Mistress

On the very night Finn Chapman's first love got divorced, he threw the ninety-ninth divorce agreement at me. "Lisa's heart is broken. She can't move on. I have to take care of her," he said. Even our seven-year-old son tried to persuade me. "You should just agree to the divorce and leave," he told me. "Let Lisa move in. We don't need a maid like you anymore." Both father and son were certain I'd scream, cry, beg them not to throw me out. But I didn't. I simply nodded, quietly signed my name on the divorce papers, and left. Ten years later, my son became the top scorer on the SATs. During an interview, a reporter asked him, "What has motivated you to study so hard all these years?" He went silent for a moment. Then, in front of everyone, his eyes turned red. "Because I wanted to tell my mom," he said, voice trembling, "I've grown up now. Will you come back? Please don't leave me again."

On the fifth year of their marriage, finding the vitamin C her husband bought tasted too bitter, Jeanne Dotson went to the hospital with the bottle. The doctor took one look and frowned. "This isn't vitamin C." "I-I'm sorry, Doctor?" "I could say it a dozen times and it'd still be the same," the doctor replied, pointing at the bottle. "This is Mifepristone. Taking too much of it doesn't just cause infertility—it can do serious harm to your body." Jeanne felt a lump stuck in her throat, and her fingers turned pale from clenching the bottle. "That's impossible. My husband got this for me. His name is Darren Walsh—he's a doctor here too." The doctor looked up at her, his expression turning strange, tinged with something she couldn't quite read. After a pause, he gave a small smile. "Miss, you might want to visit the psych ward instead. We all know Dr. Walsh's wife—she gave birth just two months ago. Don't let your imagination run wild, all right? There's no point."

After failing to get her fiance, Austin Langford, to sleep with her for the 99th time, Cara Reyes calls up her best friend, Jessica Hogan, and says, "Jess, I'm coming to Spark City to find you." Almost immediately, the sound of a chair slamming on the ground comes through from the other end of the line. Jessica's excited voice is then heard. "Cara! You've finally thought it through! I've told you a long time ago that Austin isn't good for you! He looks too weak!" Cara's red-rimmed eyes light up a little as she smiles. "Yeah. I've thought it through." "Don't be sad, Cara. Once you're in Spark City, I'll introduce you to a new foreign boyfriend with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and perfect body proportions. Their genes here are all top-notch, and you will definitely have a beautiful baby with them!" Nodding, Cara says, "Alright. Let me go and get my marriage certificate back first." After ending the call, Cara lies down in bed and falls asleep with a heavy heart. Sometime during midnight, someone pulls back the covers and slides in next to her, his warm body settling down just about an arm's length away from her. A short while later, Cara hears the rustling of clothes and the man panting softly beside her. Cara's body goes numb like she's just been electrocuted. However, she still slowly turns her head back to take a closer look.

With a bag of vegetables gifted by the previous tenant in hand, I was on my way to collect rent from the third household when I unexpectedly ran into someone at the entrance of the community. The man frowned, his eyes fixed on the vegetables I carried, as though he couldn't fathom how I had ended up like this after leaving him. Following his gaze, I instinctively shifted the vegetables behind my back. My eyes dropped to the muddy water on the pavement, and I never would have imagined bumping into my ex-boyfriend—the one who had grown up with a silver spoon—in this aging neighborhood. He noticed my movement, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression: a mix of pity and recognition. "Since you've already learned your lesson," he said, "come back with me." At his words, I instinctively stepped back half a pace. "Who said I'm going back with you?" My rejection seemed to sting, darkening his face. "I know you're still blaming me for giving Rachel a child," he muttered, "but it's been three years. Isn't it time to stop? As long as you come back, we can be the same as before." Three years, huh? How quickly time had passed. Thinking of my little girl at home, still babbling her first words, I couldn't help but smile and shake my head. "Let's leave it at that. Go home and live your life with Rachel. My daughter's waiting for me to go back and make her food."

My husband Norman had always hated how his childhood friend Julia clung to him no matter the occasion. He even cut her off for my sake. One morning, I woke up and realized that I had mysteriously swapped bodies with Julia. I wanted to find my husband and figure out what to do, fearing he'd turn me away because of Julia's appearance. I cooked up a hundred explanations in my head until I finally arrived at our home. When Norman opened the door and saw me, he frowned and quickly shut the door, pushing me away. Just as I was about to explain that I wasn't Julia, he suddenly pulled me into his arms. "What are you doing here? Can't stand being apart from me for even two days, huh?"

A month before I was set to present my life’s work—the Moonlight Therapy—Marcus, my Alpha and fiancé of five years, asked me to give the entire research project to his old flame, Isabella. I refused. He spent the entire month trying to convince me, insisting he was only fulfilling her dying wish. Then, two weeks before the presentation, a link from a friend arrived. That’s when I discovered Isabella was already promoting my research online as her own. He had never intended to ask for my permission at all. In that instant, I chose to sever our five-year bond. What Marcus didn’t know was that the core research he’d stolen was critically flawed. On the very day Isabella presented that faulty data to the world, I walked through the doors of the Boston Werewolf Medical Institute instead. I never looked back.

Today happens to be Yvonne Ziegler's birthday. Yvonne is Shawn Jacobson's, my husband's, newly hired personal assistant. Shawn spares no expense in buying her a villa as a birthday present, and Yvonne haughtily takes to social media to show off on the day she moves in. "I'd like everyone to know that I'm married to a wealthy man now." Shawn comments on the post, saying, "Happy birthday, my beloved Yvonne!" In the picture, Shawn's hand rests intimately on Yvonne's slender waist, leaving no doubt about their intimate relationship. In that instant, the company's group chat erupts into a frenzy of notifications, as colleagues declare their envy of Yvonne and heap praise upon her for being young and accomplished. Oscar Jagger, my childhood friend, notices the picture and immediately tags me in the group chat. He then sends me a pointed, teasing message, saying, "Shawn's display of love is so glaring! Congrats on being cheated on, Leslie!" I manage a bitter, wry smile, taking my time to type out the response. "Do you need a villa as well, Oscar? I'm happy to give you a place—a much nicer one than Shawn's, of course."

It was about time because my dad got a new girlfriend and said he wanted us to have a meal together to introduce the new woman into our lives. On the day we met, my college roommate saw my chat background, which had a photo of me and my dad, along with a series of transfer records. She lost her mind. She enlisted the support of our other roommates, who rarely paid me any attention and began to attack me, insisting that I was a side chick who deserved to die. I did not expect that my roommate would soon become my stepmom. Before I could explain, she accused me of trying to seduce my dad behind her back, shouting, "Shameless side chick! Going behind my back to seduce my boyfriend! All those times you said you were out studying?! Who knows if you were just meeting up with him?" I was once physically assaulted, stripped of my dignity, and forced to the restaurant for a public confrontation wearing ragged clothes. Then my dad came running to where I was hardly breathing and barely moving on the floor, bruised to the extreme. “Sweetheart, who did this to you?!”

Anise Buccaneer had just submitted her resignation letter when her mother called. “Hey Anise, how’s your resignation going?” “I submitted my resignation form and will be coming home in a month.” “That's good, that's good.” Her mother sounded delighted, “Me and all the old ladies in town have found you a few decent suitors as blind dates when you come back. Let’s hope you can get married by the end of the year.” Then, she advised affectively, “Try not to linger on that man from the Renaults. He’s not like the rest of us common folks, he’s from another social class entirely.”

At my engagement party, my cousin drugged herself and tearfully begged me to lend her my fiance for one night, so I sent the Eastons' youngest son, who had always had a thing for her, on her way. When Erin woke up and realized it wasn't my fiance, she killed herself out of shame and despair. My fiance didn't blame me; he treated me as he always had. Ridden with guilt, I took care of Erin's mother after her death. But on my wedding day, my groom turned husband had me drugged and threw me to beggars. "Erin suffered like this back then," he said coldly. "You can atone for her pain with that filthy body of yours." And so, on my wedding night, I was violated to death—with a baby in my belly. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to that night when Erin tearfully begged me to give my fiance to her.