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 6
Inside a private lounge at the Jackson Group, Kaylee scrolled through her phone with predatory glee, a smug smile widening as she read the wave of mean comments directed at Olivia.
However, buried deep within the torrent of hate, a few discordant voices of suspicion regarding Kaylee's own story began to surface.
"Kaylee looks far too healthy to be terminally ill."
"I've spent twenty years in medicine, and I can tell you for a fact she doesn't exhibit a single symptom of a dying patient!"
Kaylee's heart momentarily stalled, but she breathed a sigh of relief as the doubts were swiftly buried by a fresh surge of insults aimed at Olivia.
She hurled her phone aside and delivered a stinging slap to her assistant's face. "You useless idiot! Go to a hospice and study the dying. If your 'sickly' makeup fails again, I will stop paying for your mother's hospital care."
The assistant's cheek bloomed into a painful red welt, yet she remained silent, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor in submission.
To the assistant, Kaylee was a clinical sociopath, a terrifying departure from the fragile, angelic persona she wore for the cameras.
The tension was broken by a sudden, firm knock echoing through the room.
Kaylee shot her assistant a murderous glare, silently commanding her to answer the door.
The moment Callum stepped inside, Kaylee's features melted into a mask of softness. Her eyes welled with practiced adoration as she offered a fragile smile.
"Callum," she breathed.
Callum's resolve crumbled at her sight. "The temperature is dropping. You need to be more careful and dress in layers."
Kaylee seized the moment, tucking herself into his embrace and locking her arms tightly around his waist.
A glint of smug satisfaction flashed in her eyes. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before everyone recognized that she and Callum were the real love story—and that Olivia, with all her plotting, was nothing more than a conniving, home-wrecking opportunist who had it coming.
She was hell-bent on stripping Olivia of every last scrap of her dignity and life.
Her ultimate trump card was the anonymous drug formula she had mysteriously acquired weeks ago.
She was the sole keeper of the secret. After finding no trace of the sender, she assumed the original creator had died during the drug's dangerous development.
In her mind, it was the perfect crime; the brilliant fruits of that research now belonged entirely to her.
...
Meanwhile, after twenty-four hours of observation, Olivia was finally cleared for discharge following Michael's medical approval.
Upon leaving the hospital, she proceeded directly to the research institute.
Peter's efficiency had been remarkable; the Beacon Project had officially re-launched, and a significant portion of the original research team had been successfully reconvened.
As the archival seals were broken and the research logs were unsealed, Olivia encountered a video of her parents weeping with joy following a major breakthrough. Overwhelmed by the footage, she found herself unable to contain her grief, and tears began to fall.
Peter's own expression softened with emotion as he offered a comforting pat on her shoulder. "Olivia, perhaps you should delay your start. You're still young, and there is no need to rush into this."
"No, I am ready," Olivia insisted, her voice wavering but her pale features set with a newfound, iron-clad resolve.
Fueled by her unwavering determination, the final preparations for the project's commencement proceeded without delay.
Over the following days, she remained entirely sequestered within the laboratory.
Michael, concerned by her relentless work ethic, eventually insisted that she at least take a break for a proper meal.
He secured a reservation at a local restaurant, and Olivia, unable to find a reason to decline his kindness, accepted the invitation.
As Michael was delayed, the waiter escorted Olivia to their reserved table ahead of his arrival.
Almost immediately after sitting down, she recognized a familiar voice emanating from the adjacent booth. Olivia stiffened, her gaze drawn instinctively toward the sound.
Through the partially translucent pattern of a decorative screen, she observed Callum and Kaylee seated closely together.
Callum, who typically maintained a distant and noble air, was behaving with uncharacteristic tenderness. His tailored suit jacket was draped over Kaylee's shoulders, and with his sleeves rolled back, he was carefully peeling shrimp for her with practiced ease.
For a man of his background, who had never concerned himself with domestic tasks, such a gesture was a visceral confirmation of his deep affection for Kaylee.
Olivia felt a sharp, agonizing sensation in her chest, as if she were suffering a physical wound.
Amidst her shock, her gaze eventually locked with Kaylee's.
Kaylee hesitated for a split second before a look of unmistakable triumph flickered across her features.
With a coy, flirtatious gesture, she turned toward Callum, opening her mouth to allow him to feed her.
The scene served as a bitter reminder for Olivia of the brief, joyous period immediately following her own marriage to Callum.
She recalled a time she had pleaded with Callum to join her at a seaside restaurant for dinner and the view; she had waited alone for over two hours before he finally decided to appear after his shift.
Despite the wait, she had been overcome with joy. With the timid enthusiasm of a newlywed, she had prepared a piece of lobster to feed him, only to be met with a gaze that remained detached and frigid.
"Stop behaving so childishly, Olivia," he had remarked coldly, refusing the gesture.
Now, as if needing visual confirmation of her own displacement, she watched him in a daze.
Callum hesitated for only a fraction of a second before personally offering the shrimp to Kaylee.
The intimacy of the gesture felt like a physical blow to Olivia's pride.
Her eyes clouded with bitterness, and a self-deprecating smirk touched her lips.
At that moment, Callum took note of Kaylee's distracted gaze and turned to see what had caught her attention.
Upon recognizing Olivia's silhouette, his brow furrowed in immediate irritation.
Given that she seldom ventured out, he had not anticipated encountering her at such a late hour.
The immediate suspicion that she had been tracking his movements crossed his mind.
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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.