Looking For Mistress

My girlfriend keeps saying that she comes from a poor family, but she gives her childhood sweetheart a yacht on our anniversary. I text her to ask about this, but all she does is berate me. "Who do you think you are? How dare you stick your nose into my business! I'll give anyone whatever I want. My money, my call. Get lost!" Unbeknownst to her, I'm covered in blood on the other end of the line.

When struggling waitress Elira Cruz was forced into entering a contract marriage with cold, ruthless billionaire Caelan Ferrer, she thought she was sealing just another business deal: one year, no emotions, no strings. But behind that icy stare lay hurtful memories Elira unknowingly played a part in. Snowed in by her messy kindness, the man who swore never to love again slowly began to thaw. Secrets begin to unfold underneath. A hidden link ties them much closer than either one would have imagined. Will their fake marriage survive the truth...or will love become the price of revenge?

Their contract had expired a week ago and considering the fact that Miller's long term crush, Alexia was back from her six months trip, Miller decides to bring her back into the pack. Hurt and betrayed, Summer tries to reject him knowing she'd rather die than become his breeder, “I, Summer Dubios, reject…” Miller's cold voice cut her short instantly, “Summer! Are you out of your mind? You have no right to reject your mate! I’m not done with you yet. I alone have the right to reject you as my mate. Not until I am satisfied with the pleasure you bring, you're still my mate and you'll remain here till I have no use for you and that's final!”

In the third year of our marriage, my wife’s ex-boyfriend of eight years suddenly posted a picture on social media showing off a multi-million-dollar wedding house. His caption read: “Wow, got myself a huge villa, I’m the master of charming women!” I stared in shock at the picture, which showed my wife swiping her card at a sales office, and left a single comment: "?" A second later, my wife called to scold me. “I was just fulfilling a promise I made to him back when we were dating, buying him a house. Why are you getting mad at him?” “What? Are you really going to be so vicious as to force me to break my word?” That evening, her ex showed off another lavish post, this time flaunting a renovation bill worth hundreds of thousands. I knew it was a gift from my wife to please him. But by then, I no longer cared.

On the eve of my engagement banquet, news broke that my fiancé had fathered a child with his mistress, and it spread like wildfire. Before I could confront him, Jayden Ford brushed it off casually. "It was just an accident. Focus on organizing the engagement banquet first. Besides, your dad’s in the late stages of stomach cancer. Calling off the engagement now won’t do either family any good." That night, he skipped the banquet but posted a photo of a swaddled newborn on social media. When I video-called him, he was bottle-feeding the baby. "I’ve been busy taking care of the kid. You know how it is. Our family lineage has always been sparse and dwindling, and the child takes priority." He wiped milk from the baby’s mouth. "But don’t worry. Once he’s a month old, I’ll send him to the overseas. Just show up on holidays and pretend to be his mom. The title of Mrs. Ford will always be yours." I stared at the matching diamond ring on his finger and couldn’t help but laugh. "Jayden, this engagement is off." He scoffed, "You're really throwing a tantrum over something like this? Don’t be so childish." I hung up on him and called his father—Charles Ford—directly. "I heard you’re looking for a new wife? Why not consider me?" I ran a hand over my belly and smiled. "After all, I’ve got a naturally fertile body. I can give you as many sons as you want." So much for being the sole heir. I’ll make sure he has plenty of brothers to keep him company.

My five years of marriage to Elliot Kline turned out to be a cruel joke. "For tomorrow's monthly report meeting, I'd like Yvette to present your branding plan," Elliot said, not looking up from his desk. I put down the files I was organizing, certain I had misheard. "What?" "Yvette just joined the company. She needs a chance to prove herself. Your plan is perfect for that." He lifted his head, his tone brooking no argument. "But that's my entry for the Veriania Creative Competition," I protested. "You win awards every year. What's the harm in letting her have it this time?" He shrugged, adding, "We need to nurture new talent." I stared at the man with whom I had shared a bed for five years. His face suddenly felt so unfamiliar to me. "Do you know how many sleepless nights I poured into that plan? And you're giving it to a new intern?" "Don't be so petty. It's just a plan. My decision is made." My fists clenched, anger surging through me.

“Camille, I’ll love you forever!” Jameson let out a low, agonized growl. Just as he was about to climax, his phone suddenly began to buzz. He ignored it, of course. Now was hardly the time. However, his phone lit up again. The moment he saw the text on the screen, his body froze. Camille heard him answer the call. “Hello?” In the deep silence of the night, the voice on the phone cut through the stillness, clear and unmistakable. “Jameson, did you know that Sylvia—” Jameson switched languages and cut in with a sharp command, “Keep it down. It's not a good time.” The other person switched languages too, though he was still loud. “The hospital results came in. Sylvia is in the final stages of cancer. She only has a month left! Her last wish is to become your wife. Can you grant her that before she passes?” Jameson’s expression changed immediately. “What?! Wait for me!” He ended the call and turned to Camille. “Camille, something urgent came up. I need to step out for a bit. Be good and stay home. I’ll be back after you’ve had some sleep.” Before she could respond, he rose to wash up, changed his clothes, and left without looking back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Sylvia: [Camille, you lost. I told you—Jameson has always been mine.] Right above it was a message from three days ago: [If I tell him I have cancer, do you think Jameson will leave you and come to me? I bet he will.] Camille’s gaze slowly shifted from her phone screen to the open bedroom door. What Jameson did not know was that she had already picked up a new language. She understood every word of that call. After a long moment, a faint, bitter smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, I lost...”

Just before my wedding, I did the unthinkable—I switched places with Raine Miller, my fiancé's childhood sweetheart. It had been an accident, but I uncovered the painful truth—Bruno Russell, the man I loved, had already built a happy home with Raine. I never knew before, but now I do. For five long years in our relationship, Bruno had never so much as touched me. I once thought it was because he was worried about my weak heart, but I couldn't be more mistaken. He simply wanted to keep himself pure for Raine, to belong only to her. Our marriage wasn't for love. Bruno wanted me so he could control my father's company. Fine! If he craved my wealth so much, I would give it all to him. I sold every last one of my shares, and then vanished without a word. Leaving him, forever.

I'm six years older than Bernard Jackman, but he always smiles and says, "Lucky me. I got to marry you." I think we will live happily ever after until a message pops up on his phone and shatters the illusion. "Bernie, be honest. Who's better in bed, me or your wife?" "Come on. That old hag smells like mothballs. She can't be compared to you!" And yet, he still showers me with love. How can a man say he loves me while sleeping with another woman? So, I tear off his mask and leave him. "Bernard, it's not that I can't live without you! You're filthy, and I don't want you anymore! I can find another man just fine!"

My in-laws were hit by a car crash. I called my husband, begging him to give me some money to pay the hospital bill. He said, "Oh, if you want money, just come out with it. That excuse is terrible!" He hung up on me. Despite how unfair it felt, I had to call him again. This time, a voice I was familiar with hit my ears. A woman's voice. "Chris, I got a bit too much sunscreen on my hand. Can I smear the rest on your abs?" Lovingly, my husband said, "You little troublemaker." His parents died that night. Overseas.