Mistress Plot Twists Short Stories & Novels

Five years after our divorce, I saw my ex-husband, Noah Whitmore, beneath a magnolia tree. He had grown much thinner, but clothes looked more than twice as expensive as they used to be. "It's been a long time. How have you been?" [I've been fine, just a little bored. What about you?] "My company went public. Things have gone fairly smoothly, though I've been a little busy." [Oh, that's good.] After a long silence, he let out a sigh. "Belle, the magnolias in our hometown have bloomed again. Where did you go?" I looked down at my transparent body and answered his words once more. [I'm right here.] Unfortunately, he could no longer hear me.

Half an hour ago, my destined mate finally proposed to me, and we will hold a grand mating ceremony in half a month. The moment I’d been waiting for ten years had finally come. But right at this monment. My Alpha was holding another woman, his fingers tracing her skin. His voice was soft, almost worshipful. “I regret everything. If you want me back, I will break the mate bond with her.” He had no idea I was watching from outside the window—he was so wrapped up in that woman, he didn’t even catch my scent. Right then, it hit me: our mate bond, our ten years together, flash throug in my head. I sent a mindlink to my mother and told her I was going to cut down the mate-bond with Mike. Then I would go back to the Deep Blue pack to run my own. Mike would never know that our mating ceremony would be the day I leave.

During an elective class, the campus belle, Jemima Ford, who is our senior, describes her ideal type with everyone egging her on. She says, "My future husband has to be at least six feet two inches tall. His parents must be college professors, and his grades should be top three in his major…" The room buzzes with teasing chatter and gossip. At the same time, I snap up my head in surprise. Why does Jemima's description of her ideal type sound like my boyfriend, Elijah Sanders? The next second, the professor standing by the podium smiles obsequiously and says, "Very well said. If Eli hears this, he'll definitely be very happy! Later, the two of you can meet. That way, he won't get tricked by some naive girl into going abroad." Amid the burst of laughter from the class, I lower my eyes and look at the message my parents sent me. It reads, "Sweetheart, are you really going abroad with your boyfriend? There'll be no one left to inherit our company with you gone."

I have an ability in which I can see the countdown to someone's emotional departure. The day Dad's countdown hits zero, he leaves behind divorce papers and abandons Mom and me. The day my best friend's countdown hits zero, she finally dumps her jerk of a boyfriend. I'm always terrified of seeing a countdown appear above Levi Hammond's head. But thankfully, seven years into our marriage, his head is still clear. I am thankful every day that I married a good man. However, when he picks me up from work last month, I look up and see bright red text burning into my vision. [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.] That's less than two years from now. My heart clenches, and I frantically search for answers in my head. Have I done something wrong? Has he changed his mind? Things don't fall into place until our anniversary, when we run into his intern, Belinda Manning, outside his office building during a torrential downpour. She's soaked to the skin, but she still has a bright smile on her face. Levi hands her a pack of tissues to dry off, his face unreadable. However, in that instant, the countdown suddenly jumps. [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.] The number of days has dropped by more than 300. The sound of rain is deafening in my ears. But I know now that I have found the reason for it.

I turn down a dream research program at Hefford University just so I can stay and help my debt-ridden boyfriend run a burger stand. This time, he says he's serious. I give him all the money I've saved up over the years, hoping we can build a better future together. A few hours later, I discover he's forgotten two hundred dollars in the drawer. I grab the money and run out, hoping to catch him. What I catch is a scene straight out of a corny movie. The loan sharks who used to beat and threaten him are now bowing and nodding deferentially. "Sir, I guess we don't need to show up at your house anymore, right?" Kurt Saunders rubs his temples and replies, "Yup. Anna gave up her entire future for me. She even turned down an opportunity to study at Hefford just to help me pay off my debts." Before he even finishes, his childhood friend lets out a giggle. "Kurt, that's still not enough. You'll only know if she really doesn't mind being poor if she sticks around through a year of flipping burgers without any complaints." Kurt looks at her sly expression and lets out a helpless laugh. "Alright, we'll do it your way. One more year of pretending. Anna would never leave me anyway." I stand there, listening to the sound of my own heart shatter. Kurt, you think I'm giving up my future for you, but it's still mine, and I can take it back.

To repay my parents for raising me for 20 years, I donate one of my kidneys to Samuel Caldwell, their biological son, curing him of his uremia. After Samuel recovers, he returns to the stage, dazzling audiences with his piano performances. Meanwhile, I survive on hormone treatments. My body is swollen beyond recognition, and I look utterly disgusting. I lock myself up in the house, staring blankly out the window day after day. Through it all, my fiancee, Shelby Holloway, never leaves my side. She comes up with new low-calorie meals every day and patiently helps me rebuild my strength. "Nick, make sure you get plenty of rest and don't overexert yourself, okay? I have a meeting to attend, so wait for me at home." Before she leaves, she gently straightens my collar. I truly believe life is slowly getting better. Then, in the backstage area of a theater, I catch Samuel holding Shelby tightly in his arms. "Shelby, Nick's in such poor health. I shouldn't be taking you away from him." Shelby buries herself against his chest, her voice full of pain. "What are you talking about? If it weren't for saving you, I never would have married that impostor. Every time I look at him, I feel sick. He looks like a pig! He'd have done everyone a great favor if he'd died on the operating table that day!" Shelby casts aside the bond we've shared since childhood and even wishes for my death, all for Samuel's sake. Just as well, I have no desire to continue living anymore either.

As I casually opened the online forum, a trending post at the top caught my eye. [Share the wildest thing you’ve ever done.] I clicked on the second comment, which seemed to contain just one line. [Without a doubt, it was the night before my buddy’s wedding when I had his wife come over for a “quality check.”] However, the poster kept adding to the thread. [That night, the woman tricked that idiot into thinking it was a bachelorette party, but she actually spent the whole night at my place. [She said she didn’t want to sleep with just one man forever and needed one last wild night before tying the knot. [By the end of the night, her throat was nearly raw from all the screaming. [We kept going until sunrise, right there in the wedding car her husband was supposed to pick her up later that day.] [Not only that, but even after they got married, this fool kept bringing his wife over to my place for dinner. [He’d help me in the kitchen while I pinned his wife against the fridge and kissed her. [He’d be glued to the game in the living room while his wife knelt in the bathroom and took care of me. [One time, when he passed out drunk on my couch, his wife and I had our own fun on the carpet beside him. [Every time he rolled over, we’d both jump. It was the thrill of knowing we could get caught at any moment.] The image loaded, revealing the familiar interior of the wedding car. The lucky charm I had given my wife dangled from the rearview mirror. My fingers momentarily stiffened, and I nearly dropped my phone. A wave of nausea rolled in my stomach as a chill crept up my spine. Just then, a hand appeared in my field of vision, waving in front of me. “Calvin, what are you zoning out for? You’re at my place, and you’re still on your phone. Come on. Dig in while it’s hot.” Wyatt Preston, my friend, grinned at me. Yet, his eyes kept straying toward my wife, Queenie Jennings, who was sitting beside me.

The Sherman family’s wealth and business empire always went to the female heir, never the male heir. So, when I was barely a month old, all thirteen of my family’s banks and seventy-two shops were registered under my name. But, since I was a child, I always hated numbers. My grandfather, Hugo Sherman, had no choice but to pull in a distant relative, Simon Evan, from a side branch of the family to run the finances for me. The head of the family business served a one-year term. Every New Year’s Day, I stamped the seal again to reinstate him. For twelve years, I never once even opened the ledger. Every time, I just sat there eating snacks and stamped the seal without a second thought. Over time, everyone assumed the family’s golden seal was nothing but a toy for me. Then, Simon wanted to marry Grace Truman. When the Truman family heard he had been running the Sherman family business for twelve years, they immediately agreed. I was happy for him, too. I gave them eighty-eight chests of wedding gifts, and I gave Grace three prime storefronts as a special present. But the day after the wedding, Grace sold those three shops. The next day, she took away my house token. The following day, she confronted me with a ledger. “These are your living expenses over the years. I’ve rounded it down to two hundred seventy thousand dollars. Just sign an IOU. “You’re going to get married eventually. You can’t mooch off your cousin for the rest of your life.” I stared at the IOU, dumbfounded. Did she actually think that just because Simon had managed the Sherman family business for twelve years, the business belonged to him? His position was renewed by my permission year after year. What a coincidence. It would be New Year again in three days. Somehow, I did not feel like renewing it.

My boyfriend Ethan Carter always had an excuse for Ava Taylor, his childhood sweetheart. She'd lost her parents when she was young, so according to him, I should cut her some slack. If she called in the middle of a date, he'd leave without a second thought and abandon me at the table. When he got his first paycheck, he spent every penny on a gift for her. He didn't even think of getting me anything. When a hurricane hit, he rushed to Ava's side and stayed with her for days. He didn't remember I existed until the danger was over. That was my breaking point. I told him to choose: her or me. He didn't take me seriously. He just laughed and leaned in to kiss me. "Jealous, baby? There's nothing between me and Ava. I only help her because I feel bad for her. You've always had everything. Can't you be a little more understanding? I promise it won't happen again! You're the only one I love!" We'd been together for five years, from college right up to our wedding. In the end, I gave him one more chance. A week later, I showed up for our wedding and found Ava standing at the altar in my wedding dress. "Baby, Ava has dreamed about having the perfect wedding ever since she was a kid. Just let her have this one."

I won eight million overnight. The first thing I did was rush to the hospital to pay for my son's surgery and treatment. That was when my phone rang. Ian, a coworker from the company, called, "Something urgent came up! You need to get back here right this instant!" My wife, Mara, took the bank card from my hand, and said with an gentle and understanding voice, "You can give me the PIN. I'll take care of our son's hospital bills. Go. Work is important. Don't worry about us." In my previous life, I didn't hesitate one bit. I trusted her completely and hurried back to the office. My son never made it into surgery. Instead, the police came for me. It turned out that Mara and Ian had conspired together to frame me, pinning the crime of embezzling company funds on me. The very money Ian had stolen. With no money for treatment, my son died in the hospital. My parents, shattered by grief, suffered fatal heart attacks one after the other. And I, rotting in prison, ended my life in despair. After my death, my soul drifted to the holiday villas of Moldeves, where Mara was on vacation. I heard her laughing as she spoke to Ian, "That idiot won a fortune and wasted it on that useless sick kid. He dragged me into a miserable life." Laughing even harder, she added, "Now, their whole family is dead, and we get to enjoy wealth for the rest of our lives. Consider it compensation from that idiot! Haha!" Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital corridor, at the exact moment my wife reached out and took the bank card from me. This time, I still told her the PIN.

I served three years in federal prison for the Don's precious Sophia, and then he suddenly fell for me. The day he came to pick me up, he had a sapphire necklace ready, the kind I'd begged him for once and never got. I dropped it onto the back seat without a second glance. His expression darkened. "If you have something to say, just say it. Don't take it out on things." I smiled. "Three years inside taught me never to keep anything valuable on me. It would only bring trouble." He swallowed hard and pulled me close. "That's over now. You have me. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you." I pushed him back. "Then give me my wedding ring." I'd told him once: if the day ever came that I was leaving, I'd take that ring with me. Three years had been more than enough to kill whatever love I had left.

I was a painter, but a car accident took my eyesight. When I was at my lowest, it was my childhood friend, Connor Pitt, who stayed by my side the whole time. He became the only light left in my life. Later, we got married. However, two years into our marriage, I accidentally discovered a recording on the computer. “Connor, thank you for saving me. But you hid the truth from Faye and took her corneas for me. When she wakes up, how are you going to explain it to her? What if she calls the police?” “She won’t find out the truth. I won’t let her. She’s blind anyway. I’ll marry her and keep her under my control, right by my side. June, for you, I’d do anything.” I was stunned, and a shiver ran down my spine. The salvation I thought I had found had been a lie from the very beginning. After sending a copy of the recording to my phone, I scheduled an abortion at the hospital. If that was the case, then it was time for us to go our separate ways.

On the day of our road trip, I got up at four in the morning to pack my bags. The moment I opened the front passenger door, Patrick Farr grabbed me by the wrist. “Sit in the back. Dolly’s used to riding up front.” My best friend, Dolly Smith, immediately stood up for me. “Yuna came all the way from Southvale just to be with you. Don’t treat her like that.” Patrick cheerfully fastened her seat belt. “Relax. She cares about you.” Throughout the drive, they chatted about a new restaurant in Northvale and a mutual friend's wedding. I was the odd one out, having gone to college in Southvale, and couldn’t keep up with their conversation. Dolly suddenly frowned and said she felt carsick. Without even turning around, Patrick said, “Yuna, get the first-aid kit from the trunk.” I obediently got out and searched through the trunk. In the blink of an eye, the two of them were deep in conversation, and they drove away without me. I hurried after them, but my foot caught on something, and I fell hard. My knee struck the ground, and blood trickled down through the dirt. My phone buzzed, and I received a video call from Patrick—from five years in the future. He stared at my disheveled appearance, his eyes red-rimmed. “Yuna, I finally found you.” “Are you all right?” I said nothing and turned the camera around. On the screen, Patrick and Dolly sat side by side in the car before vanishing into the distance at the end of the highway. The smile instantly faded from the man’s face. A hand reached through the screen and gently placed a bandage over my wound. His voice was cold yet filled with concern. “Give him one last chance. Otherwise, I’ll take you away.”

I used to be that girl in the mafia—envied, untouchable. Orlando Leone, the big bad Don everyone feared, had eyes only for me. I took a bullet for him. After that? People whispered I couldn't have kids. He tried to shut them up by knocking me up—ninety-nine tries. Try number ten? His shiny new secretary texted, all confused over a decimal. He bailed on me. By thirty, she crashed his sports car while shopping. Claimed she couldn't park. I was left freezing in a bathtub. He said he loved me, but when it counted, he always picked the girl who played dumb and helpless. That's when it hit me—his love was never really mine. And by the time I disappeared for real, he lost his mind looking. Too bad. Me and that promise? Already buried at sea.

My son just had surgery. I'm sitting by his bedside in the hospital when I come across a post online. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" One anonymous comment stands out. "I used the upperclassman who funded me as a stepping stone. My sponsor was rich but clueless. After she paid for my entire college, I slept with her husband and got pregnant. "The craziest part? My son and her son were born on the same day, but my husband swapped the babies. Now, she treats my son like he's her whole world, working day and night to give him a better life. "But her own son lives with me, wearing hand-me-downs and eating leftovers. Today, my son had surgery. I was worried sick, so I slapped her son hard a few times. "Oh, and her family just got a three-million-dollar payout for relocation. My husband is going to the hospital later. He's going to use the excuse of buying a house near the schools to get the money. "Once we have the money, I'm buying a villa. Then I'll get my son back and kick her out!" The post includes a blurry photo of a boy begging on his knees. My breath catches because the charm on his wrist is the same lucky charm I gave my son the day he was born. Just then, my husband pushes open the door to the ward and walks in. "Honey, Sean's starting elementary school soon. Let's use that relocation money your mom received to buy a house near the schools."

Outside the police tape surrounding a fancy hotel, a police officer can be seen blocking my way. "There seems to be a bomb hidden in the hotel! Unauthorized personnel are not allowed to get any closer!" I'm just about to dig out my work badge when the intern next to me, Christine Wyatt, covers her mouth in a pretentiously shocked manner. "Officer, there's a detonator and a timer in his bag! Those things look so scary!" The entire scene goes eerily silent. Almost immediately, I see a few guns getting aimed at my forehead. Anxiety begins overwhelming me. "I'm a bomb disposal expert from the Headquarters Explosive Ordnance Disposal Unit! My bag contains all the tools necessary to dispose of a bomb!" "Throw your bag over to me and keep your hands where I can see them!" Captain Scott Hunter roars at me. My bag is opened afterward. Things like an insulated cutter, a bomb suppression blanket, and a liquid nitrogen cooling tank are scattered across the ground. Before I can explain myself, Christine suddenly points at me while screaming, "Why are you still playing dumb? You just told me that you wanted to set off an explosion in that hotel! "What, now that the police are here, you dare not admit what you just said, huh? You're a terrorist through and through!" Scott reacts quickly by pinning me on the hood of the police cruiser with my hands folded behind my back. "We're taking you back for a thorough interrogation!" My heart almost stops at those words. The bomb that's packed with enough firepower to take out half a street has already gone on a countdown in the hotel lobby. But I, the only bomb disposal expert who can get rid of the bomb, have handcuffs put on me because of Christine's nonsensical accusations. Right now, there are only 29 minutes left before the bomb goes off.

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

Chris Shaw promised that we would finally get our marriage licence next month. He told me he had secured the first appointment slot in the coming month. It was the third time he had brought up marriage. The first was during Valentine's. Chris called to say that city hall had unexpectedly opened a few last-minute slots and told me to hurry over and wait in line. It was pouring with rain. I waited the whole day and only received a video from his best friend. Chris was playing snooker as he mocked, "Told you she'd do everything I told her to. Just like a dog." The second time was on Labor Day. Chris sent me an address for another city hall, dozens of miles away in the middle of nowhere. I spent two hours rushing over, but there was no one there. It was just a construction site. My best friend sent me snapshots of a bet they made, and she guffawed. "I bet she would actually go, and I won a thousand." And this time, everyone looked at me with mockery in their eyes. I dressed up for the occasion. "You actually showed up. How gullible are you?" I clenched my papers and said nothing. The car door opened, and out came Chris, his arm around Yvonne Gray, his true love. It had been a month since we met, yet he was still cavalier, and he casually waved the marriage application in his hand. "Yvonne's family is rushing her into a marriage, so we'll get a license to shut them up. Do as I say, and I'll consider getting one with you." I stared at him. Ten years of love, patience, and waiting. And suddenly, whatever I had once felt for him withered away like a plant that had gone too long without water. So I took out my phone and called someone else. "I got the slot. What's your ETA?"

Jason Gibson was trending online as the internet's textbook "devoted husband". It all started when a behind-the-scenes camera caught him during a meeting break, casually transferring tens of thousands of dollars to my account alongside a photo reporting his whereabouts. The comments worshipped him. [This is a real man's mindset. Where his money goes, his heart follows.] From building our company from scratch to taking it public, we had walked side-by-side for ten whole years. During our broke days, I survived by collecting plastic bottles off the streets just to scrape together five bucks for our meals. Back then, he held me and swore, "Once I build this company, I'll never let you live another poor day in your life." So even as he grew busier over the years, I believed those on-time bank transfers were proof we were still deeply in love. That was until my training workshop wrapped up early, and wanting to give him a sweet surprise, I snuck back home unannounced. The master bedroom door stood slightly ajar as a woman's breathless, ragged pants drifted out. "Ten grand for a kiss, fifty grand for sex, plus another thirty grand if you don't use a condom. You went way more than once last night, Mr. Gibson. How much hush money are you planning to send your wife this time?" Jason let out a low grunt. "Shut up." Standing in the hallway, I gripped my phone tightly. My screen was showing last night's transfer notification of three thousand and eighty thousand dollars. That meant seven times without protection. At the time, I had even joked that I was only away for a few days of training and didn't need that much cash. Only now did I finally get it. What he was sending me was never peace of mind. It was nothing more than an indulgence ticket, a price tag to blind my eyes to his betrayal.

On the eve of my wedding to Dillon Garrity, the Don of the Garrity family, my father flew in one of Hollywood's top bridal stylists to create my bridal look. I sat alone in the bridal suite. Three hours passed, and the stylist still hadn't arrived. When I finally called to ask where she was, she sounded surprised. "Didn't the Don tell me to do Ms. Beth's hair and makeup first? He said it was your idea." Beth Garcia was Dillon's childhood friend. Before I could hang up, Dillon took the phone. "Beth and I grew up together," he said matter-of-factly. "She wants to look her best for an occasion this important. I'm sure you can understand." The priest had already come by once to confirm the ceremony timeline. Only two hours remained before the wedding. "But I'm the bride," I said. "My hair and makeup haven't even started." Dillon's voice went cold. "Do you have to cause a scene right now? You'll be my Donna either way. The ceremony is just a formality." Then he hung up. My heart jolted. I stared at my phone screen in disbelief. After ten years together, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe this wedding didn't need to happen at all.