Mistress Marriage Short Stories & Novels

After hearing that my son was getting engaged, I immediately returned to the country to prepare the engagement party for him. As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I made a post online asking for advice. [Would this engagement gift look sincere enough?] The post included a selfie of me standing in front of a pile of engagement gifts. It quickly went viral, and the comments poured in. [This is way too sincere!] [That's at least $400,000 worth of gifts. The groom must really value you. You're so lucky, sis.] [Where do you even find a god-tier husband like this?!] … Only after reading the comments did I realize the netizens had misunderstood. Just as I was about to explain that I had prepared the engagement gifts for my future daughter-in-law, I received a private message. I froze when I opened it. [You shameless bitch, how dare you steal my things? My fiancé bought all of these for me! I suggest you return everything immediately and stop entertaining thoughts you shouldn't have!]

When I discover yet another tube of lipstick on the front passenger seat of my Porsche for the 99th time, I decide to send a reminder in my company's group chat. "Everyone, please make sure to take all of your personal belongings with you the next time you decide to hitch a ride. Otherwise, it'll be difficult for the owner to remove the stains from the leather seats." The newly-hired intern, Sasha Lane, is quick to shoot me down. "Me hitching a ride has nothing to do with you! A washed-up old hag like you should focus on keeping your man in line! "Are you already triggered by the fact that he decides to pick me up from my home and bring me breakfast?" I'm stunned, to say the least. The truth is, I've already acquired the controlling stake of this company. In order to preserve my fiance, Jack Locke's pride, I let him become the general manager of the company. On top of that, I even lend him my Porsche. At first, I thought he'd be grateful to me for what I did for him. But now, his mistress has the guts to call me out in the group chat. The higher-ups in the group chat often kiss up to Jack, so none of them dares to defend me. After giving it some thought, I get in contact with the company's legal department right away. "Previously, we discussed the matter of dismissing Jack from his duties and holding him accountable for embezzling the company's funds. I want you to get those tasks done as soon as possible. In fact, I want him to get kicked out of the company right now."

For five years, Cora Mitchell had been secretly married to Ethan Caldwell, yet they maintained a strictly professional superior-subordinate relationship at work. During the day, they treated each other like any other boss and secretary. At night, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. No one knew they were husband and wife—until a video of Ethan pinning Cora against his office desk went viral. In the footage, Ethan gripped her waist with bloodshot eyes, his voice still hoarse with desire. “Cora, keep moaning. I love hearing you.” The video had barely surfaced when Cora was branded a homewrecker and dragged to the police station. One side of her face was swollen, and her clothes had been torn off, exposing bruises and marks all over her body. The people surrounding her pointed and sneered with contempt. “Have you heard? She’s a mistress! She used her position as his secretary to seduce Mr. Caldwell. She deserves whatever she gets, even if she’s beaten to death!” Cora struggled to defend herself. “I’m Ethan Caldwell’s wife, not his mistress!” A slap came out of nowhere, sending her stumbling back and nearly toppling to the ground. "Mr. Caldwell belongs with Madison Parker!"

The day Caleb brought the pup he had with a hidden Omega in the pack and gave it to me as a “birthday gift”—that was the day everything ended between us. He stood before the entire pack, holding the newborn in his arms, voice cold and cutting. “Is this pup enough to make you give up on me?” Right then, I finally understood. There would never be a real Mate Bond between us. I had followed him with my heart for seven years. And for the first time—I let go. I looked down at the pup in my arms. He didn’t spare it a glance. Instead, he reached out, brushed my hair with that same unbearable gentleness. “Quinn, whoever you want to bond with next, whatever Alpha you choose—I’ll help you win him.” Later, I was marked and bred by another Alpha—Ethan. Stronger. Steadier. He claimed me under the full moon, and together we completed our Fated Mate Bond. The pack gathered for our Mate Bond Ceremony. The moon hung high. The bond was sealed. Everything was as the Moon Goddess had destined. Until Caleb crashed through the ceremonial boundary, his eyes burning red, his wolf barely restrained. “You’re mine, Quinn! I don’t care if all the packs accept you and Ethan— I won’t let another Alpha have what belongs to me.”

My husband, Kenneth Sterling, dies of a sudden heart attack while burning cash bundles at a grave. However, when I arrive to claim his body, I discover a bottle of emergency heart medication in his pocket. The cops offer their condolences, explaining that Kenneth must've been so overwhelmed by grief that he didn't have time to take his medication. I nod in agreement but freeze the moment I see the photo on the tombstone. The woman staring back at me is none other than Kenneth's deceased ex-wife, Roxana Clark. Just then, a recurring reminder pops up on his phone. "1. Withdraw 100 grand from the bank and burn it for Roxana." "2. I've taken a wife to care for my elderly parents. Now, I willingly give up my life to reunite with Roxana in God's embrace." I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. Day in and day out, I work hard and pinch pennies to cover Kenneth's parents' medical bills. Yet, he has been burning stacks of cash for a dead woman for more than a decade. As heartbreaking as it is absurd, my old illness flares up, and I die on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Kenneth and I tie the knot.

When I was five months pregnant, Greg had missed four months of prenatal checkups because of his highschool sweetheart, Chloe. Now, on the fifth one, he stood me up yet again. Over the phone, his voice sounded cold and irritated. “The baby isn’t just mine, you know. Why can’t you step up as a mother and do a little more? Is the kid going to die without me there?“ I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the hospital waiting room TV, which showed a live broadcast of him smiling tenderly at Chloe. “Okay,“ I whispered. Greg must have noticed something off about my tone because he started to say something else, but I hung up before he could. Right then, the nurse, who had just gossiped about the news, specifically about how Greg had just spent a fortune hosting a massive fireworks display for Chloe, walked over to me. “Ma’am, please head this way for your prenatal checkup,“ she said. I shook my head, my voice calm. “No need. Please schedule me for an abortion next week instead.

I had a massive fight with my husband, Gary Mitchell, while I was six months pregnant. He kicked me out of the house. With nowhere to go and no money, I ducked into a convenience store just to get some warmth. I was staring at the steam rising from the hot food display when the cashier walked over. "Excuse me, Miss. We have one last bottle of amnesia water left. Would you be interested in it?" I froze, then let out a bitter laugh. "I don't have any money." She said, "You don't need to use money. You can exchange it for something from your body." Instinctively, I raised my hand and touched my swollen belly. "How about this?"

When my girlfriend, Cherry Jameson, receives her HIV positive test report, she finally realizes what her childhood friend, Neil Sawyer, meant by "life-and-death". In the previous life, after Cherry fainted from her latest anemic episode, Neil insisted on donating his blood to her. I did everything I could to stop the procedure from happening. I told Cherry that Neil had been diagnosed with HIV a long time ago, so she'd get infected if she were to receive his blood. But Cherry refused to believe me. Neil broke down in tears, saying that he never had a girlfriend, to begin with. Then, he went to the rooftop and pretended to jump so that he could prove himself with his death. But he accidentally slipped and fell, resulting in his actual death. In order to avenge Neil, Cherry worked with her classmates to kidnap me. She was the one who personally strangled me to death with her hands. Angrily, she roared at me, "Your slanderous lies killed Neil! I want you to pay with your own life!" When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Cherry is supposed to receive a blood transfusion from Neil. As I look at Cherry, who's in the middle of receiving blood from Neil, I just smile faintly. It's just HIV. She'll be fine.

For three consecutive years, Nate Jackel had a wedding dress customized each year and gifted it to the woman he loved most. When reporters asked me how I felt, I looked at the trending headlines filled with this so-called "true love" hype and sneered. “What’s there to praise about an affair between a cheating husband and his mistress?” That night, Nate rented out a rooftop restaurant and had ten thousand drones launched into the sky to celebrate Grace Lawson’s birthday. In his way, he was telling the entire world that he loved her. That was fine by me. As long as I stayed married, Grace would forever be a mistress.

On the day of our wedding, Henry Zander, my fiance, gets his legs broken in a car crash in his attempt of playing the knight in shining armor who intends to rescue the damsel in distress. So, I terminate our wedding on the spot. Both families surround me, trying to convince me to prioritize the bigger picture. My future mother-in-law cries her heart out as she takes my hand. "Winona, Henry got crippled because of his acts of heroism! He's the real hero here! If you head over to the hospital and take good care of him from now on, we'll still be a family!" My mom hugs me as well, her voice lowered. "You're still pregnant with the Zanders' heir, Winona. Do you have the heart to deliver your baby to this world without a father in their life? Hurry up and apologize to the Zanders so that this incident can be water under the bridge!" My dad acts more impulsively by slapping me on the spot and calling me an insensitive bastard who humiliates the family. Regardless, I walk over to the emcee calmly and pick up the microphone. "I'll give the 880-thousand-dollar wedding gifts meant for Henry and me to the driver involved in this car accident."

Seven years ago, I was the city's youngest chief medical examiner, on the verge of solving the Scarlet Murders and bringing the killer to justice once and for all. But the night before I could expose the truth, my fiancé's first love, Isabelle Sinclair, joins forces with the real murderer and has me killed in cold blood. Using my own scalpel, Isabelle fakes all signs of a guilt-ridden suicide on my body and stages the crime scene to make it look as though I've attacked her before fleeing. She plants just enough fabricated evidence to make her story seem airtight, then waits for the police to arrive. When Sebastian Jacobson showed up, he found Isabelle covered in blood, sobbed as she claimed I've tried to kill her and destroy the evidence before escaping. The scene is meticulously arranged to support her story, right down to the blood trail leading to the exit, as if I've fled in a desperate panic. It looks like an open-and-shut case, so no one bothers to question her account or investigate further. Everyone believes Isabelle. Sebastian despises me for what he thinks I've done. He publicly denounces me as a disgrace to forensic science and the greatest shame of his life. The forensic center erases my name from its records, my own parents publish a newspaper announcement disowning me, and my alma mater revokes the honorary academic title it has awarded me. Even the mentor I've spent years admiring refuses to acknowledge that he's ever taught me. My case becomes a textbook example of professional misconduct, and my former colleagues curse my name for betraying the very principles of truth and justice I've sworn to uphold. Overnight, I go from being the brightest rising star in forensic science to a disgraced fraud in the eyes of the entire law enforcement community. Then, seven years later, an unidentified skeleton arrives in the autopsy room. As the medical examiners begin examining the remains, they uncover evidence that's been buried for seven years—evidence that could finally expose the truth behind a murder everyone thinks they understand. The skeleton is mine. And after seven years of lies, the truth about my death is finally about to come to light.

On the day of my abortion, my best friend tried to stop me. "You and your husband have been married for seven years. You finally managed to get pregnant. Why does the baby have to go?" I answered calmly, "Because of a glass of water." Aaron Jefferson had a severe germphobia. He never shared everyday items with me. If I had already drunk from a glass, he would not touch it. Then I found a video on his student's social media. In it, the girl held up her half-finished coffee and brought it to his lips. Aaron leaned down and took a sip straight from her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He frowned slightly, but a smile still touched his lips. "That sweet, huh? Careful, or your teeth will start hurting again." That night, I sat alone in the living room and watched the video hundreds of times. When Aaron woke up, I poured myself a glass of water and took a sip in front of him. Then I held it out to him. "Drink up." He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "Tessa, I don't drink after other people." Seven years of marriage, and to him, I was still just one of those other people. I pulled myself back to the present and walked into the operating room. Then I lay quietly on the table. Outside the window, cicadas sang at the height of summer, and the sun blazed overhead. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to hold on to Aaron or that glass of water.

"Sasha, Mira's already engaged to Vincent. Stop messing with it. We booked your flight. You'll stay overseas until after the wedding." The whole 'this is for your own good' routine was back. That's when Sasha Clarke realized—she'd been given a second shot. Right to the day her parents forced her out of the country and made her give up Vincent Scythe.

I worked super hard during Cyber Monday and pulled in 20 million dollars in sales, only for my wife, Chelsea Abbott, to credit it to her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from studying overseas. I was so furious that I confronted her, but she clung to Donald Dixon's arm and said righteously, "Donald just got back, and he doesn't have a solid footing yet. What's wrong with my helping him establish some authority? Are you really going to argue with me over this?" I swallowed it. But at the year-end conference, Donald actually pointed right at my face in front of the entire company and yelled, "I produced these results myself. You're just a deadweight living off your wife. You don't even deserve to be here! Keeping parasites like you in the company is a total waste of resources!" My performance was used to build his reputation, and this was how he repaid me? I turned to look at Chelsea, but she didn't even spare me a glance. Instead, she announced to everyone, "Donald's right. The industry's moving fast, and Will really can't keep up anymore. Starting tomorrow, all of his responsibilities will be taken over by Donald!" Faced with everyone's eager, gossipy stares, I didn't make a scene. Last night, the industry leader the company had been desperate to flatter just sent me an offer letter. Since Chelsea was determined to fight side by side with her childhood sweetheart, this was where we would end.

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

The hospital suddenly called to inform me that the kidney I had been scheduled to receive had been transferred—by my husband—to his first love. I confronted him. He replied casually, "It's just one kidney. Are you really in such a hurry? Daphne needs it more, so let her have it first. You're not going to die anytime soon anyway!" I stood there holding the medical report proving he had uremia, and in that moment, my three-year marriage felt like a joke. Fine. He was right. I wasn't the one who was sick—so what was I rushing for?

My fiancé hated anything that felt like a hassle. In the five years we dated, I always chose where we went. His only job was to have his driver take him there. For birthdays and anniversaries, he gave me the same Barbie-pink lipstick every time. When we started planning our wedding, nothing changed. I tried to go over the guest list with him, but he said it was too much trouble and couldn't be bothered to check it carefully. Even when it came to our engagement photos, he complained that the shoot would take too long, so we only did one basic package. Today, I came to the wedding planning studio alone to give final approval on the arrangements. As the planner, Claire Bennett, pulled up the renderings, she chatted casually with me. "You know, a while back, we had a gentleman come in who was incredibly meticulous about everything. "He personally sampled more than twenty different candies just for the wedding favors. The bride doesn't like sweets, so he even checked the sugar content of every single one." Claire smiled and went on. "Funny coincidence, too. He has the same last name as your fiancé, Sutton. And just like your fiancé, he doesn't like roses." The tip of my pen froze against the paper. Claire didn't notice anything unusual. She looked toward the entrance with a smile. "Look, Mr. Sutton is here again. "This time, he wants to add an outdoor fireworks display because he's worried the bride will feel cooped up indoors." I followed her gaze. Yale Sutton pushed open the door and walked in. All the disappointment that had piled up again and again, along with the shock of this moment, came crashing down on me at once. So he wasn't afraid of trouble. He just wasn't willing to go to any trouble for me. If his heart wasn't with me, then there was no reason to keep holding on. This relationship had run its course.

After getting remarried, I started renting out my husband. Whenever his “one true love” called, he’d leave my side without hesitation. I stopped begging, stopped crying, and started charging by the hour instead. Daytime rates: $15,000 an hour. Evenings: $30,000 an hour. Holidays: triple rate. Three months later, my account had grown by nearly $3 million. He promised to help me pick out a gown for a formal dinner, but then she called in tears because she’d nicked her hand while cooking. I didn’t argue. I just held out my payment QR code. One night, I spiked a high fever. On the way to the hospital, she called again, saying the thunder was too loud and she was scared to sleep alone. I quietly took out an umbrella and told my husband to drop me off at the next corner. When he looked at me like he wanted to say something, I only smiled. “Don’t forget to send the money.” Then came the day our daughter was due for a follow-up appointment at the hospital. She called again. “Hugo wants to go to the amusement park. Those big rides really need a man around...” After hanging up, he turned toward our daughter, about to crouch down and explain. But before he could speak, our daughter copied me and held out her hand. “It’s okay, Daddy. Just send the money. Today’s a holiday, so that’s triple.”

When I find out about that woman's existence, it turns out that they've been dating for a very long time. Simon Jensen protects her very well. Even though he's already attended banquets with her and has introduced her to all of his friends, I still have yet to see any of her photos. Heck, I don't even know her name. If it weren't for the fact that Simon was unable to resist that woman's coquettish pleading and brought her to the fashion show press conference as a brand investor, I'd probably remain in the dark forever. At this moment, I stare at Simon from far away, who's currently gazing at his lover standing on the runway. There's a hint of a gentle smile in his eyes. The camera flashes keep clicking. One of the reporters can't resist asking, "Mr. Jensen, are you a fan of Angela Stewart as well?" Simon never averts his gaze from Angela. He replies, "No. She's the love of my life." So, it turns out the cold and aloof Simon is capable of doting on a young woman to this degree. I spin the dull wedding ring around my ring finger subconsciously. That's when I realize how meaningless this marriage actually is.

My wife's childhood friend, a gambling addict she had known since childhood, returned to Dryana. To help him pay off his debts, she stole and sold my medical patent. Before it happened, I confronted her. I tried to stop her. I even threatened to call the police. Amanda Carroll looked at me as if I had disappointed her beyond repair. "Enough, Cedric Lunsford. You're a grown man. Can you stop nitpicking over every little thing? "Don isn't like you. He's in trouble right now. You make that much money. What's wrong with giving him a little? I'm already your wife. Are you seriously going to tell me where my heart is allowed to be?" I gathered the evidence and headed to the police station. Halfway there, my brakes failed. The car slammed into the guardrail. Metal crumpled and glass shattered. I was pinned in the driver's seat, drenched in blood, forcing out my last breath as I called for help. Amanda's voice on the line was flat, almost bored. "Stop yelling. Don can't stand bloody scenes. Don't make him sick. Your insurance payout is enough for him to start over. Consider it the last duty you perform as a husband." At that moment, I understood. Even at the end, she chose his gambling debt. She chose murder and an insurance payout. The vehicle exploded. Nothing remained of me. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day her "childhood sweetheart" returned. This time, I did not stop her from going to the airport. I picked up my phone and called my senior overseas. "I'll sell you the patent. And the position you mentioned, I'm in. See you in three days."