He Chose The Mistress, She Signed Her Own Death Certificate
Eight years of devotion crumbled under one calculated betrayal.
Diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only a year, Olivia faced heartbreak when her husband cheated with a student she had sponsored and asked for divorce.
"She only has a year to live... can't you let her have this?" he pleaded, unaware Olivia hid the same fate.
Without protest, she signed and returned to science, determined to leave something behind.
Believing they'd reunite, he waited-never knowing she was running out of time.
During a clinical trial, she burned through her final days.
Only after her death did he learn the truth, collapsing in regret. "Olivia... I was wrong."
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Chapter 1
Following a night of intense passion, Olivia Stewart sank back onto the mattress, her strength spent.
Dizziness suddenly overwhelmed her, causing the warm color in her cheeks to drain away into a ghostly, sickly pallor.
This wasn't the typical post-intimacy fatigue; it was a profound, nauseating ache that churned deep within her gut.
She gritted her teeth, her fingers surreptitiously clenching the medical report she had stashed beneath her pillow.
"One year to live." The doctor's voice, chillingly clinical and detached, continued to ring in her ears.
Callum Jackson, her husband, stepped away from her side. After showering and changing, he returned to the bedside composed once more, his usual aura of cool detachment restored—radiating the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being in command.
Olivia bit down on her lip, pausing for a long moment as she struggled to find the right words to say.
"I want a divorce." His voice broke the silence first, delivered in a flat, monotone voice devoid of any feeling.
"What did you say?" Olivia stared at his striking features, her mind reeling as she wondered if she had heard him correctly.
Callum's brow furrowed as he watched her. The heat of their earlier passion had vanished, replaced by an icy indifference that made her blood run cold.
"Kaylee is terminally ill. She has one year left, and she wants to spend it with me." He paused, and then added, "I gave her my word."
The room became heavy with a stifling silence. In the low light, their shadows stretched across the floor, driving a wedge between them.
An agonizing sensation, as if her very heart were being shredded, tore through Olivia's chest.
A terminal illness.
The irony was suffocating; Olivia had also been given exactly twelve months to live.
She had intended to confess tonight, clinging to the naive hope that her diagnosis might finally win her some of his affection or pity.
Instead, her husband was ending their marriage to go and care for a different woman who was also dying.
"And where does that leave me?" Olivia asked, her voice cracking with shock. "Callum, have I ever crossed your mind at all?"
His brow pinched even tighter with mounting irritation. "I'm only honoring her dying request. We can just remarry in a year, so you aren't losing out. Olivia, you've got it all—the status, the money, and me. For once, just be the bigger person and let her have this."
Each syllable he uttered felt like a blade twisting in Olivia's chest.
The terminally ill woman Callum was referring to was Kaylee Taylor, who used to be Olivia's student.
Olivia had personally sponsored the underprivileged girl through four years of college, moved by her fragile appearance and brilliant mind for medical research.
Wanting to ensure Kaylee's potential wasn't squandered, Olivia mentored her at school and even set up her internship at Callum's firm, believing she had hand-picked a top-tier talent to help her husband's business.
It had never crossed Olivia's mind that her husband would so quickly demand a divorce just to be with Kaylee.
Olivia's heart throbbed with such intensity that she struggled for air. Her chest rose and fell sharply as she sank her teeth into her lip, desperate to maintain her composure.
Images from a month ago flashed in her mind: Kaylee had sent a smug private message featuring a cozy photo of her and Callum on a business trip. In the shot, Kaylee looked glowing and perfectly healthy.
Steeling herself, Olivia decided to push the issue. "Are you absolutely certain Kaylee is dying? Is it possible she might be..."
"Olivia!" Callum's tone turned frigid. "If you're refusing the divorce, that's one thing, but don't you dare trash her name. Kaylee is a sweet and innocent girl; besides, who on earth would lie about having a terminal illness?"
A stifling, somber tension filled the room.
His face was a mask of pure annoyance. "I've laid it all out for you. Quit being so difficult and throwing around these nasty accusations."
The shock hit her—had he really just accused that she was being nasty?
Olivia gazed at Callum from just inches away—the man who had held her heart for eight years now looked like a complete, icy stranger.
They had five years of history and three years of marriage between them. She had poured her entire soul into loving him.
Even her own health issues were a direct result of the sacrifices she had made to support Callum's goals.
Having lost his mother to a rare ailment as a boy, Callum had been haunted by the tragedy ever since; discovering a cure had eventually become his life's singular obsession.
Ignoring the constant protests from the company's shareholders, he had sunk a massive fortune into finding a cure for that very disease. After two years of failure, he was completely at the end of his rope.
To bring his ambition to fruition, Olivia—who had already stepped down from her university professorship—quietly made her way back to the institute's research lab. Immersing herself in the hazardous work, she ultimately succeeded in creating the cure and sent it anonymously to his company's laboratory.
This line of drug research was incredibly hazardous. Despite her caution, she ended up being infected by the virus, yet she didn't feel any regret for her sacrifice.
The bitter irony was that after giving everything up for his sake, she was now being handed a divorce.
When he had to choose from Kaylee and his own wife, he had picked Kaylee without a second thought.
Olivia shut her eyes in pain, her spirit completely crushed. "Fine. I'll give you the divorce. Just go ahead and draw up the papers."
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7.3
"This... this is wrong," she stuttered, trying not to meet his eyes. "You're my stepfather. Let's forget it ever happened."
"How can I forget it happened, Nicole?" He questioned, gripping her chin. "When the image of you whimpering for more replays in my head every fucking night?"
When one night of desperation turns into Nicole ending up in bed with a nameless stranger, she's almost shocked to death when she moves in with her mother's new husband to see that the nameless stranger is her new stepfather.
Tristan Michelson has always been in control of his emotions, but he can barely control himself when he realizes the masked stripper is his new stepdaughter.
9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
8.1
On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes.
She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia."
Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours.
He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity.
But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture."
I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her.
And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm.
Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite.
He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet.
He is wrong.
I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door.
And I changed the groom.
As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears.
The Reaper.
8.1
I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground."
8.8
My little boy died on the operating table during a minor, routine surgery.
That exact same night, my billionaire husband bought out the Hudson River for a massive, million-dollar fireworks show.
It wasn't to mourn our child. It was to celebrate his first love's son being discharged from the hospital.
When I confronted him with our son's death certificate, he sneered and accused me of hiding the boy to get his attention.
He held his mistress in our home, watched her fake a panic attack, and threatened to bankrupt my family if I didn't get on my knees and apologize to her.
But the most horrifying truth came from a terrified hospital nurse.
My son's anesthesia was deliberately kept low during the procedure to keep his tissue viable to save the mistress's child.
He was awake and in agonizing pain while his own father planned a grand celebration for another man's son.
I couldn't understand how a father could be so completely heartless.
How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood just to please a woman who constantly manipulated him?
Looking at the ashes on my son's favorite toy, my paralyzing grief evaporated, replaced by a cold, unyielding rage.
I arranged my little boy's funeral alone in the freezing rain, left my wedding ring on the counter, and walked straight into the private hotel suite of my husband's most ruthless business rival.
"Let's take him down," I said.