On My Wedding Dress Fitting Day, I Became the First Love's Secret Mistress

I had just finished trying on the main gown Leo had commissioned from the top bridal designer in the world. Standing in front of the mirror, I pressed a hand to the loose fabric over my chest and turned to the man leaning against the doorframe.

"Leo, the size is off here. Did you give the designer the wrong measurements?"

Leo walked over slowly and pulled me back against his chest, resting his chin in the curve of my neck. His voice dropped into a low, amused drawl.

"No mistake. Mia's always been a little fuller than you."

For a second, I wanted to believe I'd misheard—anything rather than doubt the man I'd loved for five years.

He watched me go rigid in his arms. His fingertip traced the lace along the neckline of the dress, idle, indifferent, as if he were talking about some piece of furniture.

"Eva, tell me—you think a mistress's daughter is born with mistress in her blood?"

"Mia's back. Our families are announcing the alliance in three days. You're going underground."

I tore out of his arms and turned to look him in the eye, my fingers shaking.

"And me?"

"Don't worry. I'm keeping my promise to take care of you for the rest of your life. I'm just changing the arrangement." Leo smiled, his eyes empty of anything resembling warmth. "Call it inheriting the family business."

The man I'd loved was a stranger. I clenched my fists and forced out each word.

"And if I say no?"

"Eva. You've been at my side since you were eighteen. Without me, what would you even be?"

Leo lit a cigarette, drew on it, blew a ring of smoke. He reached out and ruffled my hair, the way you'd soothe a small, upset animal.

"Your mother is dead. Your father won't claim you. You have no friends, nothing to fall back on. Where do you think you're going to go if you leave me?"

I knew how my mother had lived. I knew it better than anyone alive.

The humiliation she'd carried in her bones—I would not live that life again.

I reached up and yanked down the zipper. I pulled the heavy, wrong gown off my body and let it fall to the floor.

"Leo. We're done."

The smile finally drained from his face, replaced by something darker—but the next second Mia's call shattered whatever stillness was left between us.

When he hung up, the weight on his face turned into something frantic. He reached for the slip and veil still on me, trying to pull them off.

"Eva, hurry up and get these off. I have to pick Mia up for the dinner. She'll be furious if I'm late."

He was rough with it. A clip caught my scalp and tore. I shoved him back.

"I'll do it myself."

In the chaos, the hooked pins holding the veil had tangled together. When I tightened my grip, the sharp barbs sliced open my palm. Blood welled up instantly and dripped onto the dress on the floor.

"Eva, how are you this careless?"

I thought for a moment he was worried about me. I was about to speak when he batted my bleeding hand aside, pulled out his handkerchief, and started frantically dabbing at the bloodstain on the gown. His voice was thick with impatience and disgust.

"You've ruined the dress. You know how bad Mia's temper is. You know how hard she is to calm down."

Then he looked up, and the thick, drowning despair in my eyes finally made him shut his mouth.

Of course I knew how bad Mia's temper was.

I still had a pale scar on my back—left there by the red-hot curling iron she pressed into my skin in high school.

She'd just fought with her boyfriend. She came at me in the school bathroom with her friends at her back, laughing and saying that a mistress's daughter was born to be someone's punching bag. The burn of that iron searing into me—I still remembered it exactly.

"Why her?"

I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"Eva, shouldn't you have figured this out by now?"

Leo's voice was calm to the point of cruelty.

"You were her stand-in. Now the real one is back—of course I'm choosing her. Marrying her locks our two families together. Marrying you gets me nothing. It saddles me with your mother's reputation. I know which side of the scale matters."

If his words hadn't been so cold, the familiar softness in his eyes might have fooled me one more time. For a second, I almost heard that speech as a love confession.

The tears finally fell, and he reached up and gently wiped them away. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, the way you soothed a child who didn't know any better.

"Be good. Don't throw a tantrum. I'll make sure Mia treats you well from now on. I have to go get her—go home by yourself."

With that, he picked up the blood-stained dress and strode out without looking back.

He was going to meet his love, his future.

And mine—in that instant—was over.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from my uncle. My fingers were trembling when I opened it.

[Eva, if you're willing to come home, the Deluca family will always be your family. I've arranged an escort. They'll be at your side within twenty-four hours to bring you out.]

I stared at the screen. The tears came harder. I typed back:

[Uncle, I'll come with you.]

[Good girl. Wait for me.]

I put the phone away. I pressed a tissue hard against my still-bleeding palm and walked out of the bridal boutique.

I didn't want to stay in that place a second longer than I had to—humiliation clinging to every corner of it. Even if there wasn't a cab in sight outside, I wasn't staying.