Mistress

During the biggest sales day of the year, my fiance's "sweet and clueless" assistant sells a one-carat diamond for one cent. In just 20 minutes, the company loses 200 million dollars. I am so furious that my entire body shakes, yet Hendrick Shaw, my fiance, pulls me into his arms and comforts me, "Don't worry. I'll handle it." However, that same night, Selena Suther posts a screenshot on social media—a transfer of 1,430,000 dollars, with the recipient note saying "I love you." The caption attached to the screenshot is "I made a huge mistake today, but my boss comforted me instead. He even reminded me not to be angry at the 'tigress' and to be good." I comment on her post, "I wish you both happiness forever." Selena instantly deletes the post, but Hendrick abruptly charges in and lands a resounding slap on my cheek. "What's your motive for liking Lena's post? She's now so overcome by guilt and shame that she's about to end her life! "The company only lost 200 million dollars. Do you have to force her into a corner over it?" He sounds so righteous and fearless. Later, why does Hendrick cry when he can't even afford a 20-dollar meal?

Joseph Larkin, my husband, who has been missing for seven years, suddenly comes back. Not only does he bring another woman back, but he is also asking me for a divorce. Joseph says, "Mabel risked her life to save me. That's why I have to marry her to repay her. If you know what's good for you, you'll tell everyone we're already divorced." Looking at his haughty expression, I calmly say, "But I've already married someone else." Joseph laughs disdainfully. "Who are you trying to fool? Everyone knows you only have eyes for me."

In the seventh year of my relationship with Ruby Carrington, she picks me up from work in the heavy downpour one evening. When I open the door to the front passenger seat, I notice a puddle of water on the seat. A strand of short hair is there as well. Ruby grips the steering wheel without even looking at me. "I just dropped off an intern from the project department at his home. He didn't bring an umbrella with him, so he was drenched." As I sit on the damp seat, I feel my heart slowly going cold as well. "Ruby, you knew very well that I'm severely germaphobic." Ruby just chortles in response. Her tone is filled with impatience and exhaustion. "It's just a seat, isn't it? He's younger and funnier than you, not to mention he's also more handsome than you even when he's drenched in the rain. "I tried having a relationship with him. Being with him is definitely a lot more interesting than with you. But I'll still marry you, though. As long as you pretend not to know anything about my affair, we can keep this relationship going." Rain continues streaking down the window outside, and yet, I find the air inside the car even more suffocating than the rain itself.

Alexander's mistress was pregnant. He turned his back on me without a shred of hesitation, canceled our marking ceremony, and brought her home instead. As he passed by, he didn't even look at me. He just left a brief order hanging in the air. "She's weak. You know medicine. From now on, you'll handle her meals." When he reached the first floor, he paused again. "She's pregnant. She can't be frightened, and she needs me to sleep beside her." His voice was flat, devoid of any feeling for me. "There are plenty of empty rooms. Move out of mine." I packed my things quietly, without a word, and walked out of the estate. The butler tried to stop me, but Alexander's voice cut through the hall, cold and final. "Let her go. Once she cools off, she'll come crawling back on her own." His men, watching the scene unfold, exchanged amused glances. They even placed bets right in front of me—how many minutes before I'd regret leaving and come running back. But none of them knew the truth. The Alpha King my parents had chosen for me had already sent a car to wait for me outside the gate. This time, I wasn't coming back.

At the afterparty, my daughter, Mia Volpe, suffers from a sudden asthma attack. She collapses to the carpeted floor and goes through a seizure on the spot. But my Capo husband, Lorenzo Volpe, wraps an arm around his secretary, Sophia Bianchi, while watching Mia suffer before his eyes. Sophia had once shown him a forged paternity test of Mia and him. As such, he firmly believes that Mia is the bastard child of me and a Soldato. When Mia tries to reach out for Lorenzo, her complexion already bluish-purple from suffocation, he merely averts his gaze with a disgusted look on his face. "Daddy… S-Save… me…" I look everywhere for Mia's inhaler like a madwoman, only to realize that it's already empty. Sophia covers her mouth while tittering softly. "Dear me, Mia sure has an affinity for acting! Elena, I can't believe you and your daughter are willing to go to such lengths just to get Lorenzo to pay attention to you! "Since Mia likes acting that much, she might as well make the performance perfect." She lifts a high-heeled foot before crushing Mia's fingers, which were attempting to curl around Lorenzo's pant leg. Poor Mia was in so much pain, yet she couldn't let out a single sound. All she could do was scream silently into the void with her mouth wide open. I kneeled on the floor, my forehead already bleeding from smashing it against the floor repeatedly. "Lorenzo Volpe, Mia is your flesh and blood! Please, I'm begging you! Give me some medicine or call a doctor!" But Lorenzo just looks at me coldly, as though he's looking at trash. "A bastard like her is better off dead. Elena Corleone, stop using such underhanded methods to spoil everyone's mood." At that moment, what little love I still harbor for this man completely dissipates as I feel Mia's heartbeat gradually weaken. I no longer beg him for help. With trembling hands, I press the button on the emergency transmitter that I've sworn I'd never touch. That transmitter is the direct line to the highest authority in Smeraldia—my father, Don Vito Corleone.

Today is my wedding day. When we reach the ring-swapping ceremony, my wife, Ariana Holmes, suspends the ceremony for three minutes, simply because a man has barged into the venue. He glares at Ariana darkly. "Ariana Holmes, you've tattooed my heart on your chest, yet now you're marrying another man? Are you forcing me to carve my heart out of your body?" As soon as his words fall, he lifted the blade in his hand. Realization dawns on me. It turns out that the heart tattooed on Ariana's chest isn't mine, but rather, her first love's. At that moment, Ariana, who was all docile and quiet earlier, shudders violently. She slides the ring onto my finger haphazardly before rushing toward Ivan Hatfield. "What the hell do you want from me, Ivan?"

My billionaire husband suffered from chronic insomnia for years. Only the sleep balm I made could help him sleep. On the night of our seventh wedding anniversary, his childhood sweetheart poured a basin of scalding water over the old camphor tree in our garden. I wept and tried to save the tree as she apologized, “I didn’t know you used its leaves to make the sleep balm.” My husband gently comforted her and ordered his men to tie me to the tree trunk instead. “What a precious tree. You’ll spend the rest of your days with it!” With my wrist fractured as a result, I filed for divorce immediately. A month later, my husband was unable to sleep late one night. He stood in the garden and stared at the withered camphor tree.

The day before my fifth wedding anniversary to my husband, the jewelry store manager called me. He reported that the expensive jewelry I had commissioned for my husband had been accidentally damaged by the staff. However, the shop was willing to pay a penalty for breach of contract. He hung up before I could lose my temper. I immediately received a message from my husband and $6 million in compensation. [So you're the shameless homewrecker. How dare you keep my husband's contact information! I'm warning you: I've given you the money, now get lost! Otherwise, I'll have to teach you a lesson!] The woman smugly sent me an intimate photo to follow up on her threats. Looking at the familiar side profile, I immediately called my biological parents, who were high-ranking businesspeople. "Dad, Mom, put the Shelby family's investment on hold for now. I'm getting a big gift ready for them!"

On the tenth year of being bonded to my mate, Alpha Lucian Blackwood finally returns to my side. He no longer calls out his puphood sweetheart, Sadie Marrock's name in his sleep. He no longer forces me to shift into my wolf form and go hunting right after my labor just because Sadie wants to drink deer blood. Even my son, Conan Blackwood, who's always disliked me, begins to kiss up to me by nuzzling against my leg. The entire pack is flying with rumors of the Alpha finally realizing what he actually wants. They think I'll be the happiest Luna ever. I thought I'd be happy as well. That is, until Lucian rejects Sadie's call for help and chooses to stay at home with me. After that, he pins me down and tries to kiss me on my lips. This is the first time in ten years Lucian wants to be intimate with me, but I instinctively tilt my head and avoid his kiss. Then, I push him away coldly. All traces of happiness vanish instantly. Angered by my behavior, Lucian roars, "Weren't you jealous of Sadie over the past ten years because of how well I treated her? Well, I'm only good to you now! What more do you want from me?"

My best friend and my husband, Lorenzo Bartoli, fought every time they met. Lorenzo was the Don of the family, while my best friend was his Consigliere. She always fiercely opposed his most ruthless, high-risk decisions. Tempers explode every single time. But there was one rule that they both agreed on without any hesitation. No one was allowed to touch me. Because of them, no one in the city dared to cross me. Until the fifth month of my pregnancy, when I went down to the basement vault to organize Lorenzo's guns for him. I opened the safe to see stacks of letters, hundreds of them, all unsent. I picked one up. The moment I opened the letter, cold dread overwhelmed me. The receiver of the letter wasn't me. [My dearest Sofia…] I quickly scanned downward to the final lines of the letter. [If I don't make it back alive, everything in the Swissie accounts goes to you. As for Vittoria, she's a good woman, but I have never loved her.] With trembling hands, I tore open the rest of the letters like a hysterical woman. Three hundred of them in total. Every single one was addressed to Sofia Finzi. Sofia was not a stranger. She was my best friend.