Mistress Stories Novels & Stories

On the third day of attempting to conquer Blake Stone's heart, he confesses his feelings to me. But the thing is, the affection meter displayed above his head shows the number "0". After we start dating, Blake pampers me to no end. He even proposes to me in a grand fashion on our sixth year anniversary. With tears in my eyes, I'm about to nod when I see a range of comments floating across my vision. [Blake must be exhausted from all the acting, huh? He has to reel in his disgust and keep up the act with Joanna for six years in order to protect Keira from her.] [That idiotic replacement actually got so immersed in this act! I'm laughing my ass off right now!] It's as though my blood had transformed into ice. No wonder the number never changed throughout the years. At the same time, the system's icy voice rings out in my mind. "The final phase is now activated. The countdown to the time left to conquer your target's heart has started. You have ten days left. If you fail, you'll be wiped out from this world." I just smile as I draw back my hand that was about to wear his ring. Then, I wipe my tears away. "I'm sorry, but I'm sick and tired of this stupid strategy game."

On the first night of our graduation trip, the class representative, Gordon Perkins, suggests that we draw lots in order to get our rooms assigned to us. "Let fate decide the pairs who get to stay in the same room as long as they have the same number, regardless of their gender! Imagine how exciting this is!" Throughout my four-year college life, Ivan Decker and I have been in a relationship for three of those years. No one knows about our relationship, though. I pull out a ball from the box and await my partner. When it's Ivan's turn, he draws out a ball with the number seven. Gordon raises his voice immediately. "The other lucky person who gets to stay in room seven is… Rebecca Benson!" Rebecca, the young woman whom Ivan has pursued in a high-profile manner in the past, goes bright red. Everyone cheers on them right away, claiming that Lady Fate really wants them to be together. But I'm the only one who stays silent. No one knows that I've heard Gordon secretly tell Ivan something before it's time to draw lots. "Look for the ball with the raised dot. I specially saved those ones for you and Rebecca." As I look at Ivan, who walks over to Rebecca and picks up her suitcase for her with a soft smile, I find myself smiling as well. It turns out that Ivan never plans on making our relationship official despite having waited for him for three years. This time, I decide to be the one who leaves first.

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.

Just three days after we got engaged, I stumbled across a private story posted by the girl he had grown up with. 'Too bad the boy who confessed to me ninety-nine times is marrying someone else in ten days.' In the photo, he trailed behind her through a crowded mall, his arms loaded with shopping bags, looking as if he had rehearsed the scene a hundred times. Curious, I scrolled down to read the comments. 'No way. The childhood-best-friend and first-love storyline still lost? Girl, that hurts.' 'Lost? He's getting married and still spending the whole day shopping with her. She didn't lose anything.' 'I feel bad for the bride. I'm seriously waiting for confession number one hundred to happen at the wedding, followed by a runaway groom scene.' Watching strangers bicker in the comments, I quietly pressed the like button, blending into their chaos. None of them knew that in just ten days, I would be the one stepping away from the altar. The fake-death package I'd ordered was already in motion. While my fiance and his childhood sweetheart mourned the love they claimed was out of reach, I quietly counted down the days until I could disappear for good.

Remi Sloan had been married to the top scion of the elite circle for five years. To outsiders, their marriage looked like a fairy tale. Everyone said he adored her—that he would even give his life for her if she asked. However, because she could not get pregnant, a few hints from her in-laws became outright demands. The man who had held her hands and promised to protect her for the rest of her life on their wedding day cried in front of her. “Be good… I can’t hold on anymore.” So this was how short a man’s promise could be, because less than two months later, she saw him supporting a pregnant woman in the hospital's obstetrics department, his movements gentle.

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.

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."

I had been engaged to Atlas Payne, a powerful CEO, for five years. This was the 21st time he had canceled our wedding ceremony. The first time, his secretary, Jasmine Scott, sprained her ankle. He left me by the roadside and rushed to the hospital. The second time, Jasmine cried and made a scene on the eve of our wedding, so he left me alone on the red carpet. The Payne family was powerful, while I was merely the daughter of a housekeeper. Therefore, everyone advised me to just deal with his mood swings. Every time Atlas left me behind, he would solemnly apologize and promise me that the next wedding attempt would definitely go smoothly. I kept believing him. Even though I was not the family's legitimate mistress, I still handled all the family affairs for him. I waited and waited, but the wedding ceremony never came. All I received was news that Jasmine was pregnant. This time, I had no reason to convince myself to stay. "I will never let you leave my side. If you ever disappear, I’ll make sure to use my family's influence to find you." The sweet words he once said to me were now a cage that trapped me. On Christmas Day, I prepared to leave him for good. I started a fire at home. Even the most powerful family would not be able to find someone who was supposedly dead. Years later, I unexpectedly came across Atlas kneeling at my ‘grave’. He was always so stern, but now, he was crying and begging me to come home and see him again.

After my husband, Trevor Penn, abuses me for the 98th time just to stand up for Callista Whitcombe, I've completely given up on him. That's when I accept his best friend, Maddox Harlow's confession. After spending the night with Maddox, he agrees to help me fake my death. That way, I'll be able to use a brand new identity to marry him overseas. I've taken the fake-death drug Maddox has given to me, only to wake up in a coffin earlier than expected. I can't move a single muscle in my body. But that's when I overhear Maddox's conversation with another person outside the coffin. "Mr. Harlow, you convinced Trevor to abuse Judith before pretending to save her from her abusive life. Now that you've obtained her full-fledged trust, why did you still arrange for her to be buried after faking her death?" "Only by doing this will the Whitcombes trust that Judith is truly dead. That way, Callie's position as the heiress will be unshakable. No one will ever bring up the fact that she's an illegitimate child ever again." The other person sounds hesitant. "Won't it be too long if we only dig the coffin out one week from now, after you've held the wedding with Callista?" "The fake-death drug's effects can last for five days. I've already had someone put enough water, food, and oxygen tanks in the coffin. There's no way Judith will die."

After Jacob Locke brings up breaking up with me once again, I don't wait for him to say anything else. I pack up my things and move out on my own, then quietly cut ties with our past. On the first day, I cancel the wedding planner I booked three years ago but kept delaying. On the second day, I turn off the automatic payments for his mother's treatment. I also politely refuse his sister when she reaches out for money. On the third day, I accept my superior's transfer proposal and get ready to settle down in a southern city. The moment I board the plane, I suddenly get curious. Without me, the free housekeeper who hasn't taken a break in the past decade and the always-on ATM, how will Jacob fare? How will he care for his paralyzed mother, deal with his vain sister, and face his precious junior who's the apple of his eye?