Mistress

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?!”

To help my sterile Alpha mate Marcus Blackwood conceive an heir, I had used many hormone injections. My belly was covered with purple bruise marks from all the needle punctures. But after our son Connor was born, he was very weak and even ran much slower than the other pups. Marcus looked at Conner coldly and snarled at me, "It's all your rotten bloodline! You've brought shame to the Blackwood pack!" Later, he held his mistress Scarlett's pup—a three-year-old pup who was strong enough to beat an eight-year-old pup—and publicly rewarded Scarlett with a new Porsche. But when my five-year-old Connor accidentally knocked over his milk, Marcus kicked him in the chest and called him worthless. He even locked my son, who was afraid of the dark, alone in the drafty woodshed at the countryside estate during winter. Every day, Connor got only one bowl of spoiled food, until he starved to death. When I found Connor, his small body was already ice-cold, still clutching the family portrait I had drawn for him in his little hands. After that, Marcus tortured me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at our engagement party. Marcus publicly took Scarlett's hand in front of everyone. "I’m breaking off my engagement with Hazel Whitmore! She is just a foolish she-wolf who can only birth idiots! Scarlett is the one I love!" I realized that he was also reborn. He wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone again. But he didn't know that without my exclusive genetic healing technology, he would remain childless for this entire lifetime.

After Mom passed, it was just me and Dad, depending on each other. I’ve always had poor health, and people used to taunt me, calling me a “sickly, doomed child.” He kneeled by my bedside, making a promise. “I swear, I’ll get you the best treatment, no matter what. You’ll never suffer again!” Eventually, he became a powerful CEO, going so far as to buy an entire private villa just so I could recover in peace. However, his assistant assumed I was his mistress.  She came in with a group of security guards and surrounded me. “So, you’re the cripple who’s been seducing Mr. Johnson?” “Let’s see if you can still act high and mighty after I’m done with you!” She kicked over my wheelchair, yanked me by the hair, scratched up my face, and finally cut off my hand. Barely clinging to life, I lay there until Dad came back. She held up my severed hand, presenting it to him. “Mr. Johnson, this was a spy sent by a rival company. I took care of her for you.”

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…

In their four years of marriage, Ethan Sterling had always refused to visit any romantic couple destinations with his wife, Pearl Whitmore. He said she was shallow and just chasing trends. However, when his first love came back from overseas, he could not wait to take her up the legendary mountain where it was said couples who climbed it successfully would grow old together. Pearl divorced him and moved abroad. However, Ethan followed her to the new country, sobbing as he searched for her in the ruins...

My daughter has a sudden allergic reaction, and my husband, an expert in these things, is the only one who can save her. I call him at this critical juncture, but his childhood sweetheart is the one who answers. "Clinton is busy. He wants me to tell you not to call him if it's not important." There's no time for me to get mad. I say anxiously, "Tell him to come to the hospital now. Ivy has had an allergic reaction and is waiting for him to save her." Clinton Reeves says impatiently, "Gemma and I are just watching a soccer match. Do you have to joke around with Ivy's life? I'm so disappointed in you." Later, Ivy dies in the hospital, her body covered in rashes. I wipe my tears and call Clinton once more. I say icily, "Let's get a divorce." The first thing I hear is his and Gemma Walken's laughter. After a while, he says, "Sure, but Ivy is mine."

On our third wedding anniversary, I received a cake from my husband. It had the names Clarisse Burke and Antonio Carey written on it, along with Happy Third Anniversary. But I felt like I'd been plunged into ice. That wasn't my name. Clarisse was his secretary. Sure enough, I saw my cake in Clarisse Burke's latest post, labeled Iva Grant and Antonio Carey. [Three years, and someone's already treating me like his wife.] Below, there was a comment. [Delete that post! The cakes got mixed up. Don't let Iva find out.] That was when I realized he had planned every romantic surprise in pairs. Holding my phone, I laughed at his pathetic attempt to cover it up. But I was done. I started planning my exit.

My fiance, Alexander Elrod, the most outstanding fashion designer of the 21st century, had finally agreed to marry me. He promised to propose once he won the Paris Fashion Award. When the day arrived, I braved a typhoon to attend his celebration banquet. There, I watched as Alexander and his assistant, Stella Monroe, kissed shamelessly in front of the cameras. Then, they proudly displayed their wedding rings. Alexander picked up the microphone. “Stella dear, thank you for your hard work during this time. In the future, I’ll continue leading the fashion world with you, one trend after another!” My colleagues all turned to look at me and expected me to cause a scene. I smiled, and I was the first to applaud them. “How wonderful! Wishing you two a lifetime of happiness.” The room erupted in shocked murmurs. After the event, Alexander immediately dragged me aside to explain, “Stella stayed up with me for nearly half a year for the Paris Fashion Award. Her mother’s terminally ill, and her last wish was to see Stella get married. Must you take it so seriously? “Once work is over, I’ll divorce her and throw you the grandest wedding, okay?” I walked away without answering him. Then, I gave my father a call. “Dad, the ten-year bet is over. I’ve lost. I’ll come home and take over the family business.”

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

On our fifth anniversary, I came across the Instagram page of a stranger named Serena Reed. The girl lay sideways on a hospital bed, her bandage-wrapped hand intertwined with a man's larger hand. On the man's ring finger was a moonstone ring, with Vincent Carter's name and my own name clearly engraved on the band. Below the photo, the girl had written: "It's just a tiny scratch, but he was so worried he insisted I stay in the hospital. Being loved like this feels incredible!" An hour earlier, Vincent had apologized to me over the phone. "Nina, there's an urgent matter with the patrol team. Don't wait for me for dinner. When I come back, I'll bring you a gift." He was not coming home for our anniversary because he was with another woman. I silently melted down the moonstone ring and sent it to Vincent as a gift. Then I packed all my belongings, including the pup in my womb, and left the Shadow pack quietly, never to return.