On our anniversary, I learned that I am his mistress

Levi didn’t say a word when he entered my hospital room. His face was drawn, pale, eyes trembling with something heavier than grief. He placed a thick envelope on my lap. “Read it,” he said. My fingers trembled as I opened it—photocopies, scanned documents, a passport, old articles, bank statements, photos. Too many. My eyes couldn’t focus on one without the next stabbing me. Levi exhaled shakily. “Ysobel… Jaxon isn’t who he says he is.” My throat tightened. “Levi, stop.” “He’s the son of a wealthy industrialist in Asteria,” Levi continued, voice low but merciless. “He ran away from that life because of gambling debts. Serious ones. Mafia-level. His father sent him here to ‘fix his mistakes’—but he could only return if he paid everything back.” A ringing filled my ears. “He needed money,” Levi went on. “Real money. So he found you.” I froze. “What are you saying… ‘found’ me? When the yacht I was on sank four years ago—are you saying that wasn’t an accident?” Levi didn’t flinch. “He hired someone to sabotage it. Made sure he was close enough to jump in. He saved you… because he planned it. He approached you on purpose, made you fall for him, and when you married him—” “No…” My breathing hitched. “No, Levi, that’s insane—” “—he started embezzling the company funds.” Levi pushed the next set of papers toward me. “And here… Candice’s contract. He told her to apply. You hired his real wife as your secretary.” The room tilted. My stomach churned violently, bile rising in my throat. “Ysobel?” Levi stood quickly. “Sit down—” But I was already sliding off the bed, running to the bathroom, the nausea tearing through me. I threw up until there was nothing left, until my tears blurred everything. I clutched the sink, shaking. He planned it. All of it. Even the moment I fell in love with him… it wasn’t real. But my mind—cruel as it was—dragged me back to the moments I once held like treasures. “I’ll protect you,” he whispered once, brushing my hair away as we lay on the beach. The moonlight made him look impossibly gentle. “From what?” I laughed. “From everything,” he answered, kissing my forehead. “You’re safe with me. Always.” The mornings he cooked breakfast. The nights he held me because I couldn’t sleep. The way he looked at me and said, “One day, we’ll have our own little family.” Lies. All of it. Because right now, I can finally see what I refused to before. Candice’s perfume lingering on his coat—he said she hugged him because she was emotional. Her lipstick on his collar—he laughed, said she tripped and he helped her up. Her late-night calls—he told me work never sleeps. And I believed him. God, I believed every word. I thought the breakfasts meant love. I thought the way he tucked the blanket around me meant care. I thought the way he whispered, “You’re my future,” meant something real. Lies. All of it. When I finally calm, I looked at Levi with hollow eyes. “There’s no need for divorce, right?” I whispered. “Our marriage… is invalid.” Levi nodded slowly. “Yes.” I closed my eyes. My mother's ashes weren’t even cold when I married Jaxon. The company she left me—my last promise to her before she died of an illness—I had handed it over to a stranger wearing the face of a hero, so my father got mad at me and decided to disown me. “Then I just have to investigate the company,” I said quietly. “See what’s left.” Levi didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Two days later. I expected peace. I got devastation. “Miss Ysobel,” my finance manager stammered the moment I stepped into the office. “I’m so sorry, but… we’re losing money. A lot. Mr. Rivas made several unauthorized transfers. And the investors he brought in—most of them don’t exist.” My knees buckled. Levi caught me before I hit the floor. I couldn’t breathe. The company my mother built with her blood and youth—the company she handed to me—was being hollowed out from the inside. By the man I loved. No. By the man I thought I loved. My voice trembled. “Call the board.” When they gathered, I stood as straight as I could. “Effective immediately,” I said, my voice cold, “fire Candice Montenegro. And postpone every contract, investment, and deal Jaxon handled until further notice.” They exchanged shocked looks. But they obeyed. For the first time in years… I felt like I had control again. Until the door crashed open so violently the walls shook. “What the hell is the meaning of this!?” Jaxon stormed in, eyes blazing, composure gone. “Why did you fire Candice?! Why am I being removed from all meetings?!”

“What the hell is the meaning of this!?” Jaxon’s voice crashed through the room like a blade, sharp enough to cut through the silence. He stormed inside with Candice tailing behind him, pretending to be terrified, her eyes glossy, chin trembling, hands folded together like she was the victim. I didn’t flinch. Not anymore. “I asked you a question,” he barked, slamming his palm onto the long mahogany table. “Why did you fire Candice? And why the hell am I being removed from all meetings?” I rose slowly from my seat, back straight, fingers laced calmly in front of me. “I fired her,” I said evenly, “because she’s incompetent, unnecessary, and only got hired because you insisted I should give her a chance. And as for the meetings…” I tilted my head. “I simply don’t feel like giving everything to you anymore.” Jaxon blinked, stunned for half a second—but recovered with anger. “So you make decisions like this without discussing it with me?” “I don’t need to discuss anything with you,” I answered. “This is my company. I’m the owner.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “That doesn’t mean you get to—” I cut him off, stepping closer. “You’ve handled enough. And badly.” Candice whimpered behind him. “Ma’am… if I did something wrong, please let me expla—” “Stay out of this,” I snapped. Her lips trembled. Jaxon took a threatening step forward. “Ysobel, you’re being irrational. You can’t just fire people out of spite!” “Spite?” My laugh came out cold. “You think this is spite? After all the mess you’ve created?” His nostrils flared. “This is nonsense! I am your husband!” My voice sharpened. “What’s nonsense is how you still think you can control me just because you are my husband.” For a moment—just one—fear flickered in his eyes. Because he knew. He knew I was slipping out of his grasp. “You’re not firing her!” he shouted. “I said NO!” My voice was icy. “I already did. Effective immediately.” He slapped the wall beside my head, close enough for the air to sting. “You’re pushing me too far, Ysobel.” I met his eyes without blinking. “Good.” His breath hitched. He realized something had changed. Something he couldn’t undo. Finally, he exhaled sharply and stepped back, forcing his expression into something softer, something resembling resignation. “Fine,” he muttered. “You win. We’ll… do things your way. For now.” Candice lowered her head, pretending to wipe tears. “Ma’am… I’ll prepare my things. Thank you for everything and I’m sorry if I ever do something to make you mad.” I ignored her. Jaxon placed a hand on my shoulder, voice suddenly gentle—too gentle. “Let’s calm down and deal with this later, okay? For now… I’ll accept your decision.” But something was off. He was agreeing too quickly. And that terrified me more than his anger. An hour later, I left my office… only to freeze behind the hallway corner. I inched closer. Candice’s voice was sharp. “So what now? I lost my job. You let her win—again? How can you just agree?” Jaxon sighed. “Calm down. I can’t argue with her knowing I still don’t have full control of the company. I need to be on her good side, so we should just play along until everything is finalized. You know that!” Candice’s breath hitched. “Play along? How much longer?” “As long as needed.” His tone dropped into something cold, calculating. “Listen. She’s firing you because she wants to feel in control. So let her. We’ll follow her plan for now.” A pause. “Because on her birthday,” he continued, voice dipped in venom, “we end it. No more investors. No more pretending. Her life ends that night, and then everything becomes ours.”

Candice gasped softly. “Are you sure?” “Especially since you’re pregnant with our baby,” Jaxon replied. “I won’t let her hurt you or our child again.” My lungs froze. It felt like my soul detached itself from my body and watched my life crumble piece by piece. He wasn’t just using me. He wasn’t just cheating on me. He was plotting to kill me on my birthday. I backed away quietly, swallowing a scream. My hands shook violently. I pressed them to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. Not now. Not here. I have to stay alive. I have to act normal. I have to win. When I returned to my suite that evening, Jaxon was waiting on the couch, his expression soft, almost affectionate. I nearly laughed. “There you are,” he said with a relieved exhale, standing up. “We need to talk.” I didn't sit. “About what?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “About Candice’s situation. You fired her… so I was thinking.” I braced myself. He smiled—gentle, understanding, supportive. The same smile that once made me fall for him. The same smile he used right before betraying me every time. “…we can hire her as our maid,” he said. My heart stopped. “Our… what?” I whispered. “She needs income,” he continued easily, as if discussing the weather. “And since you trust her less now, this way you can still see what she’s doing. And I can help her. It’s a win-win. You know she is a close friend with no relatives and I can’t just let her be alone with nothing.” Win-win. For him and his mistress. “Absolutely not,” I said immediately, my voice sharp. “I fired her. She’s not stepping foot in this house again.” His smile faltered. “Ysobel—” “No.” I turned away before the trembling in my chest could turn into screaming. “I’m tired, Jaxon. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” “Come on,” he called softly, following me as I headed to the bedroom. “You don’t have to be so emotional—” “Goodnight,” I said, shutting the door before I could say something that would expose how much I knew… how much danger I was in. I pressed my back against the door, exhaling shakily. They wanted me dead on my birthday and now he wanted his mistress living in my house. Over my dead body. But the next morning, when sunlight hit my face and sleep loosened its grip—I sensed it immediately. Someone else was in the room. I shot up and froze. Candice was kneeling beside my dresser, wiping it with a cloth, humming softly like she belonged there. She wore an apron. Hair tied. Head down. She looked up with a smile that trembled. “Good morning, Ma’am.” My heart dropped to my stomach. “What are you doing here?” “Oh!” She stood quickly, bowing her head. “Jaxon told me you changed your mind and agreed to let me stay… as the maid.” My blood turned to ice. “That’s a lie. I didn’t agree to anything.” She wrung her hands nervously, eyes glossy with fake tears. “Ma’am, please… please let me stay. I need this job. I can do everything, I promise. I’m not picky. I can cook, clean, wash, iron, sew—anything. I just need somewhere to stay… even if you make me sleep in the storage room.” I clenched my jaw. She was performing. Every trembling word is a calculated move. “Get out,” I said coldly. “Before I change my mind about letting you walk out of this house.” She flinched. “Please… give me a chance. I’ll show you!” She darted forward, grabbing a glass spray bottle and a rag. “See? I clean very well. Look—look how shiny I can make it.” She wiped the table too aggressively, desperate to prove her worth, moving with frantic energy. Then she rushed toward the shelf where my mother’s porcelain urn stood—a delicate hand-carved piece, white with gold trimming, the most precious thing I owned. My breath hitched. “Don’t touch—” “I can clean everything!” she insisted, dusting around it. “I’m very careful, Ma’am. I can—” Her elbow hit it. The urn shook. Time slowed. “Candice, stop—!” But it was too late. The urn teetered. It fell. It shattered on the floor. Porcelain exploded into pieces. And the ashes—my mother’s ashes—scattered across the marble like gray snow.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My mother’s ashes—her last remains—were scattered across the floor, clinging to the fragments of the shattered urn. My hands trembled violently as I crouched down, fingers hovering over the gray dust like touching it would break me even more. Candice gasped, covering her mouth as if she truly cared. “Ma’am—I—I didn’t mean—” Something snapped inside me. I stood so fast she stumbled backward. “You—” My voice broke into something unrecognizable. “You destroyed her. My mother—MY MOTHER!” I slapped her. The sound cracked through the room, sharp and vicious. Candice staggered, eyes wide, hand flying to her cheek. “Ma’am—please—” I slapped her again. Harder. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea—” She tried to back away, but I grabbed her arm, shaking. “Those ashes were all I had left of her!” “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” she cried, sobbing in a panic. “It slipped—I didn’t—” “You don’t get to touch anything in this house! You don’t get to breathe near her memory!” Another slap landed before I could stop myself. “You will pay for this, Candice. You will—” “What the hell is going on?!” Jaxon’s voice tore through the room. I turned, breathing hard, tears hot on my face. He stood in the doorway—eyes widening at the broken urn, the ashes, at Candice shaking with reddened cheeks. “Ysobel,” he said slowly, dangerously, “did you just… hit her?” “She destroyed my mother’s ashes!” I sobbed. “She broke the urn!” Candice threw herself toward him. “I didn’t mean to! I was cleaning and it slipped. I’m sorry, Jax—she kept hitting me—I couldn’t stop her—” His eyes darkened toward me. Not her. "Ysobel, why would you hurt someone? Can you not just talk nicely?" I stared at him. “She broke my mother’s ashes—she was cleaning something I told her not to touch—she—” “Candice is important to me and you know that!! And you think you can just hit her just because of the urn? That’s just ashes and your mother is dead no matter what happens!” I froze and then he realized what he just said. But before he could say another word, I already left. The next morning, Jaxon acted like nothing happened. He entered the dining room with a soft smile, sitting beside me as though he hadn’t slapped me bloody the night before. “Good morning,” he murmured, brushing a hand through my hair. “About last night… let’s not dwell on it. We’re both stressed. I’m sorry and Candice will say sorry about it. I can just buy you a new urn.” My body stiffened at his touch, but I didn’t move. He poured juice for me. “Your birthday is approaching. I’m planning a little party. Something intimate. Just close people. I want this year to be special.” I forced a tight smile. “Whatever you think is best.” “Good,” he said, kissing my temple. “I want us to feel… normal again.” I didn’t believe a word. Candice walked in carrying a tray. She avoided my eyes. Her movements were strangely stiff. As she placed the tray down, her foot slid on a wet patch on the marble floor. She shrieked—“Ah!” The tray crashed. Jaxon rushed toward her instantly. “Candice! Are you hurt?” She clung to him dramatically. “My ankle—oh God—does it look swollen? I think I slipped because the floor wasn’t dried… did the maid clean it? Or maybe—maybe Ysobel—” Jaxon’s head snapped toward me. I almost laughed. “Are you seriously suggesting I wet the floor for you?” Candice sniffled. “I… I didn’t say that… I just… I don’t know…” He glared at me as if it were possible. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.” He scooped her up and carried her out of the room like she was made of glass. Leaving me alone at the dining table. I stared at my plate and started eating as I didn’t want to waste my time on them. Whatever they want to do, it’s up to me. So I picked up my fork. One bite. Two. On the third bite— My throat burned. I coughed once. Twice. Then the burning spread like fire through my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs. I grabbed the edge of the table. “What—what did she—” My vision doubled. My lungs tightened like someone was squeezing them shut. The room tilted. I tried to call the maid, but my voice was a rasp. She rushed in, eyes widening in panic. “Ma’am—are you alright? Oh my God—what happened?” I pointed weakly to the food. “W-who… made this?” She froze. “C–Candice did, Ma’am. I—I only served it—” The world spun violently. I could feel myself slipping away. Before it all went dark, I had just enough strength to call my best friend Levi. When I opened my eyes again, I was inside the hospital. Levi sat by my bedside, eyes swollen, fists clenched. The moment he saw me awake, he exhaled shakily. “You scared me to death,” he whispered. “What… happened?” My throat hurt to speak. His face crumpled. “You were poisoned, Ysobel.” Tears burned my eyes. My hands instinctively went to my stomach. Levi swallowed hard. His voice broke. “Ysobel… you lost the baby.” A quiet, hollow sob escaped me. The pain was too deep to scream. Too sharp to hold. Levi pulled me into his arms gently. “It will be okay… I’m here. You can have another one someday—when you’re with the right man. Someone who deserves you.” I cried until I had no breath left. When my sobs finally faded, Levi brushed my hair away and said softly, “Your father called. He demanded you go home. I think it’s also time for you to go back to him, Ysobel.”

I spent the entire night preparing everything I needed for the next few days, refusing to let my hands stop even for a moment. If I stopped, I would think—about the pain in my body, the pounding emptiness in my womb, the betrayal that replayed like a curse whenever I closed my eyes. So I busied myself, making sure every detail was in place. The documents came first. The miscarriage report, stamped and authenticated, still smelled faintly of hospital disinfectant. I placed it inside a folder with trembling fingers. Then another folder—thicker, heavier—containing evidence of Jaxon’s embezzlement, financial anomalies, ghost transactions, money redirected to accounts he thought no one would ever find. I had spent years loving him, and only days learning how deeply he had betrayed me. Next came the statement of charges, detailed and precise. Levi handled much of that part—quietly, carefully—while I lay unconscious in the hospital. The moment I woke, he simply handed it to me and said, “Use it when you’re ready.” I was ready now. But the final gift… that one I prepared with my own hands. I took out the small black memory card and rolled it between my fingers. It contained the video I recorded using the hidden camera I had installed in our house since I learned the truth. The footage showed everything—Jaxon and Candice in my bed, in my room, under the blanket embroidered with my initials, while they're on top of each other, whispering each other's names. I plugged the card into my laptop and replayed it for a few seconds—not because I needed confirmation, but because I wanted to make sure the timestamp was clear. It was. Anyone watching would know exactly when and where it happened. Satisfied, I forwarded the video file to the staff member I assigned for tonight’s event—the man in charge of the livestream. The party would be broadcast across multiple platforms, boosted with ads so it would trend almost instantly. The world would see exactly what Jaxon was behind his perfect image. Before leaving, I texted him: I’ll arrive later. Start the party without me. He replied within seconds: Of course. I’ll make it unforgettable. I ignored the way my stomach twisted. It wasn’t dread. Not anymore. It was anticipation mingled with a rage I could finally let breathe. The car was quiet as it sped along the road toward my father’s estate. Outside, the evening lights of the city blurred together, streaks of gold and white rushing past like ghosts. I leaned back, opened my phone, and watched the livestream. The party was already in full swing. There he was. Jaxon, smiling as if his face had never twisted in cruelty. He greeted officials, businessmen, and their wives with warm confidence. Every gesture looked practiced yet effortless—the perfect husband hosting an event for his beloved wife. My beloved self. A lie he wore like a second skin. Then, as I expected, he began his speech. The camera panned to him standing on the stage, holding a microphone with that soft, regretful expression he perfected so well. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” Jaxon began, his voice trembling just enough to tug at the audience’s heartstrings. He pressed a hand to his chest, as though steadying a cracked-open heart. “I… I don’t always say this publicly, but my wife—Ysobel—she is the greatest blessing life has ever given me.” Some guests murmured softly, already moved. He took a shaky breath, lowering his gaze as if struggling to compose himself. “I wasn’t born lucky. Everything I have, everything I’ve built… none of it would mean anything without her by my side.” His voice cracked, perfectly timed. “Ysobel has been my home. My anchor. The one person who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.” Someone near the front whispered, “She’s such a good woman…” Jaxon nodded toward the murmurs as if agreeing with them. “She is. And because she is… I want tonight to be special. I want her to feel celebrated, cherished, seen." His lips trembled in a way that would look painfully sincere on any camera. “She deserves a birthday worthy of the light she brings into my life.” The audience applauded—slow at first, then swelling into warmth. I almost laughed. The guests murmured sympathetically. Some even clapped. The livestream chat skyrocketed with comments praising him—What a loving husband, So devoted, A real man—their words sharp as needles against my skin. He continued speaking about our past, reliving selective memories, twisting them into a love story. He thanked me, honored me, called me his strength. He even said he wouldn’t know who he’d be without me. Lies. All of it. He was putting on a show for one reason: He wanted me to sign the documents, so he could legally transfer my company to him and leave all the debts to me. He thought that I won't even notice in case he hid those terms in the documents. And he thought this performance would soften me. I watched him cry under the lights, the crowd moved to tears, and a cold, vicious satisfaction filled my chest. Good. Let them believe him. Let them adore him. It would make the fall so much harder. The atmosphere in the hall was reaching its peak, the applause growing louder. Perfect timing. I dialed my staff member—the one waiting beside the audiovisual controls. When he answered, I said only four words: “You can start now.” The car turned a corner as the screen at the party suddenly flickered. The livestream audience went silent. Even through the small screen of my phone, I could feel the tension in the room. The big LED wall glowed with static. Then an image appeared—blurry, unfocused at first. The camera seemed to be moving toward a bed. People whispered in confusion. “Is that… a room?” “Whose bedroom is that?” “What’s happening?” Jaxon stopped speaking mid-sentence, staring at the screen. He squinted, confused. His lips parted slightly. I knew exactly what he was thinking. That looks familiar… Why does it look familiar? Because it was our bedroom. Our bed. Our sheets. Before he could fully react, a man approached him on stage and handed him a sealed package. “Sir,” the man said loudly, ensuring the microphone picked it up, “we have a delivery for you from your wife.”