly, whispering the words I had once longed to hear. "I love you, baby. Mom loves you."

They slipped out before I could stop them. Maybe it wasn’t me speaking, maybe it was the body, or maybe it was something deeper — an ache older than this moment. Maybe my younger self, the one who wanted her mother to protect her, to tell her that she loved her,

The girl’s breathing slowed, the panic fading from her small chest. She looked up at me, eyes wide and wet. "Mama won’t hurt me again?"

"Never," I answered, even though I wasn’t sure what was happening or who I truly was. My heart twisted with uncertainty. Nothing made sense. I remembered my name. I remembered today’s date — the twenty-sixth. I remembered Liam’s urgent meeting this morning, his promise to call before leaving. I remembered my birthday last night, the candles, the laughter. I remembered my face.

Then whose body was this? If I was in this woman's soul, then where is the original owner? What about me? Did I die? Did I possess this body?

I sat on the floor with the girl on my lap, the plush rabbit crushed between us. My hands trembled as I reached for the phone lying on the table nearby. It wasn’t mine, but in this body, I supposed it was. The wallpaper of the same woman but in a flushy dress with heavy makeup. I noticed a hand on her waist but I didn't think much of this. After all I was both terrified and confused.

I unlocked the phone and searched for something familiar — my husband’s name. Liam Arnold. The name alone made my pulse quicken. He was the one person who could make sense of this, who could hold me and say everything was fine. He would never let me go through this madness alone.

Just as I began to type his name, I heard the front door open. The sound of the latch echoed too loud in the silence. The little girl stiffened in my arms. My own heart lurched painfully. I stood up slowly, holding her close.

Someone was inside.

I stepped toward the hallway, careful not to make noise. My mind raced with possibilities. Was it Veronica’s husband? Or whoever belonged to this body I was trapped in? I needed answers, but I also needed to protect the child clinging to me.

Then, before I could see who it was, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. The scent that followed was his scent, a familiar scent— cedar and musk, hitting me like a shockwave.

"Surprise! I had to lie to my wife to come here."

I froze. That voice. That deep, familiar voice. My throat tightened, and my eyes widened.

"L-Liam?" I stammered. My chest constricted painfully, unable to question why he was here. Instead I felt relieved, "You came? Do you know what’s happening? I thought I... I thought I almost died, and—"

But he interrupted, his tone sharp and irritated. "Why are you holding this bastard in your arm, Veronica?"